Chapter 27: Cornered Rats
Thomas walked cautiously, his every step measured against the uneven terrain of the crumbling city. The ground beneath his feet was a patchwork of cracked asphalt and invasive weeds, the scars of time and disaster etched deep into the urban landscape. Dust hung in the air, stirred by the faintest breeze, and the distant echo of falling debris made him flinch despite his attempt to appear confident.
The world around him felt hostile, alive with an eerie silence that pressed on his senses. Buildings loomed like skeletal giants, their facades broken and twisted, windows shattered into jagged fangs that reflected the dim gray light of the overcast sky. Rusted street signs swayed precariously on their posts, creaking as though they might snap at any moment. A toppled lamp post lay across the road ahead, its base twisted and charred.
Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the small group following him. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, dirt smudged into their skin like war paint. Mark stayed close, his sharp eyes darting between the shadows. Despite the quiet, the oppressive atmosphere carried an unspoken warning: danger could strike at any moment.
The street they were walking along wasn’t much of a street anymore. Piles of rubble had transformed it into a winding path that snaked through what used to be homes, shops, and offices. Every so often, they passed fragments of a life now long gone—shattered picture frames, children’s toys buried in dust, or a lone shoe lying forgotten in a corner.
Ahead, the road curved sharply around the remains of a partially collapsed building. Thomas paused, instinctively raising a hand to signal the others to stop. He squinted at the corner, his pulse quickening. The collapsed structure had created a choke point, and the scattered rubble formed shadows that seemed unnaturally deep. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
The air felt heavier here, thick with the scent of mold, dust, and something more subtle—something metallic and faintly acrid. Thomas recognized it all too well: blood.
“Stay close,” he muttered, his voice low but firm. He tightened his grip on the iron rod he carried, its cold surface slick with sweat.
The buildings on either side seemed to close in as they moved forward, the narrow alley amplifying every sound. Thomas’s ears caught the faint scuttling of something small—rats, maybe—but his nerves screamed at him to stay alert. He felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the group on his back, their trust in him palpable and suffocating.
As they neared the bend, Thomas craned his neck, trying to get a better view without exposing himself. The shadows played tricks on his vision, making it impossible to tell if the alley beyond was empty or if something—or someone—was waiting for them. The oppressive stillness was worse than any sound.
Focus. His grip on the rod tightened, and he braced himself for what might lie ahead. The city was no longer the familiar place he’d grown up in. It was a predator; its broken structures and abandoned streets were perfect hunting grounds for both monsters and desperate survivors alike.
Taking a deep breath, he gestured for Mark to follow. Whatever was around that corner, they had no choice but to face it.
It had been a few days since the [System] awakened within them, a force that had irrevocably changed their world. Thomas led the way with a sense of purpose, though his steps carried the weight of caution. The group moved in a straightforward formation: Thomas in the lead, followed closely by Darlene, Mark, Sheila, Greg, and Larry at the rear.
Each of them had been thrust into this new reality, but Thomas had naturally fallen into the role of leader. According to Mark, there was a high probability that others had been awakened by the [System] as well, and he had been right. They’d already survived a few skirmishes against other humans. The memory of those encounters left a sickening crunch in everyone’s stomachs. Killing monsters was easier—morally and emotionally—than taking the life of another human being.
Greg crouched beside Thomas, his voice low but calm as he scanned the empty street ahead. “It’s quite peaceful up ahead, so we should be fine.”
The group remained hidden on one side of the street, pressed against the crumbling remains of a once-bustling convenience store. The walls were scorched black, and broken glass crunched underfoot whenever anyone shifted. Dust danced in the weak sunlight streaming through gaps in the wreckage, a faint reminder of the world that had existed before.
Mark and Greg served as the group’s scouts, using their abilities to survey the area. Mark’s [Vision] skill was a simple but invaluable asset. He could detect levels from a distance, giving them a measure of the threats they might face. However, even his enhanced sight had its limits, especially when it came to traps or obscured enemies.
Greg, meanwhile, had his little rock golem. The construct, no larger than a person’s head, moved with a surprising agility for something made of stone. It scuttled ahead like a scout, peering around corners and into tight spaces where the rest of them couldn’t fit.
Mark nodded after another scan of the surroundings. “I don’t see anything that can be a problem either... so we should be fine.”
Despite their words of reassurance, the group remained tense. The street ahead was eerily still, with overturned vehicles and piles of rubble creating natural choke points. The air felt heavy as if the city itself held its breath.
Thomas motioned for them to proceed, his hand gripping the haft of a scavenged spear that looked more like an iron rod than a proper weapon. “Let’s move,” he whispered, his voice firm but quiet. “Stay sharp. We’ve been wrong before.”
The street was littered with the wreckage of abandoned and toppled cars, their metal frames rusted and twisted. The group moved cautiously, weaving between the obstacles with deliberate steps. Despite the tension, they had honed their skills through countless encounters, and fear no longer gripped them the way it once had.
Thomas felt his [Super Engine] skill thrumming within him, an empowering pulse that synchronized with the rapid beats of his heart. The sensation was almost mechanical as if his body had become a living, steam-powered machine. It filled him with energy, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“DUCK!” Mark’s urgent shout shattered the silence.
Without hesitation, everyone dropped to the ground just as a hailstorm of bullets ripped through the air, ricocheting off the cars and the pavement. The sound was deafening, the staccato burst echoing through the ruins.
“Greg!” Thomas shouted, glancing toward the source of the incoming fire.
Greg was already moving, gripping a small rock in his hand and tossing it to Larry. “Larry!”
“Got it!” Larry replied, catching the pebble mid-air. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a harmless stone. But Greg had imbued it with his power, transforming it into a compact scout.
Though it lacked limbs, the pebble golem wasn’t meant to move on its own. This was a tactic they had refined at Sheila’s suggestion. Greg could share the golem’s sight, and when combined with Larry’s handmade slingshot, it became an invaluable tool for gaining a bird’s-eye view of a battlefield.
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Larry pulled the slingshot taut and launched the pebble high into the air, sending it arcing toward the adjacent building where the shots had originated.
“Seven of them!” Greg announced as his mind connected to the golem’s vision. “They’re heavily armed!”
The group’s hearts pounded in unison, but they didn’t panic. Thomas gritted his teeth, glancing at the others. “Weapons ready! We need to figure out how to close the gap, or we’re sitting ducks out here!”
The storm of bullets ceased for a moment, likely as the attackers reloaded, but the tension in the air didn’t ease. The group huddled behind the cover of an overturned van, their minds racing to form a plan.
Bullets pinged off the rusted hull of the toppled RV as Thomas pressed himself against the cold metal, Darlene and Mark crouched beside him. The sharp staccato of gunfire echoed around them, a relentless reminder of the danger that surrounded them. The RV’s once-pristine exterior was marred with scorch marks and jagged tears, but it offered enough protection for the moment.
Across the battlefield, Greg huddled under a crumbling pile of rubble from a destroyed building. He was isolated, the attackers concentrating their suppressive fire on his position. Every burst of bullets sent shards of debris raining down, but Greg stayed frozen, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
Further back, Sheila and Larry crouched behind a relatively intact BMW, its glossy black surface standing out amidst the wreckage. Larry clutched his slingshot tightly, his knuckles white, while Sheila peeked cautiously over the hood, her eyes darting between their scattered teammates.
Darlene broke the tense silence. “I can [Electromorph] from here and try to ambush them,” she offered, sparks already crackling faintly around her fingertips. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her nervous anticipation.
Mark shook his head, his expression grim. “You can only sustain that skill for a second or two, and your maximum range is barely twelve feet. You wouldn’t make it before they saw you.”
Thomas clenched his fists, his [Super Engine] skill thrumming in his veins like a distant drumbeat. He leaned out slightly to catch sight of Greg. “Greg!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the gunfire. “Get your mobile golem to scout which cover Darlene can use to advance bit by bit. We’re going to retaliate! Hey, Greg, look at me!”
Greg’s trembling hands moved to shield his head as another volley slammed into his hiding spot. His breaths came in shallow gasps, but at Thomas’s words, his eyes focused. The fear in his expression softened into determination.
“You’ve got this,” Thomas said firmly. “We’re counting on you.”
Greg nodded sharply, then reached for a chunk of rubble that glowed faintly as his powers activated. He closed his eyes, connecting to his mobile golem. “From your current position,” Greg began, his voice steadier now, “twelve o’clock, three meters ahead—there’s a chunk of wall. Nine o’clock from there, about seven to eight meters, there’s a truck piled over some cars. That’s the nearest cover you can get. The assailants... they’re not using any cover. They’re wearing SWAT uniforms.”
Thomas smiled faintly, pride flashing in his eyes. “You did great, Greg. Stay put.”
Greg exhaled shakily, retreating further into his hiding spot.
Darlene shifted beside Thomas, her hands twitching with barely contained energy. “What do you think?” she asked, her voice low but urgent.
Mark glanced around the chaos, his usual confidence dampened. “I think we’re screwed,” he muttered bluntly.
Thomas grinned, his resolve unshaken. “I don’t think so,” he said, his eyes blazing with determination. “We’ve got this.”
Darlene glanced at Thomas, her brow furrowed with concern. “Just asking, but won’t our shouting clue the enemy into what we’re planning?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant gunfire.
Mark shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll be fine. They don’t know what our skills are. The problem is, even if you know where to take cover, relying on your super speed might not be enough. You could still get peppered with lead.”
Thomas smirked, his adrenaline surging. “That’s easy. I’ll give them something to fire at.”
Mark’s eyes widened in horror. “Holy fuck. Don’t tell me—Thomas, there’s nothing easy about what you’re thinking, bro!”
Before Mark could protest further, Thomas was already on the move. He bolted from behind the RV, his heart pounding in rhythm with his [Super Engine] skill. The world seemed to slow around him as bullets whizzed past, too close for comfort. The attackers focused their fire on him, the air crackling with the sound of gunfire, but not a single shot found its mark.
Thomas skidded into place beside Greg, sliding behind the scant cover the rubble offered. His breathing was heavy, but his grin was unshaken. Glancing back toward the RV, his heart skipped a beat—Darlene was gone.
The gunfire grew louder and more erratic, undoubtedly aimed at Darlene now. Thomas clenched his fists. His stomach twisted with worry. Did she make it?
Greg’s strained voice pulled him back. “Dude, this is already a tight space,” Greg muttered, glancing sideways at Thomas with an exasperated look.
Thomas chuckled nervously, patting Greg on the shoulder. “Sorry… ha ha ha…”
“Psst,” Sheila called for their attention, gesturing toward him. “We’ll come and get you… stay put. The car still has its key intact!”
Thomas’s eyes widened as he watched Larry quietly switch places with Sheila. Without hesitation, Larry yanked the BMW’s door open and slid into the driver’s seat. The sound of metal against metal screeched faintly as he fiddled with the ignition. Moments later, the engine sputtered to life, loud and guttural against the tense silence.
The attackers reacted instantly, the suppressive fire shifting toward Sheila and Larry’s location.
“Ah!” Sheila cried, ducking instinctively as bullets ricocheted off the car’s hood and windows.
“Shit!” Larry cursed, hunching low and scrambling to find cover inside the vehicle.
Thomas watched with mounting dread as the BMW roared forward, barreling toward their position with reckless speed. Larry had no time for precision—he slammed the car directly into the rubble shielding Thomas and Greg with a sickening crash.
The impact sent a tremor through the ground, and dust and debris were raining down. Thomas dropped flat to his stomach, instinctively crawling toward the wreck. Sheila, with blood streaking her cheek, was already climbing out of the mangled car on her own, her movements labored but determined.
“Larry!” Thomas shouted, rushing to the driver’s side. He yanked the door open to find Larry slumped over the wheel, groaning, his forehead slick with blood.
“Damn it…” Thomas gritted his teeth, looping an arm under Larry’s and dragging him free. Larry’s head lolled to the side, and his dazed expression confirmed the worst—a concussion.
Greg remained crouched nearby, his trembling hands clutching at the rubble. He looked up at Thomas with wide, helpless eyes.
“Stay put, big guy,” Thomas barked, a fiery resolve igniting in his chest. “I’ll handle this!”
Sheila stumbled as she climbed over the car, clutching her abdomen. Blood seeped through her fingers, dripping onto the dust below. Her face was pale but focused.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice tight with pain. “Take care of him. I’m… at least conscious.” She pressed harder against her wound, her breathing shallow but steady.
Thomas hesitated, his mind torn. The sight of Sheila bleeding and struggling was like a punch to the gut, but Larry’s condition was worse, and Greg’s nerves were fraying by the second. They were pinned down, their position precarious.
Gritting his teeth, Thomas knelt beside Sheila, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. “Hold on, Sheila. Just hold on. We’ll get out of this. We have to.”
But deep inside, he felt the crushing weight of their situation—they were cornered, and the clock was ticking.
“Let me help,” a voice called out from nearby.
Thomas whipped his head around, his surprise turning into disbelief as a woman in magical robes emerged from the shadows of the building opposite them. She moved with confidence, her wooden staff glowing faintly in her hand. Without hesitation, she raised her hand, releasing a crackling fireball. The projectile streaked over their heads, its light illuminating her face for just a moment before it struck with a thunderous explosion.
The suppressive gunfire ceased instantly.
“Sheila, is that you?” the woman asked, her tone direct but laced with familiarity.
Thomas blinked, taking in the figure now illuminated by the faint, flickering glow of pinkish flames radiating from her hands. He recognized her immediately. Pink hair. Sharp, knowing eyes. “Althea?” he murmured, stunned.
It was her—Althea, the classmate they all remembered. The gal who barely bothered to show up for lessons but somehow managed to ace her exams. And now here she was, wielding magic with practiced ease, as though the chaos around them was nothing more than another late assignment she needed to breeze through.
“Stay on guard,” Althea commanded, already scanning the area. “There are still more of them inside. Noah should’ve started by now.”
Thomas’s head snapped up at the name. “Did you say Noah?”
Before he could get an answer, his eyes widened in astonishment. Pink flames erupted from Althea’s hand, swirling around Sheila. The glow enveloped her, and moments later, Sheila’s labored breathing eased, her face no longer twisted in pain.
“Unbelievable…” Thomas muttered, still struggling to process everything.
Althea moved swiftly to Larry, who lay groaning on the ground. She knelt, placing her hands over him. The flames danced again, their warmth spreading through the air as Larry’s breathing steadied, his eyes fluttering open.
Without missing a beat, Althea stood and tightened her grip on her staff. “We need to move,” she said. Her calm authority cut through the tension like a blade.
Thomas, still reeling, finally shook off his daze. “Right. Let’s go.”