Pain.


    The first thing he registered as the ringing in his ears slowly died and the shock in his bones faded was pain. It resounded, latching onto his nerves until it hurt to even see.


    Shriek. Shriek.


    He froze.


    Not today. Fuck, not today.


    The world around him flickered in and out of focus like an old screen struggling to hold its images.


    Fight! Run!


    Instinct drove his limbs before reason could catch up. He shoved himself up, hands scraping against shattered asphalt, lungs dragging in heavy black. A low groan slipped past his clenched teeth. His left arm—fuck. Something was wrong. He could feel the heat of torn skin, the sticky warmth of blood soaking his sleeve.


    He kept moving, every inch of his body screaming in protest as he scanned his surroundings: metal scraps, burning tires, thick smoke curling into the already darkened heavens.


    A groan tore through his clenched teeth. His left arm was useless. Were the muscles torn? Fracture? It didn’t matter now. If he stopped, he was dead.


    He pushed forward, boots skidding against the slick pavement. Something wet trickled from his temple, smearing into his vision and burning opened skin as it mixed with sweat and dirt. His breath was short and raspy, fighting for a whisp of clean air, lungs barely keeping up as his body warred against itself, demanding he drop and give in.


    Finally, he saw it: his blade, now blackened and just a few steps away. It was close to useless—no better than a kitchen knife, but it was better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing.


    Another screech rapidly drew closer.


    Eric bolted toward the open gates of the checkpoint. Once or twice, his knees gave out, and each time, it took that cursed sound storming closer to push him back up.


    His body knew what it felt like to be prey. It thumped in that familiar way that began at the orphanage, then after the escape, and every day ever since.


    No way had he stayed alive this long just to be some ashspawn’s meal. Kael was waiting for him, and he wasn’t about to let her down without a fight.


    Past the checkpoint now, his brain switched to full calculation mode as his eyes swept over the vast expanse of land before him. Thick darkness shadowed the parts the searchlight couldn’t reach, leaving them in perceived nothingness.


    But Eric knew better. That void nothingness had just moved; bright, round torches shining like burning embers, their soft croons sending a chill down his spine.


    Shit.


    His instincts screamed trap, but his feet couldn’t stop, not with those things behind him. He tightened his grip around the knife, fingers slick with sweat, and he took the only option left: up the stairs of a watchtower. Knife between his teeth, fingers clutching the rods tightly, he scrambled up with his one good hand, two steps at a time.


    Halfway up, he heard it—like a hundred wet feet skittering against the pavement, followed almost immediately by the soft clink of nails against metal.


    There, Eric made the mistake of looking down, and his blade nearly dropped from his lips. He’d only ever seen them dead, or captured on billboards, but now, there they were.


    All maws, teeth, and hunger he could smell—one that made him want to puke through his clenched jaw.


    He had to move, not think. Had to shut his eyes to how pale their skin were, to their gleaming red eyes, to how they moved on all fours with elongated limbs like spindly spiders. He didn’t want to think about how that clinking sound came from creatures so gnarly.


    Five more steps to go. Then… what?


    He just couldn’t die! Kael needed him! If he was going to, it wouldn’t be as dinner.


    He’d promised her he’d always be one “Tomato” call away.


    “…Can’t die! Can’t fucking die!”


    The metal rattled under his boots. He climbed faster.


    Don’t look down. Don’t look down!


    He looked down.


    And he saw them climbing, dashing up the stairs like ants—weightless and quick. Fast, too? How could they be that fast when they weighed five times as much as him?


    What the fuck were these creatures?


    But just as he touched the edge, the first one lunged.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Eric barely jerked back in time. His hand slipped, and for a terrifying half-second, he was weightless, his balance tipping into the open abyss below—


    He grabbed the edge.


    “Christ!” He winced as pain shot through his arm and down his back, straining as he held on, the concrete biting into his palm. Below him, the shrieks grew louder, like laughter—as though they knew he was slipping.


    As though they were just toying with him.


    Bastards! Damn, bastards! Damn the pink result and his weakness. He was going to show them how he’d survived all those years with bad decisions and a scrappy car.


    Eric gritted his teeth against the blade and pushed upward, throwing his weight forward before the next one could grab him.


    Another pull was just another second alive.


    The platform was so fucking close.


    Then came the sharp snap and the stairs jerked back.


    Eric’s stomach dropped. The whole structure swayed, metal groaning beneath the weight of the monsters scrambling up its frame. His hands slammed into the railing, barely stopping himself from tumbling back down.


    “No. No, no, no—”


    Something grabbed his boot.


    Wet and leathery, just as he’d expected them to feel. Sickening and hot.


    Eric kicked, but the hold only tightened. The impact jarred his leg, sending sparks of pain through his already battered nerves.


    It was impossible to move, impossible to reach for his knife without slipping into the darkness below, filled with those bright red torches.


    Another jerk. The stairs strained again.


    A ball rose in Eric’s throat. Lights flashed before his eyes. He needed a fucking miracle. If there was anyone above who could see this—a God, a normal pair of eyes in the shadows—he needed a fucking helping hand.


    But nothing was coming. He should’ve known that by now.


    Then another jerk, and up came another ash spawn, lurching toward him. The beast holding him screamed in agony as its colleague’s nails dug into its hide. Its grip loosened, and Eric knew he wasn’t getting another chance.


    So he kicked harder. The ashspawn’s hold slipped—and so did his. Fuck. The weight on his leg, mixed with the pain, was becoming too much to bear. Soon, he’d be falling with them, whether the stairs gave way or not.


    To make it worse, the ashspawn’s second hand wrapped around his calf.


    “Get off!” he yelled, voice filled with agony and terror, reverberating through the darkness. The knife between his teeth clattered to the floor, his feet numb from their hold. “Get off me, damn it!”


    This time, they did but not without sharp, pointed fingers dragging down his calf, tearing him open. Eric let it out, screaming into the abyss, tears trailing down his face even as his leg felt weightless. Even after he heard the bone-breaking thud below.


    In a flash, with the last ounce of his strength, he hurled himself onto the cemented platform. With a grunt infused with pain, he kicked against the hinges twice.


    Down went the stairs, toppling over, sending the ashspawns crashing like dead weight. Eric didn’t need to look down to know it hadn’t done much good. The rising shrieks were loud enough.


    Now, on his back on the pavement, sniffling against the back of his knuckles, pain tore through him. His eyes traced the inky sky as he fought not to roar—not just from the pain, but from every frustration and stroke of bad luck he’d had to laugh off to stay sane in Neal City.


    It wasn’t just bad decisions! They were choices he’d had to make, damn it! He knew they were bad—he just had to make them.


    Where the hell was the second wave? Hell, the sixth! Let it all end right this minute. Burn the whole world to the ground so they all rose from ashes, seeking extinct blood.


    But… he shut his eyes, rage dying. Kael…


    Eric took a deep breath. For a second, he’d almost forgotten about her. She’d have a big laugh if he told her about this one, then call him stupid for never listening to his instincts.


    Then she’d burn him to toast later with a tantrum for almost dying. Probably best he kept this to himself this time. Yeah, just that.


    He chuckled.


    With a series of groans and grunts, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then to a stand, gripping the brick banister for support. He peeked at his right leg, which nearly gave way beneath him.


    He flinched. Even his ligaments had been torn open. If he looked closer, he’d bet he could see bone. He sighed. He’d have stopped to wrap it up, but there was no time before those fleshed-out spiders realized they could scale the smooth wall.


    Maybe if he went far enough, he could bleed to death before they found him again. So, without thinking, he took the only route: a bridge-like path leading to the accessible entrance of a round, gigantic building.


    It looked like a mix between a dam and a stadium—a brutalist structure with high walls, reinforced steel beams, and a domed roof that had seen better days.


    He limped all the way through until he was close enough to catch the faint white light seeping through the entrance, close enough to hear a cascading sound—like a waterfall, except heavier and drier.


    Too exhausted to think clearly, too desperate to investigate as he slowly lost half his blood to the floor, his body growing numb, he limped fully inside.


    He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see—maybe thousands of cluttered plastic chairs? A black field of dust, dead grass, or ashes?


    But none of that. Just a thoroughly empty space. And at the edge, where the cascading noise came from—


    Was a tall, seemingly familiar figure cloaked in black?


    “Why are you still alive? Why didn’t you die?!”


    The cloak''s hood was angrily pulled down, revealing a face streaked with dark veins across tanned skin. Even his bald head wasn’t spared, and as Eric watched, the veins seemed to move with colors.


    “Is that… normal?” Eric murmured, not to anyone in particular.


    But it was what floated behind the man that truly caught his eye—not the ashes rising from the deep where the thunderous noise originated, but a breathing white light in the shape of a rough circle, spinning with symbols Eric had only heard about but never seen.


    An ashborn? But he’d never seen an ashborn that looked like that—sickening purple and green, a sore to the eyes. Was he a mutation? An experiment gone wrong?


    The image of his last passenger shielding his face with a cloak crossed his mind, and Eric''s curiosity dimmed.


    “It’s you, isn’t it? You were the…” An ashspawn’s scream cut him off. Eric''s fist clenched.


    The man seemed even more offended when he heard the loud shrieks closing in. His eyes darkened. Really darkened, pitch black like the inky sky, and as they scanned Eric’s bloodied body, he grimaced, “I gave you an easy death.”


    Eric’s jaw ticked. “Your definition of easy is differentnt from mine then. You blew up my fucking car.”


    But the man suddenly backed away trembling.


    What the hell was happening here?


    To Eric''s shock, so smoothly he barely registered it, in the next second, he was staring into the muzzle of a black pistol pointed directly at his chest.


    “Hey… hey!” Eric backed away, heart pounding. “I don’t want any trouble.”


    But… “I…” The trembling voice came again as the man’s finger rested against the trigger. “No one should see this. I GAVE YOU AN EASY DEATH!”


    Behind him, Eric could hear stealthy feet beating against the floor. He took a long breath. More ashes than air filled his lungs.


    For a second, he almost laughed in tired defeat.


    This was a nightmare.


    It had to be a nightmare.


    And he better wake up soon.