As they cautiously navigated through the desolate ruins, the oppressive weight of their recent escape hung heavy in the air, making every step feel like a burden. Earl’s voice, usually calm and pragmatic, now carried an edge of urgency as he spoke through the thickening fog. “We need to find the others and team up. There’s strength in numbers.”

Jonah, ever the realist, shook his head with a frustrated sigh. “And where do we even start looking? It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Mary, her wide eyes constantly scanning the dark, ominous landscape, nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should wait until morning. Being out here at night is too risky. We don’t know what’s lurking in the shadows.”

The haunting memory of Alexander’s arcane onslaught—a shadowy wave of dark magic that had sliced through a crowd—still clung to their minds. The sheer power of the attack, the ease with which it had cut through the air, was a chilling reminder of the dangers that surrounded them. It was a sign, an omen, that the night held more than just darkness—it held death.

Sol, his voice tinged with concern, broke the uneasy silence. “What about the knight? Is he still following us? We’ve been walking for a while now.”

The group paused, their breaths misting in the chilly night air as they turned to look back toward the cathedral. The towering spires, barely visible through the thick fog, seemed to loom over them like a silent sentinel, a grim reminder of the terror they had escaped. Though Alexander’s imposing figure was nowhere to be seen, the memory of his malevolent presence lingered, casting a long shadow over their thoughts.

As they resumed their cautious pace, the tension slowly ebbed away as they began to talk, trying to bring a semblance of normalcy to their dire situation. Their voices, though strained, carried snippets of a life they struggled to remember.

“How old are you guys?” Mary asked, her voice softer, almost fragile, as if trying to hold onto something familiar. “I’m 17.”

“22,” Earl responded, his tone flat, though his eyes betrayed a deeper struggle, as if he was grappling with the fleeting images of a past he couldn’t fully grasp.

“30,” Jonah said, his voice carrying a weight that none of the others could fully understand. There was a hint of loss in his eyes, a silent reflection on years lived, memories perhaps cherished, and now lost.

“16,” Sol added quietly, his voice almost apologetic.

The group turned to Sol, their eyes widening in surprise. “Really?” Mary asked, a slight smile tugging at her lips despite the fear gnawing at her insides. “I’m older than you!”

Sol chuckled lightly, though there was no real joy behind it. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna wear diapers before me then.”

Mary playfully punched him on the shoulder, the gesture a small comfort in the midst of their fear and uncertainty.

Their attention shifted to Jonah, who stared off into the distance, a somber expression on his face. “Damn, you must have a family then,” Earl commented.

Jonah laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. But… I hope I do.”

“What about you, Earl?” Sol asked, trying to lighten the mood. “You probably have a girlfriend then.”

Earl laughed, a hollow sound in the empty night. “I doubt it. I can’t remember who I was, but I think I wasn’t the type to have one.”

Sol pondered quietly to himself, the weight of his missing memories pressing heavily on his mind. Who was I before all of this?

As the conversation died down, a sense of camaraderie, however fragile, seemed to build among them. But this momentary reprieve was violently shattered when a sharp, whistling sound pierced the night. The unsettling noise was swiftly followed by a sickening thud as an arrow embedded itself in Earl’s neck. His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a choked gasp, his hands instinctively reaching for the shaft as blood began to spurt from the wound. He collapsed to the ground, his gurgling cries a haunting testament to the brutality of their situation.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Earl!” Mary screamed, her voice filled with anguish as she and Sol frantically searched for the source of the attack. The night seemed to close in around them, the fog thickening and obscuring their vision. Amidst the darkened rooftops, they caught sight of a small, green creature, its jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. Its beady eyes were filled with a malevolent hunger, and its face was twisted into a sadistic grin as it watched them.

Before they could react, another arrow whistled through the air, striking Jonah in the leg. He cried out in agony, his scream piercing the night as he fell to the ground, clutching his injured limb. Despite the searing pain, Jonah’s resolve did not waver. He looked up at the others with a determined glare, his voice filled with urgency. “Run! Get out of here!”

Sol, his heart pounding with fear, grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her along as they sprinted away, their footsteps echoing in the desolate ruins. Jonah, gritting his teeth against the pain, tried to follow, but his movements were slow and labored, each step a battle against the searing agony in his leg. From a nearby alley, another green creature emerged from the shadows, its eyes glinting with malice as it brandished a sword. It slashed at Sol, the blade grazing his arm and drawing a thin line of blood.

Another creature, this one wielding a crude, jagged club, emerged from the darkness, its predatory gaze fixed on them as it closed in. Sol and Mary found themselves surrounded, their breaths ragged and their hearts racing with fear. In a desperate attempt to buy time, Jonah let out a guttural roar and tackled the sword-wielding creature to the ground.

He wrestled the weapon from its grasp and, with a surge of adrenaline, began to stab it repeatedly. Each thrust of the blade was driven by a fierce determination to protect his friends, his face contorted into a mask of grim resolve. The creature’s shrieks of pain filled the night, but Jonah’s fury did not abate until the beast lay still, its lifeless form crumpled beneath him.

Mary’s tear-streaked face twisted with fear and sorrow as she watched Jonah’s desperate struggle. “Jonah, please! We need to go!” she cried, her voice breaking with anguish as she clutched Sol’s arm.

Jonah, despite his grievous wounds, continued to fight with a fierce determination that bordered on madness. The club-wielding creature, its eyes alight with sadistic glee, swung its weapon with brutal force. The heavy blow struck Jonah, causing him to stagger, but he refused to yield. With a final, desperate thrust, he drove the sword into the creature’s stomach, pinning it against the crumbling wall. The creature let out a guttural scream, its voice a high-pitched wail that echoed through the ruins as Jonah, his strength fading, continued to push the blade deeper.

But the battle had taken a toll. Another arrow whistled through the air, this one striking Jonah in the back. He let out a cry of pain, but even as his body began to falter, he did not let go of the sword. The club-wielding creature writhed in agony, its life draining away as it struggled against Jonah’s relentless grip. Sol and Mary, caught between their desire to help and the overwhelming need to survive, hesitated, their minds racing with fear and indecision.

In a final act of desperation, Mary picked up a large rock from the ground and, with a cry of rage and sorrow, smashed it against the creature’s face. The sickening crunch of bone and flesh was followed by a spray of blood as the creature’s head caved in, its body convulsing before finally going limp.

Desperation fueled Sol as he grabbed the fallen club from the ground. He swung it with all his might, bashing the pinned creature’s head until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. The night seemed to grow quieter, the eerie silence only broken by the ragged breaths of the survivors.

Jonah, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain, stood over the lifeless creature, his eyes glazed with a mix of anger and sorrow. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself, his hands still gripping the hilt of the sword. Sol stepped closer, his heart sinking as he noticed the blood pooling at Jonah’s feet, the arrows still embedded in his back and leg.

“Jonah, come on, man, let’s go!” Mary cried, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her face. But Jonah didn’t move. His eyes, once sharp and full of life, were now dull and unfocused.

Sol, panic rising in his chest, reached out to pull Jonah away, but Jonah’s hand suddenly shot out, shoving him to the side. Sol staggered backward, and in that moment, another arrow struck Jonah, this time burying itself deep in his shoulder.

Jonah let out a strangled cry, his body jerking as he fought to stay upright. With a final, desperate effort, he reached out, pressing the hilt of the sword into Sol’s hands. “Run…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with the last remnants of his strength.

Sol’s hands trembled as he took the sword, his mind reeling with the weight of Jonah’s sacrifice. He wanted to stay, to fight, but Jonah’s pale face and the blood soaking his clothes told him there was no time. He turned to Mary, who was sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes filled tears. Mary staggered a little bit for unknown reason but they ran through the ruins, their footsteps echoing in the desolate night. The darkness seemed to swallow them as they fled, the weight of their loss pressing heavily on their hearts. The silent city, with its crumbling buildings and oppressive fog, offered no solace, only the cold, indifferent night as they sought refuge in the ruins.