The night air reeked of metal and rot, a scent so thick Leo felt it coating his tongue. Shadows clung to the broken walls of Zone 7 like parasites, each one twitching as if it had a will of its own.
Leo crouched beside a crumbling archway, the stones slick with condensation. His boots, battered and patched, scraped softly against the ground with every shift of weight. Camille knelt next to him, his glasses fogged and one lens cracked. Even in this ruined world, the kid managed to look like a librarian who'd taken a wrong turn into hell.
"Leo," Camille whispered, voice trembling. "They said tonight's the worst. Whole families gone. Like…like they were never even here."
Leo snorted, but the sound barely rose above the wind. "Yeah? Well, they also say the moon weeps tears of blood on nights like this. Makes me want to buy an umbrella."
He didn't believe in curses or superstitions. Not really. But even he couldn't ignore the sense of dread that pulsed through Zone 7 tonight. The ruins were too quiet. The wind too still. Even the rats had vanished.
The two of them huddled beneath a sagging concrete overpass, waiting for their contact. The man had promised food—cans of beans and, if they were lucky, a real protein bar. All they had to do was trade a couple of scavenged circuit boards and a half-functional solar cell.
Camille fiddled with the cell now, his fingers trembling so badly he almost dropped it. "Leo…are you sure he's coming?"
Leo's eyes darted to the street beyond the arch. "He'll come. They always come. Desperation's a hell of a motivator."
He tried to keep his tone light, but the night felt like a living thing pressing in on them. Every flicker of movement—a torn scrap of fabric, the flutter of a plastic bag—sent a tremor through his gut.
Camille let out a shaky laugh. "You know, you could try to sound a little more comforting."
Leo smirked. "Comforting's for people who think tomorrow's guaranteed."
A gust of wind rattled the overpass, sending a spray of grit across their boots. Leo's hand went to the handle of the rusted machete at his side, a weapon as battered as he was. It was a far cry from the ceremonial blades the Knights of the Old Order used to wield—beautiful things, inlaid with silver runes and holy symbols. Leo's machete was little more than a hunk of metal held together by duct tape and defiance.
"Think I heard something," Camille whispered, voice catching.
Leo tensed, eyes scanning the darkness. Shapes moved in the half-light—some just shadows of debris, others too quick, too fluid.
"Stay low," Leo muttered, crouching deeper into the archway's embrace.
Something wet and heavy landed with a splat a few meters away. The smell hit first—acrid, like burning hair and rotten eggs. Camille gagged, covering his nose.
Leo's stomach turned. "Shit. That's blood."
A second shape moved, faster this time—a blur of limbs and too many eyes reflecting the moonlight like shards of broken glass.
Camille's breath caught. "Leo—"
"Shut up," Leo hissed. His eyes narrowed. "Don't move. Don't breathe."
The thing slithered closer, half-crawling, half-gliding. Leo saw patches of skin melted into the concrete, a ribcage that pulsed like a bellows.
One of the thing's eyes—white and bulbous—fixed on them.
Leo's fingers curled tighter around the machete. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The thing's gaze flickered, head tilting in an unnatural, jerking motion.
For a breath, time itself seemed to hold its breath with them.
Then the creature let out a sound—a wet, gurgling moan that rose and fell like a dying siren.
Camille whimpered, the sound tiny and terrified.
The creature's head snapped toward the noise.
"Camille," Leo growled, "Run!"
"Run!" Leo's voice cracked like a whip, and Camille bolted, stumbling over cracked concrete as the night exploded into motion.
The creature shrieked—a raw, gurgling sound that rattled Leo's teeth—and lunged. Leo pivoted, his machete arcing in a wide slash. Sparks danced as the blade bit into the thing's flesh, but it didn't even flinch. A thick, black ichor oozed from the wound, steaming in the moonlight.
"Leo!" Camille cried, glancing over his shoulder.
"Keep moving!" Leo roared. He sidestepped another lunge, the creature's talons gouging deep scars into the archway behind him. Shards of stone rained down, clinking like broken glass.
The darkness pressed in around them, the shadows twisting and coiling like living things. Leo's breath came in ragged bursts. Every corner, every broken wall felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.
They burst from the archway into a maze of collapsed corridors, the remains of an old subway station. Pipes jutted from the walls like rusted bones, dripping foul-smelling water. Leo's boots slapped against the damp floor, sending echoes rolling through the darkness.
Camille stumbled, arms windmilling. Leo grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright. "Don't stop!"
Behind them, the creature shrieked again—closer now, the sound vibrating through the concrete like a heartbeat.
Camille's glasses were gone, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Leo—where—?"
"Just keep going," Leo snapped, shoving him forward.
They darted down a side tunnel, the air growing colder with each step. Frost laced the walls, and every breath steamed in the darkness. A low growl reverberated from somewhere ahead.
Leo's gut twisted. "Shit," he muttered. "It's not alone."
A shape loomed at the end of the tunnel—a twisted silhouette with too many arms, each one ending in a hooked blade. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, white and pitiless.
Camille whimpered, his knees buckling. Leo shoved him behind a broken pillar. "Stay down!"
The creature lunged. Leo swung the machete, but the blade struck one of its arms and skidded off like it hit steel. Pain exploded in his shoulder as the monster's claws raked across his flesh. He stumbled, gasping.
"Leo!" Camille's voice trembled with panic.
Leo clenched his teeth, fighting to stay upright. The thing loomed over him, its breath a fetid stench that made his eyes water.
"Come on, then," Leo hissed. "Come get me."
The monster lunged—
—and a thunderous boom cracked through the tunnel. A gout of flame erupted from somewhere in the darkness, engulfing the creature in a roaring inferno. It screamed, its voice a warbling shriek that rattled the ceiling.
Leo shielded his face from the heat, eyes wide. The creature thrashed, its many arms flailing before it collapsed in a smoldering heap.
A figure stepped from the smoke, staff glowing with residual fire. A woman—tall, dark-skinned, her eyes glinting with cold amusement.
"Well," she drawled, twirling the staff. "Looks like I showed up just in time."
Leo stared at her, blood dripping from his arm. "Who the hell are you?"
She smirked. "A friend. For now."
She extended a hand. "Name's Aïcha. Let's get the hell out of here before the rest of them show up."
Leo hesitated, eyes darting between her and Camille. The boy's face was pale, but he nodded weakly.
Grimacing, Leo took her hand.
"Fine," he growled. "Lead the way."
The corridor felt narrower now, the walls pressing in with every step. Leo stumbled as Aïcha dragged him forward, her grip iron-strong. Camille trailed behind them, his breath ragged.
Leo's shoulder burned, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his nerves. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the cracked tiles. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the darkness ahead.
"Keep up," Aïcha snapped, glancing back at Camille. "Unless you want to be monster chow."
Camille gave a shaky nod, eyes wide. His glasses were gone, leaving him blinking at shadows. "I—I'm trying—"
A low growl echoed through the tunnel, rattling loose chunks of concrete from the ceiling. Leo's heart thudded. The sound wasn't human—or if it was, humanity had long since rotted out of it.
Aïcha's staff glowed, runes flickering in the gloom. "They're tracking us," she muttered, voice tight. "I can mask us for a bit, but we have to move."
Leo staggered, pain lancing down his arm. "Mask us? What the hell are you talking about?"
She shot him a sharp look. "Magic, genius. I weave shadows, make us harder to smell."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "Magic. Right."
"Hey," Camille piped up, voice trembling but oddly determined. "Can you make me smell like something else? Like…like a rock?"
Aïcha's lips twitched in the faintest smile. "You're halfway there already."
Leo managed a strained laugh, though it came out more like a cough. "Focus. Where the hell are we going?"
Aïcha spun her staff, its runes pulsing. "There's an old maintenance shaft up ahead. If we can reach it, we can lose them in the sub-levels."
The growl came again, closer now. Leo's pulse spiked. "Then what are we waiting for?"
They bolted down the tunnel, boots slamming against cracked tiles. Debris littered the path—broken pipes, shattered lights, a half-buried mannequin staring sightlessly from a pile of rubble.
A sudden roar split the darkness. A shape burst from the shadows—a massive hulk of twisted muscle and bone, its face a ruin of teeth and glowing eyes.
"Shit—" Leo swung the machete, but his injured arm faltered. The blade struck the thing's chest and bounced off with a screech of metal.
Aïcha thrust her staff forward, a wave of black fire erupting from its tip. The creature staggered, its flesh bubbling like tar.
"Keep moving!" she yelled, grabbing Leo by the collar and yanking him backward.
Camille scrambled after them, eyes wide with terror. "Leo! Your arm—"
"Shut up and run!" Leo snarled, half-dragged by Aïcha's relentless grip.
They burst through a collapsed doorway into a chamber filled with broken machinery. Steam hissed from cracked pipes, filling the air with a metallic tang.
Aïcha spun, staff raised. Her eyes glowed faintly as she chanted under her breath, shadows coiling around them. The air thickened, cold and heavy.
Leo's head swam, pain and exhaustion blurring the edges of his vision. "What—are—you—doing—"
"Concealment," she hissed. "Just stay still—"
The roar of the creature echoed behind them, louder now, a tidal wave of fury rolling closer.
Leo clenched his teeth, the machete trembling in his grip. He could feel the darkness pulsing inside him, like a second heartbeat.
Aïcha's shadows thickened, wrapping them in a cocoon of darkness. The roar came again—right outside the chamber.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then the creature lunged, jaws gaping—
—and vanished, as if swallowed by the darkness itself.
Leo's breath hitched. The pain in his arm flared like wildfire.
Aïcha exhaled sharply, her staff's glow fading. "That should buy us a minute. Maybe two."
Camille collapsed against a broken console, chest heaving. "What—what the hell—was that thing?"
Aïcha glanced at Leo, eyes hard. "One of many. Zone 7's been overrun since the Judgement fell. That's why people avoid the tunnels."
Leo met her gaze, sweat streaming down his face. "Then we need to get the hell out."
Aïcha's expression darkened. "We will. But first—" She pointed to his shoulder. "We need to deal with that."
Leo's eyes flicked to his wound. Blood dripped onto the floor, mixing with the grime and oil.
"Fine," he grunted. "But make it quick."
Leo sat on a chunk of broken machinery, the rusted metal cold beneath him. Blood dripped steadily from his shoulder, soaking the already filthy fabric of his shirt. He clenched his jaw, watching Aïcha rummage through a small leather pouch.
She pulled out a handful of what looked like blackened herbs and a small vial of dark liquid. "Hold still," she said, her tone sharp.
Leo snorted. "Yeah, sure. It's not like I'm going anywhere."
She gave him a look that could've stripped paint from walls. "Don't tempt me to make that a permanent arrangement."
Camille hovered nearby, eyes darting from the wound to the darkness beyond the doorway. "Are…are you sure this is safe?"
Aïcha rolled her eyes. "You'd prefer I let him bleed out? Because that's the other option."
Leo winced as she pressed the herbs into the wound. It felt like a thousand wasps crawling under his skin. "Ah—shit—"
"Good," Aïcha muttered, focusing intently. "If it hurts, that means it's working."
Leo gritted his teeth. "Your bedside manner's a real treat."
She ignored him, pouring the dark liquid onto the herbs. The smell hit him like a punch to the face—bitter, acrid, something that reminded him of scorched rubber.
Camille wrinkled his nose. "What is that stuff?"
Aïcha didn't look up. "A family recipe. Burned nightshade, black iron root, and a few other things you'd rather not know."
Leo felt the pain shift from a sharp burn to a deep, gnawing ache. His vision swam, but he forced himself to stay focused.
"You gonna tell me what the hell's going on?" he growled. "What were those things back there?"
Aïcha paused, her eyes flicking to his. In the dim light, they seemed to glow faintly, like embers in ash. "Mutations. The Judgement didn't just break the cities—it broke the people, too. Some…changed."
Leo's stomach churned. "You mean people turned into—into that?"
Aïcha's jaw tightened. "Not all at once. It starts slow. Nightmares, fevers, hunger. Then the body starts…twisting." She wrapped a rough bandage around his shoulder. "Some call it the Curse of the Void. Others think it's the Système's way of weeding out the weak."
Camille shuddered. "That's…that's insane."
Aïcha finished tying the bandage with a sharp tug. "Welcome to Zone 7, kid."
Leo flexed his arm, testing the makeshift dressing. Pain radiated from the wound, but at least it wasn't gushing anymore. "Thanks," he muttered, voice low.
A faint smile tugged at Aïcha's lips. "Don't mention it. Just try not to die yet—I hate cleaning up corpses."
Leo let out a huff of laughter that died quickly as the reality of their situation pressed in. The darkness beyond the chamber seemed to move, shadows creeping like liquid across the broken floor.
"Listen," Aïcha said, eyes narrowing. "Those things aren't the only threat out here. The Régime's soldiers—Seraphiel's dogs—hunt anything that breathes. If they catch us—"
Leo met her gaze. "They won't."
Camille shifted nervously. "How can you be so sure?"
Leo's hand closed around the handle of his machete. He could feel something—something deep inside him—like a heartbeat made of shadow, pulsing with a cold, insistent rhythm.
"Because," he said, voice low and cold, "I won't let them."
Aïcha's eyes flickered, a hint of respect in their depths. "Then let's get moving," she said, her staff already in hand.
Leo stood, ignoring the pain. "Where to?"
She nodded toward a crumbling staircase at the far end of the room. "Down. Into the lower levels. If we're lucky, we'll find a way out before sunrise."
Leo glanced at Camille, who swallowed hard and nodded.
"Stay close," Leo said. "And keep your eyes open."
Together, the three of them moved toward the staircase, the darkness swallowing them one step at a time.
The staircase wound downward like the throat of a dying beast, each step cracked and slick with condensation. Leo led the way, his machete raised, shadows licking the edges of his vision like living things.
Camille's breath rasped behind him, sharp and uneven. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Aïcha's voice came from the rear, steady but hard. "It's the only idea we've got."
Leo ignored them both, his focus locked on the darkness below. Each step felt heavier than the last. The air thickened, sour with the smell of mold and old iron. A chill settled in his bones, but it wasn't the cold that made his skin crawl. It was something deeper—an itch in the back of his mind that felt like a whisper.
The System.
A pulse, faint but steady, thrummed in his chest. It felt alien, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him. He swallowed hard, gripping the machete until his knuckles turned white.
The stairs ended in a cavernous chamber, the ceiling sagging under the weight of years. Pipes jutted like broken ribs from the walls, some still weeping foul-smelling liquid. A cracked sign dangled from a chain overhead: "Maintenance Hub B-7."
Camille peered into the gloom, eyes wide. "What…what is this place?"
Aïcha's staff glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. "Old subway control," she murmured. "Before the Collapse, they ran the trains from here."
Leo's gaze flicked across the room—broken consoles, shattered glass, and old graffiti half-buried in grime. He stepped forward, boots crunching on debris.
Then the ceiling groaned.
A hairline fracture spiderwebbed above them, dust sifting down like gray snow. Leo froze, instincts screaming.
"Move!" Aïcha barked.
Too late. The ceiling collapsed in a roar of concrete and steel. Leo lunged, shoving Camille toward the nearest pillar. Dust and darkness swallowed them.
A beam crashed down, slamming into the floor inches from Leo's head. Sparks flew. His ears rang with the force of the impact.
"Aïcha!" he shouted, voice hoarse.
A cough answered from the other side of the rubble. "Still alive," she called, her voice tight with pain.
Leo scrambled to his feet, the darkness pressing in. He couldn't see Camille. "Camille?"
Silence.
His chest tightened. He willed his legs to move, crawling over broken beams and tangled cables. "Camille!"
A faint, ragged cough. "Here…"
Leo's heart lurched. He found Camille half-buried beneath a steel beam, dust streaking his face. His glasses were gone, one eye swollen shut.
"Hold on," Leo muttered, adrenaline surging. He wedged his machete under the beam, teeth gritted as he heaved. Metal groaned. A burst of strength—more than he'd ever felt—flooded his veins, a shadowy force that crackled in his bones.
The beam shifted. Leo's muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop. Camille's terrified eyes locked on his.
"Leo…"
The beam rose an inch—then another—before a second crack split the air, and the weight of the ceiling shifted again.
A tremor of darkness rippled through Leo's mind, a voice not his own whispering: Embrace it.
His hands burned with a cold fire. The darkness inside him surged, a black tide flooding his senses.
He roared, the sound raw and inhuman, and heaved. The beam lifted. Camille scrambled free, his face a mask of terror and awe.
Leo collapsed, breath ragged, his arms trembling. The darkness receded, but the echo of that voice lingered, a promise and a threat.
Aïcha appeared from the haze, limping but alive. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. "What…what did you just do?"
Leo met her gaze, chest heaving. "I don't know."
The System pulsed again, a steady rhythm in his veins. Judgment: First Awakening.
Leo shuddered.
Aïcha's eyes narrowed. "Whatever it was, we need to move. More will be coming."
Leo forced himself to stand, leaning on the machete for support. He looked at Camille—pale but alive.
"Let's go," he said, his voice hoarse but determined.
Together, they limped deeper into the darkness, the System's cold power simmering just beneath Leo's skin.