Arke closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to that first moment he glimpsed the Reverse. The world had shifted then, like slipping through a crack in reality. He breathed in slowly. The air was colder now.
When he opened his eyes, the track around him had dimmed. Shadows clung to the edges of the stadium, and everything looked drained of color—lifeless, distant, like a dream gone stale. He glanced at the bench where Basti had been sitting, but it was empty.
"I'm in the Reverse," Arke muttered.
Then a low snarl broke the silence.
He turned fast.
A creature stood at the far end of the track. Its body was shaped like a panther—massive, pitch black, its fur rippling with an oily shimmer. But where its sleek form should've ended, eight long, semi-fluid tentacles uncoiled from its sides, swaying gently in the still air. Its eyes were pure void—no whites, no pupils—just a faint, pulsing red in the center.
Arke began sidestepping slowly, circling to gain a better angle—trying to read the form of the beast, to gauge its reach. His thoughts raced. Should he wait for it to strike first… or make the opening move?
The creature angled its head toward him—then lunged.
Arke braced himself, eyes locked, reading its motion.
Before the creature could close the distance, several tentacles whipped forward. Arke hopped side to side, shifting positions as the track cracked and splintered beneath each crushing blow.
He ran.
The creature gave chase, fast and relentless. Arke leapt up onto the benches. Just as he predicted, the tentacles followed—smashing through the plastic seats and metal supports behind him.
He bounded from bench to bench, each one breaking apart in bursts of debris as the tentacles struck where he had just been.
Reaching the uppermost row, Arke kicked off the wall and flipped over. His feet barely touched another bench before he launched forward, summoning his blade mid-air. He slashed.
But a tentacle slammed into him mid-strike, cutting the arc short and hurling him violently across the stadium.
He hit the track hard, rolling, dust rising around him.
But he pushed to his feet without hesitation, chest heaving.
The beast loomed above on the benches, snarling, then leapt down onto the track with a heavy thud. It began walking slowly toward Arke.
Arke flicked his dagger into a reverse grip, the blade angled downward beneath his hand.
He held still, watching.
The beast didn't move any closer.
"Okay," Arke muttered. "You want me to attack. Let's give it a try."
He dashed forward, tightened his grip, and leapt toward the creature. Just as he expected, a tentacle lashed out.
But instead of dodging, he drove the dagger straight into it.
The blade scraped along the surface like metal against hard rubber—no give, no slice, not even a scratch.
A second tentacle slammed into him from the side.
The impact sent him flying, harder than before. He hit the track and rolled violently, his weapon slipping from his grasp. The dagger skidded across the ground, bouncing with sharp clanks before coming to a stop in the distance.
Arke pushed himself to his feet. His whole body throbbed with pain, and his arms were streaked with cuts and scratches.
How am I supposed to kill this thing? he thought. It's fast… and my dagger can't even cut through its tentacles.
He scanned the stadium, eyes searching for anything he could use.
Then the beast lunged.
Arke turned and sprinted toward the exit. He shoved the glass door open and burst through just as the sound of shattering glass rang behind him.
He ran toward a parked car, jumped onto its roof, and launched himself upward—using the car as a pivot to reach the second-floor open hallway.
He looked back.
The creature was already climbing, its tentacles gripping walls and ledges as it pulled itself upward.
Arke turned and ran down the hallway, then vaulted over the railing and grabbed the beam above—pulling himself up toward the next floor.
But then he felt it.
A tentacle wrapped tightly around his ankle.
He was yanked down violently, his vision blurring before he slammed into the roof of the car below. The metal crumpled under the impact, the car alarm erupting in a deafening wail.
Blood burst from his mouth. Pain exploded across his body.
Am I going to die here? he thought.
Then he remembered the coach's message.
"A lot of athletes are sick. Me included. Stay safe."
His coach. The team. They will all die.
His thoughts flicked to Yarih. That smile in her profile picture—so bright, so alive.
He still hadn't seen it in person.
"No… not yet. I'm not dying here." Arke said.
He rolled just as a tentacle crashed down, crushing the roof where he'd been lying and silencing the alarm in one brutal hit.
His mind raced. He ran, breathing hard, eyes darting for anything—anywhere—to turn the fight.
Then he saw it.
He sprinted toward the building, through the first-floor hallways. The beast chased close behind.
"Our classroom," he muttered. He forced his legs to move faster, despite the pain.
The noise behind him grew louder—the beast smashing through walls and windows as it closed in. Arke turned a corner sharply, the creature crashing hard into the wall behind him. But it recovered quickly, rearing back toward him.
Arke dove forward and hit the ground, right in front of their classroom.
The beast lunged—just as he hoped.
Its massive body crashed into the narrow corner, too large to fit cleanly. Its tentacles flailed, pinned awkwardly between the walls. It roared, struggling to move.
Arke didn't hesitate.
Still lying on the ground, he rolled beneath it, summoned his dagger, and drove it upward.
He slashed at the exposed underbelly—again, and again. Purple blood sprayed across his arms, his face, soaking him. The creature screamed, but he kept going.
His strikes turned wild—rage, exhaustion, instinct. Then the blade hit something solid, deep inside. The beast convulsed once.
Its head dropped.
Arke lay there, breath ragged, hands trembling.
"I did it," he whispered.