Lifting my eyelids felt like an almost insurmountable task for a moment. Then light trickled in and they flashed open as my mind also began to process what had happened. The relief that I was still living and not a lost wisp of energy was overwhelming. I felt my throat constrict before letting out a choked, gasping cry as tears flooded my vision. Gripping the grass in my fists I let out the pent-up emotion in slow sobs. No doubt from the most stressful experience of my life.

I don't know how long that lasted, but slowly I collected myself and began to take stock of my surroundings. It would seem I was currently in a disturbingly overgrown front yard. With an abundance of flora that I wasn't familiar with.

That brought my thoughts back to the lack of memories that still seemed to haunt me. However, the cloudy mental fog that was prevalent during my time with Clay seemed to have lifted. It almost felt like I could grasp those memories for a bit longer than before. I roughly whipped my face with my sleeves to clean off the byproducts of my breakdown. Shock coursing down my body. I was still wearing the bloody torn padded shirt I'd stolen from the dead.

"It was... real?" I spoke into the dead air. My heart palpitating like wild in my chest.

Rotating around in a slow circle I took in what looked like the rest of a neighborhood block. It all appeared to be unmanicured suburbia. Overgrown would be a gross understatement.

Looking even closer at the front door of the house I stood in front of, a flash of memories pounded forward.

Seeing familiar hands scrambling for a key to unlock the faded red door. This had once been my home. It struck me like lightning, as I felt my legs begin to move on their own. Bringing me face to face with the same door I had seen so many times before. Though never in this terrible state of disrepair. I tried the handle that looked like it had partially melted somehow, and to my surprise, I felt it twist easily. I often left it unlocked if I didn't expect to be gone long. Didn't I?

Pushing it open I was greeted with the same second-hand sofa that had dominated my living room for years. Accompanied by the odd set of knick-knacks that held little value. Besides the sentimental ones of course. I chuckled to myself while trailing a finger across and very poorly made clay pot.

Mom always hated this thing so much.

I dropped to my knees as the memories of my family and life before the last few days slammed into my mind unimpeded. My name is. Shome Bircal. Son of Anet and Rodger, though they had been separated for over a decade now.

My father had passed a few years prior unexpectedly taking his own life. I remembered the pain and guilt that followed me at that time. The shame of failing as a son, of letting someone close never knowing how much they meant.

Fuck.

The influx of emotions was not welcome as I knelt in my living room. The light of the sun filters through the blinds. Casting organized beams of dust-filled illumination across me.

My relationship with my mother had grown tense after what had happened to Dad. It didn't help that I moved into the rural Midwest soon after. 'To find some clarity', I remembered telling her. Or perhaps just to run from the problem altogether.

She stayed behind on the east coast. The decision had not been easy at the time but it had been a year now and she had visited a few months ago.

Remembering how she had walked through the rooms. Commenting in horror at my abysmal interior decorating skills and lack of plant life. It brought a small smile to my face. She meant it all out of love and I knew that, but being an only child her mothering could be overbearing at times. That was part of the reason for my departure. That and how often she asked when I planned on getting a significant other. She didn't fully understand the trouble I was having forming meaningful relationships after…

Stop it Shome fuck, I need to focus. Now is not the time for this.

Shaking myself out of that dead-end thinking I refocused on my present situation.

Let's categorize what I know.

I had returned from the most horrific medieval battlefield I could imagine. In which I followed an old man with magical powers. Who seemed to know far more than I did about the entire situation. Unless this was the worst and most elaborate prank ever conceived. Something had gone enormously wrong with the world. I tried recalling what the current events were. Nothing involving nuclear warfare or a new Armageddon plot popped into my mind. What could explain not only the state of disrepair everything was in? Along with something even more worrying. The extreme lack of human life.

Ever since returning, it has been abnormally quiet. Without the rumble of cars and faint sounds of the civilized life, I was so used to. If anything the only noises that now dominated the surroundings were the squawking of birds and…

Wait... what in the hell is making that noise?

It sounded halfway between a child crying and a goat bleating. Which was not a comfortable or familiar combination. Its origins sound a few houses down. There was a moment I questioned running over in case it was a child in pain or danger. Yet something about the cry raised the hairs on my arms, in the same way, that fighting for my life a day prior had.

However, whatever was making that noise seemed to be getting closer. Before being joined by another similar call moments later.

My breathing quickened as I ran over to the front door and slammed it shut, cursing myself for being so loud. My frantic gaze swept over my home looking for some object to provide as a weapon. It wasn't a large home and I knew what was inside like the back of my hand. Which made it even more frustrating to realize I didn't own a gun or anything that would be an effective weapon.

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Running past the living room I found myself in the quaint little kitchenette. I yanked open a drawer and laid my hands on the largest knife I owned. It was only about eight inches long and seemed to be melted around the edges, but it was better than nothing. Next, I opened an upper cabinet and grabbed the largest metal pot lid I had. Which was about a foot in diameter with a sturdy enough handle. A last-minute assessment had me putting on an oven mitt before securing the lid to my hand. Providing a cushion that would hopefully stop the blunt force from smashing my fingers to bits. I left my knife-wielding hand free. The dexterity required wouldn't allow for a cumbersome mitten. I was as equipped as I could make myself on short notice.

What the hell am I doing?

I looked at my reflection in the kitchen window. Peering back was an average-height young man in his mid-twenties. Shaggy brown hair sprawled in all directions. Accompanied by hazel eyes that looked brown no matter how much my mom said otherwise. Now dressed as a deranged chef who had lost every bit of his mind.

I almost dropped everything out of my hands. The ludicrousness of the entire situation hits harder than before. What in the hell did I expect to accomplish, armed with an assortment of cutlery and a mitten? Against what was most likely an upset neighborhood cat in distress.

I let out an exasperated sigh. Now was not the time for more self-loathing. I needed to figure out how to find people of some kind and get to the bottom of some of the mysteries of my situation. The worst-case scenario was that I had completely lost my mind. The past few days comprised of me rolling around in a padded room unknowingly being watched by men in lab coats.

I chuckled at the mental image before the living room window shattered into a million pieces.

Now crawling off my sofa was what looked to be a cross between an upright goat and a demon of some sort.

“Oh fuck off,” I said to the little hellspawn as it righted itself and barred its overly-long incisors. I was no genius, but this was not a creature that existed on the earth that I knew of.

I'm not sure if it understood my words but it didn't seem to care about them either way. The next heartbeat had it launching itself on back legs built for pouncing at my face. I wasn't proud of the noise I made. My reflexes found my arm rising and meeting the ugly mug insistent on latching onto my throat.

The weight of it was heavier than it appeared. Thankfully the words of Clay rounded in my mind. I planted my feet firmly absorbing the blow without losing my footing. Unfortunately, the claws that I failed to notice continued unimpeded. Slashing through cloth and skin on my shield arm leaving nasty grooves of blood. I was able to push it back with a heave and cry of pain.

Luckily it rebounded into one of my old bar stools that I never used. Tripping over into a mess of limbs and uncomfortable wooden sittery.

I recognized an opportunity when I saw one.

The pain coursing through my arm pulling rage into my mind and clouds over any rational thought. I charged lid first at the hell-spawn releasing a war cry before making contact. The lid once again proved its worth as I slammed into its then-rising form, knocking it to the ground again. My momentum carried my knee down into its sternum. Before following with a kitchen knife carving into its neck. I felt the sensation of plunging the knife into its throat. It was not as unpleasant as my first encounter with stabbing. I wouldn't go so far as saying it's an acquired taste, but the creature's lack of humanity, and wounds it gave me helped.

Its bleating response came out choked around the blade wedge in its esophagus. I gave it one last jerk and twist jumping off the nightmare creature and landing gracefully on my ass. Its death-throw ended quickly from the blood loss. Leaving it motionless on my kitchen floor, bathing it in a widening circle of almost black blood.

I sat there frozen staring at the corpse I had created while doing my best to calm my breathing. I had two options at this junction. Freak the fuck out. Or rationalize and process.

I chose a little bit of both.

The only real reason I stood and began to take stock was the knowledge that I had heard more than one. There could soon be another monster dolphin diving into my abode.

I finally took my eyes off the cooling corpse. Yanking open another drawer, this time filled with kitchen towels. I began to haphazardly wrap my wounds to stem the bleeding. I ran to the sink next to try and rinse the blood and whatever sort of STD goat aliens carried away.

You've got to be kidding me

Disappointment rose at the lack of water appearing.

Something must be wrong if even the main utilities are down.

I snorted out a laugh realizing I was more concerned with the absence of water pressure than I was with the murdered goat-goblin lying on my floor. Prioritise I guess.

I ran over to my bedroom down the hall and into the bathroom where I held a small first aid kit under the sink. Thank God it was still sitting there looking even smaller than I remembered. I cursed the day I chose not to get the larger variation because it cost a couple of bucks more. It took me a few minutes to clean the wound as well as I could. Using the kitchen towels and first aid kit poorly I'd only assume. Before wrapping it tightly with gauze and a generous portion of antiseptic.

I was no doctor but it looked better than before. However, I wished I had a stronger painkiller to take away the horrifying burning sensation.

During my impromptu operation session. I never stopped listening for any more hell-goats or any other suspicious noise. Thankfully, they seemed fine with leaving me alone for at least the time being. Or they could be much quieter than I anticipated and I was about to die. I had chosen to close the door to my room and throw my dresser in front of it. Before going to town on my arms, which would hopefully gain me some precious moments before an attack.

What I didn't expect to hear was the sound of a large group of people shouting from what seemed like a few houses down. A grin split my lips as the reality that I wasn't the only person left on the planet became true.

I pushed the dresser away from the door and began jogging towards the front of the house. The fear of them leaving without knowing I was here quickened my heart rate.

They may have run into the rest of the goat monsters I've been hearing outside!

I was passing the corpse in the kitchen when I noticed the whispering smoke that seemed to be emanating from it. It reminded me of the ethereal energies I had seen coming from Clay not so long ago. Though seemingly less potent and more of an off-gray color than the blue that Clay had exerted.

Curiosity got the better of me and I knelt next to the steaming body scrunching my brows in confusion.

What in the world is happening?

An indescribable urge took over as I lay a hand over its chest. The mist began to consolidate rapidly under my palm, far faster than it had been moving before.

I yelled in surprise while yanking my hand away from the swirling smoke. The next moment realizing it was already gone. The body of the monster seemed to deflate at a visible rate. Becoming nothing more than a dusty husk of skin.

What is the actual Fu-

Then for the second time in an hour, someone crashed into my front room. Though this time they were at least kind enough to shatter my front door. Instead of going through the already broken window.

Now the man who stood before me was human. Yet, the feral look in his eyes and the fact that small bones braided through his hair raised my suspicions.

“Woah, hey man I'm not sure what's going on here, but I could use some help." He didn't wait for me to say anything more before charging at me. Whipping what appeared to be a club made out of gnarled wood and a femur towards my head.

I wish I had been fast enough to react in defense. The speed the home-invading caveman moved with. Along with the sudden stiffening of my joints from his battle cry led to only one conclusion. Me. Unconscious. Again.

Fuck.