"I used to think the world was something you could understand if you tried hard enough.
That if you were good, if you stayed true, if you believed in the right things… the world would meet you halfway.
But the truth is — the world doesn't care.
It doesn't care about our dreams, our promises, our reasons.
One day, you're sitting with your friends, laughing about nothing.
And the next, the ground opens, the sky screams, and you're standing somewhere that feels like the end of history.
I didn't choose to come here.
None of us did.
But maybe… maybe this place will show us who we really are."
SEPT 2025
The first thing that hit them was the smell.
It wasn't the familiar campus cocktail of stale beer, wet pavement, and cheap coffee. This was the smell of rust, old smoke, and something metallic and sweet that caught in the back of the throat.
"Ugh... I think I'm still drunk," Vivek muttered, rubbing his eyes. "This is a weird afterparty."
"Dude, where's the library?" Sathwik asked, his usual laugh dying in his throat. He spun in a slow circle. "Guys? Where... are we?"
They stood on a cracked, basalt-grey plain under a bruised, arsenic-yellow sky. A cold wind tore at their hoodies and jeans, carrying fine black ash that stuck to their skin. In the distance, the skeletal remains of a fortress clawed at the horizon.
Kushal Nightfall was the first to find a target. "Prajwal. This is one of your stupid, elaborate pranks, isn't it?" His voice was already cracking. "Some VR, AR thing? It's not funny, man!"
Prajwal Xuan, headphones still draped around his neck, took a slow, deliberate sniff of the air. He smirked, but his eyes were sharp, scanning every rock, every shadow. "Ah, yes, Kushal. You've uncovered my master plan. I spent the last of my student loan on a multi-sensory, inter-dimensional kidnapping experience, complete with olfactory simulation. All just to ruin your Tuesday. You got me."
"Shut the f**k up, both of you!" Rajveer roared, his fists already clenched. "Where are we? This isn't campus!"
"No signal," Neha said, her voice quiet but cutting through the rising panic. She held up her dead phone. Priya, beside her, was already checking her own, her perfect composure faltering for the first time.
"Everyone, stop," Akash Satori commanded. His voice wasn't the loudest, but it had a weight that made most of them pause. "Check your pockets. Wallets, keys, phones. Sound off. Anyone missing anything?"
A frantic patter of hands on denim and cotton.
"This is..." Uday Morax started, his eyes wide. He tried for a joke, his voice squeaking. "This is an isekai, isn't it? Oh god, am I the protagonist? Do I get a harem?"
"You're not even the protagonist of your own life, Uday," Vanshika said, not even looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the distant, ruined fortress.
"Look at the hill," Shasank said. It was the first thing he'd spoken. His voice was flat, dry.
They all followed his gaze. A low rise to their left was dotted with dark poles. They weren't telephone poles. They weren't flags.
"Are those... scarecrows?" Pranav asked, taking a half-step forward, his brow furrowed in concern.
"No," Shasank replied, his face utterly impassive. "They're bodies."
The humor evaporated. The denial shattered.
The figures on the pikes were old. Flayed by the wind, picked clean by carrion birds, but unmistakably human. Their heads were missing. Banners, torn and faded, fluttered nearby, bearing the sigil of a coiled black serpent.
This wasn't a prank.
Kushal broke.
"No. No, no, no, I want to go home!" he whimpered, grabbing onto Linux, who just stood there, paralyzed. "This isn't real! I want to go home, I want to go home!"
"Vedha Bhai, stop smiling, you creep," Priya snapped, her voice trembling.
"I'm not smiling, I'm just enjoying the ambiance," Vedha Bhai countered, his grin widening.
"Everyone, behind me. Now!" Akash ordered, pushing Pranav and Uday back. "We stick together. We find shelter. We make a plan."
"A plan?" Prajwal laughed, a sharp, humorless bark. "We're a dozen hungover students in a Berserk fan-convention. The plan is 'don't get flayed.' We need to move, not form a committee."
"We need leadership, Prajwal! Not a stand-up routine!" Akash shot back, his eyes flashing.
"And we need to survive, Akash! Not debate political theory!" Prajwal pointed, his smirk gone, replaced by something cold. "And we just lost that option."
A sound. The crunch of gravel. The clink of steel.
Emerging from a dip in the plain were five figures. They weren't students. They were men, built like stone blocks, encased in plates of scarred, overlapping iron armor that looked more functional than decorative. They carried heavy-bladed swords and crossbows. Their faces were hidden behind grim, slitted helms.
They stopped, fifty yards away. The students froze, a splash of bright, modern color in a world of grey and rust.
Rachit, vibrating with nervous energy, yelled first. "What the hell do they want?"
"They're just cosplayers, right?" Sathwik said, his laugh sounding more like a choke.
"Shut up," Rajveer growled. He puffed out his chest, taking a step forward. "I'll handle this. I'll talk to them."
"Rajveer, no! Get back here!" Pranav yelled, reaching for him.
"Hey!" Rajveer shouted at the soldiers, balling his fists. "We're lost, bro! Which way to the city?"
The lead soldier, the tallest one, barked an order in a harsh, guttural language that sounded like tearing rocks. He raised his crossbow, aiming it not at Rajveer, but at Akash, who looked the most like a leader.
"Akash, move!" Prajwal shouted.
The thwack of the bowstring echoed in the sudden silence.
Time seemed to stutter.
The black-fletched bolt shot across the gap.
Akash's eyes widened. He tried to move, but he was frozen. Pranav lunged, too late.
Rajveer, in a fit of rage at being ignored, roared and charged the soldier. "You're aiming at the wrong guy, asshole!"
This sudden, suicidal movement threw off the soldier's aim. The bolt, meant for Akash's chest, now flew straight at Rajveer's throat.
"NO!" Kushal screamed, throwing his hands up to cover his eyes, pure, undiluted terror ripping from his lungs. "STOP!"
As he screamed, the air around the flying bolt seemed to thicken. A faint, whining echo vibrated in the air, a sound that felt more like a headache than a noise.
The crossbow bolt, an inch from Rajveer's neck, suddenly and impossibly veered three inches to the right, as if it had hit a solid, invisible wall.
It didn't miss.
It slammed deep into Rajveer's shoulder, punching through his jacket and muscle with a wet, sickening thud.
Rajveer stared at the quivering bolt, then at his shoulder, where a dark, crimson flower was already blooming. He opened his mouth.
And screamed.
The first blood.
Everyone stared. Kushal, trembling, lowered his hands, looking at them in horrified confusion. "What... what just happened?"
Prajwal's eyes narrowed, all humor gone. He had seen it. So had Vanshika, whose hand was now resting on her chest, her breathing controlled. So had Neha, who was no longer looking at the soldiers, but was staring, calculating, at Kushal.
The lead soldier roared. He didn't know what had happened, but he saw it as an attack. He saw it as magic.
He dropped his crossbow, drew his massive, iron blade, and pointed it at the students.
"KORRAK!" he bellowed.
The other four soldiers drew their swords. They lowered their visors. And, as one, they began to run.