I'm a rat. I can admit that much. I'm the farthest thing from a hero. Those born with superpowers or access to mana are fighting the invasions head on yet here I am hiding in my room.
Can you blame me?
I'm shorter than average and my right foot is broken after an accident at work.
The invasion began an hour ago and I had already reinforced the door and closed the blinds on my windows. I moved my couch against the entrance and wedged a chair under the handle just in case. It would not stop anything strong but it made me feel less exposed. Less like prey.
I had a few tools to defend myself. A revolver with about twenty four bullets and a crowbar I stole from the maintenance room months ago and never returned. I kept the gun on the table beside my bed and the crowbar leaning against the wall within reach.
The air felt wrong. Heavy. Like the whole building was holding its breath with me.
I had been recovering from my foot injury for about a week now and it would take at least two more weeks before I could properly walk again. I could limp if I really pushed myself but pain would slow me down and pain gets you killed. I was dead the moment any of those larger monsters brute forced their way in.
So I hid.
I had enough supplies for about a week. Bottled water. Canned food. Instant noodles. Painkillers. I was not proud of it but I planned ahead. I told myself I was being practical. I would be damned if I did not use that time to focus on healing.
Surely they would stop the invasion by then.
About thirty percent of the population are mana users with classes related to how they use mana while five percent manifest supernatural abilities that are not related to mana at all. The rest of us are normal. Fragile. Replaceable.
Our defense against something like this should be good. Heroes exist. Guilds exist. People train their whole lives for this.
So for now the goal was simple.
Survive.
Just then I heard screaming from outside my apartment.
It was not the distant kind you hear on the news or through a video. It was close. Too close. The sound echoed through the narrow hallway outside my door and bounced off the walls of the building like it had nowhere to go.
I froze.
Another scream followed. Shorter. Cut off.
Then came the footsteps.
They were heavy. Slow. Each step made the floor vibrate faintly beneath me. Not enough to shake the room but enough that I could feel it through the bed frame. Through my bones.
Something was walking down the hallway.
I grabbed the revolver and held it with both hands. My palms were already slick with sweat and I wiped them against my shirt before gripping it again. The metal felt cold. Too light for what I was asking it to do.
The footsteps stopped.
I could hear something breathing. Deep and wet. Like air being dragged through a throat that was not meant for human sounds. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from making any noise.
My heart was pounding so loud I was sure it could hear it.
Then something scraped against the wall outside. A long dragging sound followed by a wet click. Claws maybe. Or scales rubbing against concrete.
I realized then that I was breathing too fast.
I clamped my mouth shut and inhaled slowly through my nose. Even that felt too loud. My chest burned as I forced myself to slow down. One breath. Then another.
The footsteps resumed.
Closer now.
Each step stopped right in front of an apartment. I could imagine it tilting its head. Listening. Smelling. Deciding.
I thought of my door. The thin wood. The cheap lock. The chair jammed under the handle like a joke. I pictured it bursting through and I saw myself trying to crawl away on one good foot while my broken one dragged uselessly behind me.
I stopped breathing.
Not all at once. I let the air out slowly until my lungs were almost empty. Then I held it there. My chest tightened immediately and panic flared but I pushed it down. I pressed my free hand against my mouth like that would somehow help.
The footsteps stopped again.
Right outside my door.
Something leaned in close. I could hear it. A low hissing sound as it breathed in deeply. The air shifted under the door like it was being pulled inward.
A giant lizardman. I knew that without seeing it. Scales. Height. Strength. One of the bigger ones people warned about online before everything went to hell. The kind that could rip a man in half without even trying.
My vision started to blur at the edges.
Hold it. Just hold it.
Seconds stretched. My chest burned and my throat screamed for air. My heartbeat was so violent I thought it might betray me.
Then it snorted.
The sound was sharp and irritated. Like disappointment.
The pressure outside the door lifted. The air stopped moving.
Footsteps moved on.
I sucked in air the moment it was gone and nearly choked on it. I clamped my mouth shut again and forced myself to breathe silently. My lungs felt like they were on fire and my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the gun.
I did not move. I did not cry. I did not pray.
I just listened.
The footsteps grew fainter. Slower. Then they faded completely.
Only then did I realize how close I had come to dying.
I stayed like that for a long time. Sitting on the edge of my bed with a gun in my hands and sweat soaking through my clothes. When my breathing finally steadied I let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a sob.
I was alive.
Not because I was brave. Not because I fought.
Because I hid.
Because I held my breath and hoped the monster would lose interest.
I hated myself for how relieved I felt.
But relief won over shame.
Outside my apartment building something roared and the sound echoed across the city. Sirens followed shortly after. Distant explosions. The invasion was still ongoing.
I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
This was just the first encounter.
And I already knew one thing for certain.
If this was what survival looked like then I would do whatever it took to keep breathing. Even if it meant being a rat a little longer.