"Another city just fucking evaporated. Elandor—gone. One flash, one mushroom cloud, and thousands of people turned to ash before they could even scream. I saw the footage on the underground feeds. Kids. Families. Whole streets. Nothing left but craters and radiation warnings. How long until it's us? How long until we wake up to sirens and then… nothing?"
Viana Kaven's voice came out cracked, almost a hiss as she pressed her forehead against the cold window glass, staring out at the perpetual gray haze that choked the skyline.
The lunchroom of Draxton City (Draxen) Academy was dimly lit, its long tables packed with restless students. The co-ed school stood right on the edge of the city's industrial zone, and the air carried a strange mix of cafeteria food, chalk dust, and the quiet anxiety that never seemed to leave the place.
The room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—faded posters of long-gone peace summits peeling from the walls, desks scarred with graffiti like "Survive Today" etched in desperate scrawls.
It was lunchtime, but no one was eating. Instead, a cluster of seventeen-year-old girls huddled in the back row, their voices a mix of hushed whispers and nervous giggles, fueled by the burning curiosity that only came from living on the knife's edge of a world unraveling.
Lunch trays sat untouched; their voices stayed low and urgent, trembling with the kind of fear that never quite leaves your throat.
Celia Varnel's fingers dug into her own arms, leaving white crescents on her skin.
"There are no countries anymore. Just broken pieces fighting over the corpse. Borders? Governments? They're jokes. Every day some new warlord or rogue state drops an atomic just to prove they still exist. My brother says the radiation clouds are drifting closer. We breathe poison every night and pretend it's normal. I can't sleep anymore. I keep dreaming the sky lights up and my mom's face melts off right in front of me."
Dalia Kareth curled tighter on the desk, knees to chest, voice shaking so hard it cracked mid-sentence.
"We're not living. We're waiting to die. Cities like Draxen are just holding their breath between blasts. One wrong move—one deal gone bad—and boom. We're collateral. I don't want to die screaming. I don't want my last thought to be 'I should've run when I had the chance.'"
Rina Solace's eyes were glassy, her whisper raw.
"I'm terrified every time my dad leaves for work. What if he doesn't come back? What if a bomb drops while I'm brushing my teeth? I keep thinking about how fast it happens—blink, and your whole life is smoke."
Zara Kirel leaned forward, voice dropping to a frightened rasp.
"And here? We're not even pretending to be free. The Krossvale brothers own this city. Not the mayor, not the cops—those seven monsters. Everyone knows it. You cross them, you disappear. No trial. No body. Just gone."
Elvina Arlor's laugh was bitter, scared.
"Seven monsters, straight out of hell. They don't follow laws—they make them bleed. Kai Viramont Krossvale runs the whole show. Supplies weapons to every side—militaries, terrorists, whoever pays. Doesn't matter who wins; he wins as long as the world keeps burning. And the rest? Lucas, Damon, Leon, Victor, Ren, Vernon—they're his blades. They've murdered hundreds, maybe thousands. And the girls... oh god, the stories. They rape them, right in front of their boyfriends or families. Just to enjoy torturing people. How can anyone be that evil?"
Viana's voice dropped to a fearful hush.
"Yeah, and the police? They fear them too. Turn a blind eye, take bribes, or end up dead. That's why girls here... our parents tell us to hide. Don't show your face too much, don't dress up, don't look too pretty. Because if you're beautiful, they might notice. They might take you. And no one comes back the same—if they come back at all."
From the front bench, Ira Royvane sat motionless, her untouched lunch tray nudged slightly aside. She seemed almost luminous—quietly radiant against the chaos of the lunch hall.
Her thick black hair spilled down past her waist in wild, midnight waves.
A loose wavy curl had drifted across her cheek; she tucked it behind her ear with an absent, tender gesture, only for it to spring free again, framing her round, doll-like face in gentle disarray.
Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, veiled by long, thick lashes that cast faint shadows across her warm, bright brown skin.
They were a rich, dark black, flecked softly when she listened—deep, unguarded pools of empathy .
As the girls at the back whispered their trembling fears, Ira's gaze remained soft, absorbing every word as though the pain were her own.
Her gently rounded cheeks gave her face a delicate, almost fragile elegance, balanced by a beautifully long and refined nose that flared just slightly at the tip, lending every expression a touch of quiet grace.
Her lips were heart-shaped and naturally full—medium-sized but sweetly puffy, rose-tinted and always parted the tiniest bit, as though forever teasing an invitation to pull any man helplessly towards her.
Her skin glowed luminous and warm, a bright brown like sunlit sandalwood, smooth and inviting yet somehow sacred, as though touching her would be both privilege and trespass.
At five feet six, she carried a medium build that flowed into a graceful hourglass—she sat on the bench—her back curved gently in a soft, feminine arc—spine dipping inward with natural grace, shoulders relaxed and sloping downward in smooth lines. The delicate taper of her waist flared dramatically into the lush, rounded swell of her hips and thick, perfectly shaped ass, creating a breathtaking, sinuous silhouette against the hard bench—every curve accentuated by the simple fall of her uniform, a beautiful, effortless carve that could make any man's heart drop to his stomach.
She listened without breathing, every word sinking into her like cold water. The fear in their voices wrapped around her ribs and squeezed.
Celia tried to laugh, but it came out jagged.
"But come on—have you actually seen them? Kai Viramont Krossvale? That face? Sharp face, cold eyes, looks like he was carved out of marble and hate. How can someone that gorgeous be so fucking evil? It's unfair."
Rina's eyes lit with dangerous fascination.
"But Vernon… holy shit. He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. Six-two, shoulders like a goddamn wall, long legs, abs carved so deep you could lose your fingers in them. And that hair—long, falling messy around his jaw, tied back. That's what kills me. The hair. Makes him look wild and controlled at the same time. Dangerous. Untouchable."
Zara bit her lip, voice husky.
"Imagine him walking toward you in that open black coat, no shirt, just scarred skin and muscle. Those heavy arms pinning you, long hair brushing his face while he stares down with those predator eyes. I'd let him ruin me. I'd beg for it."
Elvina grinned despite herself, cheeks flushed.
"God, yes. Picture it—he looks at you with his intense deadly gaze before he takes you apart. That calm brutality, that silence… I'd melt. Take me, Vernon. Drag me into the dark and never let me go."
Viana laughed, half-hysterical.
"He doesn't even have to speak. He just stands there and the room shrinks. You feel small, helpless, turned on, terrified—all at once. I'd let him break me. I'd thank him for it."
Ira's lips trembled . Long hair. The phrase echoed inside her skull, dragging up memories of that dark night, shadows, a gaze that stripped her bare. She stared at her lunch tray, heart hammering.
Then Alina's ( a girl from the back row , known for being silent) voice sliced through the giggles like a blade.
"How can you all be so fucking careless?"
The laughter died instantly.
Alina's eyes were wet, furious, haunted.
"Those boys are monsters. Vernon is a monster. He doesn't just kill—he destroys. He rips people open while they're still breathing, leaves them choking on their own guts. And the rapes… god, the rapes. They drag girls in front of their boyfriends, their brothers, their fathers—force them to watch every thr ust, every scream, every tear ripped out of someone they love. Can you imagine that pain? The helplessness? The way your soul shatters when you hear her beg for it to stop and you can't do anything? When her eyes meet yours and all you see is betrayal and agony and the knowledge that you failed her completely? That kind of pain doesn't fade. It lives in you. It eats you alive every night. And you're sitting here fantasizing about being the next one they break?"
Her voice cracked on the last word, raw and trembling, tears spilling freely now. The room felt suddenly smaller, colder. The air tasted like grief.
Zara looked down, ashamed. "I… I didn't think about it like that."
Rina swallowed hard. "She's right. We're disgusting. They're not fantasies. They're nightmares."
Alina wiped her eyes. "They're monsters. All seven of them. They should be put down like rabid dogs."
Dalia's voice was small, broken. "The sooner they die, the better. Before they take someone we love."
Viana nodded slowly. "Never again. We don't talk about them like that. Ever."
The group fell silent, the weight of Alina's words pressing down like smoke.
Ira sat perfectly still. Alina's pain clung to her chest, heavy and sharp, like it had somehow become her own. It was hard to breathe past it.
After a moment, her fingers finally moved. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, she reached for the food.
She still didn't look up.
She didn't have to.
Everything she had seen—every flicker of fear, every strange pull of curiosity, every quiet piece of horror—was already sitting deep inside her, twisting in her thoughts.
To be continued...