"Some deaths you can avoid. Others… you just delay long enough to stare back at them."
The rain had stopped, but the city still wept.
Smoke rose from half-collapsed buildings, and somewhere far off, something screamed — long and distorted, like metal twisting into itself.
Kael led the group out of the supermarket cautiously, his boots splashing through shallow puddles of ash and blood. Min-Jae followed, shoulders burdened with bags of scavenged food and water. Behind them, Yuna guided a few survivors — the wounded leaning on makeshift crutches, the children clinging to her coat.
The air was heavy, not just from humidity but pressure — that strange invisible weight that made every breath feel like a struggle.
Kael kept scanning their surroundings. Every shadow felt alive. Every movement behind cracked glass could be a predator.
"Where to now?" Min-Jae asked quietly, adjusting the strap of his bag.
Kael didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked toward the horizon — the museum's shattered dome glinting faintly a few blocks away. The artifacts he'd found came from there. Maybe more lay inside.
"East," he finally said. "We stick close to cover. No sound, no fire."
Min hesitated. "You think those… monsters are still around?"
Kael gave him a sharp glance. "They don't leave territory. The Alpha's gone, but that means something stronger will take its place soon."
Yuna, walking a few paces behind, frowned slightly. "Stronger? How do you know that?"
Kael didn't answer right away. He couldn't tell her about the chalice — not yet. Instead, he said, "Because the world doesn't like empty thrones."
They moved quietly through the ruins, stepping over burnt-out cars and bodies frozen mid-flight. The air buzzed faintly, as if the city itself hummed with unstable power.
Kael's senses were sharper now — not just alertness, but something deeper. Since absorbing the Alpha's core, he felt things differently. He could hear the pulse of monsters before they appeared, feel the faint pull of energy through concrete walls.
They turned a corner.
And that's when the ground trembled.
It started subtle — a low vibration through the soles of their feet. Then it grew. Windows rattled. Dust fell from broken ledges. Birds — the few that remained — burst from ruined rooftops, scattering in panic.
Kael froze instantly, hand up. "Stop."
Everyone did. Even the children stopped crying.
The next second, a sound ripped through the sky — a concussive, earth-shaking BOOM.
The air compressed, then exploded outward. The sheer pressure hit them like a physical wall, forcing Kael to his knees. Yuna gasped, clutching her head. Several survivors collapsed outright, faces pale, blood dripping from their noses.
The world went quiet again — unnaturally quiet.
Then came the shadow.
It fell over the street like an eclipse.
Kael forced his head up, vision blurring from the shockwave. What he saw above froze his blood — and lit something primal inside him all at once.
A dragon.
Not from fantasy. Not from myths. This one was real.
Its scales were black, polished like obsidian, reflecting firelight from the burning skyline. Each wingbeat sent cyclones through the clouds. Its eyes — molten gold slit by crimson — looked down not at prey, but at insignificance.
Even from hundreds of meters above, its sheer presence crushed them.
Yuna fell to one knee beside him, gasping. "What… what is that…?"
"Pressure," Kael said, voice strained. "Aura."
His whole body trembled — not in fear, but resistance. Every instinct screamed to submit, to lie down, to make himself smaller. But Kael clenched his fists until blood ran down his palms.
Move. Don't break.
Min-Jae was beside him, trying to stand but failing, his baseball bat clattering onto the asphalt. "I— can't— breathe—"
"Stay down!" Kael barked. "Don't fight it. Breathe shallow."
The survivors writhed on the ground. Some fainted outright. Others wept silently, pressed against the pavement.
The dragon's wings spread wider, blotting out the sun entirely for a moment. Then, with a thunderous crack, it shifted course — flying toward the north, where plumes of smoke were rising like funeral banners.
As it passed, its tail brushed a distant skyscraper. The building folded like paper.
Then it was gone.
Silence returned. But it wasn't relief. It was disbelief.
Kael slowly stood, every muscle screaming. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. His breaths came sharp and deliberate.
Yuna was still kneeling, shaking. "What… was that thing? How can something like that even exist?"
Kael looked toward the fading black speck on the horizon. His expression was unreadable — calm, calculating, the storm under ice.
"That," he said softly, "was a top-tier Alpha."
Yuna blinked, confused. "Alpha?"
Kael turned to her, his tone clinical, detached — like a soldier explaining tactics. "Monsters have ranks. The stronger they are, the smarter they get. The ones we fought in the supermarket were low-tier — barely aware. The Alpha that led them was mid-tier. That…" — he pointed to the sky — "…that was high-tier. Maybe the highest."
Min-Jae swallowed hard. "You mean it can think? Like… like a human?"
Kael nodded slowly. "And then some. The top three tiers can reason. Top two can plan. The top one—" He paused, eyes narrowing. "—can outthink you."
Yuna's lips parted in horror. "So… there could be more like it?"
Kael's gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "There are. Ten, maybe less. But they're enough."
The group fell silent. The only sounds were the creak of shifting debris and the faint whimper of wind.
Finally, Yuna spoke, her voice quieter now — fragile but steady. "Then what do we do?"
Kael turned to face her. His expression softened, barely perceptible, but enough.
"We survive," he said. "And we get stronger."
They set up camp inside an underground parking structure that night. The heavy concrete muffled the world above — a temporary illusion of safety.
Kael stood at the entrance, staring into the distance through a jagged crack in the wall. The city skyline flickered — a wounded beast under a dying sky.
Min-Jae approached, holding a piece of salvaged metal like a makeshift pan. "We got some canned food heating. Yuna said she wants to check on everyone after that. She's… worried."
"She should be," Kael replied.
Min set the pan down beside him, exhaling. "You know, before all this, I thought the worst thing that could happen was failing college. Now…" He laughed bitterly. "…now I just hope I wake up tomorrow."
Kael didn't respond. He reached into his pack, pulling out the bronze chalice again. The surface was dull now, but he could still feel that faint hum — like a heartbeat out of sync with his own.
Min noticed. "That thing again? You sure it's safe?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. He stared into the cup. "It's not safe. But it's useful."
"What does it do?"
Kael's eyes flickered — haunted, distant. "It shows you the moment you die."
Min stared. "That's— that's messed up, man."
Kael smirked faintly, but his voice stayed cold. "It's truth. Everyone dies anyway. Better to know how."
He placed the chalice down beside him, letting the faint metal hum echo in the stillness.
Yuna approached them quietly, her hands wrapped in clean bandages. "Everyone's stable now. No major injuries." She hesitated, then added softly, "You didn't check yourself. You're bleeding."
Kael looked down — a shallow cut on his forearm he hadn't noticed. "It's fine."
Yuna knelt beside him anyway, reaching out. Her palms glowed faintly again. Warm light enveloped his arm, the wound closing instantly.
"Not fine anymore," she said gently.
Kael met her eyes for a long moment. There was strength there — quiet, unyielding.
"You're calm," he said.
"I have to be," she replied. "If I panic, everyone else will too."
He studied her expression — that balance between fear and purpose. Then he nodded once, approving silently.
Min looked between them, half-grinning despite the exhaustion. "Guess we got ourselves a healer, huh? Maybe we're like… an apocalypse party now."
Kael didn't smile, but his eyes softened slightly. "Then we start acting like one."
Yuna blinked. "Meaning?"
Kael stood, scanning the dark horizon through the broken gap. His voice dropped — quiet, commanding.
"The world's changed. Monsters evolve. So will we."
The next morning, the world had a strange stillness — the kind that came after catastrophe but before realization.
Kael gathered the small group — fifteen survivors in total. The supermarket's signs still hung in the distance, half-torn and blackened.
He faced them with calm authority.
"We move north today," he began. "The roads are unstable, so we travel light and silent. No fires, no shouting. If you see something move, you don't run. You freeze. Understood?"
Murmurs of assent followed.
He continued, "If anyone finds something glowing — like a crystal or core — you bring it to me or Min-Jae. Don't touch it directly. We don't know which ones awaken or kill."
Yuna glanced up, curiosity flickering. "You mean like the one I—"
Kael nodded once. "Exactly. You got lucky. Others won't."
He paused, eyes narrowing as a low breeze whispered through the ruins.
"Artifacts, however…" He reached into his bag, pulling out a rusted bronze knife and the empty chalice. "Those are different. They were built long before this started — back when this power was known."
Yuna tilted her head. "How do you know that?"
Kael's gaze darkened. "Because someone had to start all this."
Silence fell again. Only the wind answered.
That night, Kael sat alone, the chalice beside him.
He'd seen his death once. The dragon. The fire. The screams.
And yet, a strange calm filled him. Not acceptance — preparation.
He glanced at the others — Min sleeping restlessly, Yuna curled near the wall, faint golden light pulsing from her hands even in sleep. The others lay huddled together, clinging to hope like it was something physical.
Kael closed his eyes.
If I'm to die by that dragon… then I'll make sure it remembers me before it does.
He leaned back against the cold concrete, whispering to the empty air — maybe to himself, maybe to the world.
"Coreborn, huh?" he murmured. "Then let's see what being born of the core really means."