Daichi's eyes snapped open to screaming.
His whole body ached. Lying in a crater, rubble digging into his back. The sky above was orange-red, reflecting the chaos beneath it.
Black smoke twisted through the air in thick columns—carrying the stench of burnt flesh, ash, and blood.
GASP!
His lungs struggled against the toxic air—blood spilled from his mouth.
BOOM!!
Something cratered the ground next to him; a massive cloud of dust erupted from the impact.
Daichi's palms went white from the hard debris—his arms buckled—straining as he pulled himself from the crater.
He coughed; his eyes fogged and watered from the dust.
Climbing out, he stood limp against a pillar. Covering his mouth and nose with one hand, the other tight on his chest from the burning sensation inside.
Dust around the impact cleared—in the middle of the crater. A golden spear lodged deep in the ground.
"Shit—"
He tried breathing again; even if only a little—but every breath felt like swallowing razors. The contaminated air clawed at his throat.
Covering his mouth with his hand did nothing.
His palm was slippery and wet with blood.
Looking around; His legs were weak, and his eyes red and clouded with dust and splinters.
But he had to move—he needed to find Mori.
And slowly, the world focused: Blood painted the debris beneath him—bright red against gray rubble.
His stomach churned.
Oh god.
What used to be a village, maybe even a town—was now a graveyard.
Buildings as fragile memories—piles of stone and charred wood.
And the locals?—disfigured human bodies, drained of life—littered the ground like discarded dolls.
Their limbs bent at impossible angles, their skin pale and papery like they'd been hollowed out from the inside.
People were running; a human stampede stormed to the trees: screaming, crying, and trampling those who couldn't keep up.
An elderly man fell—Daichi shivered, watching the crowd swallow him without a pause.
But above it all, floating in the air—a beautiful nightmare.
What the hell is that thing?
Two sets of wings and fierce, flaming feathers.
An irregularly shaped halo sat above its head: a soft golden hue coated its frame, and the creature's skin shimmered with robes that flowed around it like weightless water.
It was pleasant to the eye—but its smile was pure, content malice.
Like a child pulling wings off flies.
Daichi's throat contorted—his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, it met coiled barbs and a heavy anchor in his core.
Golden spears hovered around the creature. Coated in flames that burnt proudly.
The spears tore through the air like meteorites—and whistled against the wind.
Each spear carried its own thermal weight—warping the air, incinerating anything they touched.
Piercing flesh and stone effortlessly: buildings exploded, and bodies tore with ease.
Every kill sent colorful mist that rose from the corpses—whites, greens, blues, and an undertone of purples.
Flowing up like rivers defying gravity—adding to the mix of red and a slightly gold aura swirling around the creature.
It tilted its head—watching the mist flow to it with no haste—and Its smile widened.
And another barrage of spears came.
Barrage.
After barrage.
MORI.
"Mori!!"
"Where are you?!"
Daichi's voice muffled under the chaos. Raw and desperate.
"MORI!!"
His legs barely held him—giving way as he collapsed against a crumbled building; the toxic air made his head spin—but he kept moving, resolve weak and his mind hazy.
Think. THINK. Where would he be? Did we land together? Is he alone? How long has it been since the Arks?
His memories are fragmented: The Ark was activating, the portal imploding. Darkness. Then waking up here.
How long was I out?
"No. Don't think about that—focus."
"He's alive. He has to be alive."
Daichi moved from ruin to ruin, staying low. He wanted to run, to survive.
But he couldn't. Not without Mori.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please—
He froze.
A trail of blood—still wet.
He grabbed his pockets; his phone, but also, a slender frame—his flip knife. Still there.
He flicked it open—its blade glistened.
Daichi's steps are slow, timid, and weary—the blood led around a corner.
He looked around.
This is stupid—what am I doing...
No way this is Mori's blood.
"Just go!"
His heart pounded—his knife ready.
And then he heard it.
Small, frightened whimpering and sniffling.
His eyes followed the blood trail, and now, he saw it.
A girl. Clutching a smaller kid—a boy, barely conscious. Both covered in blood.
Arrows lodged in their bodies; old-fashioned arrows, wooden shafts with metal heads.
Arrows?
What kind of place is this?!
Daichi stepped closer.
Crunch.
The girl's head snapped up—her cheeks stained with tears.
Her hand shot out, grabbing a broken stick: pointing it at him like a weapon.
Shaking—tears streamed down her dirt-covered face, cutting clean lines through the grime.
"Stay back!"
Her voice raw and defiant—but also terrified.
He stopped; raised his hands slowly, the knife still visible in one hand, but it pointed down.
"I'm not gonna hurt you."
She didn't lower the stick—her grip on the boy tightened. Protectively.
Her young eyes were untrusting and feral.
If Mori were here. Hurt and alone. Would someone help him?
"Please," He edged closer. "Let me help."
Her hand trembled—her eyes flicked between him and the boy in her arms. Weighing her options.
Daichi's knees met the hard ground slowly—his hands visible.
He swallowed, looked at the boy, and heard the shallow, rattling breathing.
"I can't just walk past you."
If someone walked past Mori like this, I'd never forgive them.
Something in his voice must've broken through; the girl's shoulders sagged—the stick lowered an inch.
Daichi moved closer—carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.
The boy was in bad shape—multiple arrow wounds pierced his small body. A thin stream of blood ran from his mouth.
Each breath looked like agony—his chest barely rising, his eyes half-lidded and glazed.
He's not gonna make it.
Daichi's stomach twisted—but he pushed it down.
Focus...
I can only do what I can.
The fabric came apart easily under his strength.
The girl had a deep wound in her leg—an arrow lodged in, broken off at the shaft.
Blood pooling beneath her—wet under her thigh.
Daichi wrapped the cloth around her thigh, just above the wound—he pulled it tight, making a simple tourniquet.
"Nghh."
She flinched, but didn't pull away.
"The arrow," He looked up at her. "I need to pull it out."
The girl looked at him—then down at her leg.
Her jaw clenched.
She swatted his hand away.
Her palms hugged the broken shaft of the arrow.
And pulled!
"NGHHH!!"
Her face twisted in agony: tears spilled over her cheeks, but she kept pulling.
Her teeth gritted—stifling any sound trying to escape.
Blood gushed as the arrowhead came free.
Daichi moved fast—pressing cloth to the wound. Tying it tight with another strip.
She gasped.
Her tears flowed freely—but she kept silent.
Tough kid.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes wide with fresh terror.
Daichi followed her gaze.
The creature was still there: still floating, still raining death.
The ground rumbled from the explosion around. The rubble and ruins rattled.
"We need to move," the girl's voice low, hoarse, and feaverish.
Her free hand frantically clawed at rubble beneath her—the other still holding the boy close.
Daichi caught on; throwing rocks aside, pushing larger stones with both hands—his muscles screaming in protest.
And below—a trapdoor's wooden handle became visible.
The girl kept digging: her fingers tore as they bled—the hair on her arms rose.
She flinched at every explosion; close and far.
The more rubble they moved, the more visible the door became—wooden and old, with iron hinges.
Before Daichi even fully moved the last slab of stone, the girl had already pried the door open.
Her small frame slid through with ease, clutching the little boy—disappearing into the darkness below.
Daichi peered back.
The blood trail; Her blood, leading straight to them.
Can't leave it like this. That thing will find us.
He grabbed rocks and kicked debris over the trail.
Palms slippery with his blood, and bruised.
Covered the obvious path as best as he could.
Using larger stones to surround the trapdoor—almost camouflaging it.
His arms almost gave in, struggling to place a specific piece of rubble above the door itself—heavy enough to hide it, light enough to move from below.
One last look at the sky.
The angel was still there—raining spears.
Daichi's hands shook.
Mori. I'm sorry. I'll find you. I promise.
He slid through the gap—his arm sliced against the frame—warm blood slowly trickling.
The Darkness swallowed him whole as he grabbed the underside of the door. Pulled it shut above him.
SLAM!
The sounds of the chaos above muffled—as Daichi descended into the unknown.