The crack in the wall wasn't the end of the voice
It was only the beginning.
The moment those words whispered—
"We are the ones left behind the final line"—
the wall exploded.
Literally.
Chunks of cement burst into the air like the bunker was vomiting out its own guts.
And before I could even blink,
something emerged through the smoke and dust.
Not human—
but shaped like one.
Tall. Unnaturally thin.
Its skin was drenched in ink-black.
And its face…
its face was a mask of shattered bone,
as if someone had tried to reshape the image of death
with a severed hand.
I ran.
There's no room for heroism here.
Survival is sacred.
I hurled myself down the bunker's back corridor,
slamming the rusted iron door with my shoulder,
and burst into air darker than what I'd left behind.
The sky had no moon, no stars—
as if the night itself was tailored for escape.
Behind me... footsteps.
Steady.
Calm.
As if the thing wasn't chasing me—
but walking me to my death.
The city I once knew had become the ghost of a ghost.
Collapsed buildings, streets choking with ash,
and distant voices—
inhuman.
They called to me, whispered my name.
But I didn't look back.
In my pocket: the map.
The same one I drew before it all collapsed.
On it, a single place I'd never been.
A dark red circle, with three words etched around it:
"When the rift opens."
Was that the rift?
Did that thing come from there?
I stopped to catch my breath behind an overturned car,
but even the air was betraying me.
Heavy—tainted with something that couldn't be smelled,
only felt.
As if everything in this world had turned against breathing itself.
Then I heard the voice again.
Not behind me.
Inside me.
"Running doesn't make you alive. Come... remember."
Something trembled in my chest.
This wasn't the first time I'd heard that voice.
It was… the third.
---
The first time was a year ago,
when the city fell—when it all began to burn.
I was with them—the ones who still believed the world could be repaired.
We raised our weapons toward the shadows...
never knowing we were firing at our own illusions.
There, in the heart of the ash,
I saw that thing for the first time.
And he was with me.
My brother.
---
The second time?
After the fall.
When I realized my brother hadn't died—
He had changed.
His voice kept haunting me every night.
He didn't scream.
He didn't beg.
He whispered—
the same phrase, over and over:
"Those who understand, do not forgive."
---
And now...
The third time.
But it feels different.
I feel it in my bones—
like I'm no longer running from something outside…
…but from something within.
I looked around.
No sign of the shadow.
Had it vanished?
Or had it entered me?
I no longer know exactly who I am—
but one thing has become painfully clear:
This… isn't a chase.
It's a summoning.