The streets of Fort Saint John were chaos incarnate.
The air burned hot with the tang of fire and oil, the sky above smothered by churning clouds that flashed with unnatural lightning. The once-familiar town was unrecognizable—its buildings cracked and twisted, some collapsed entirely, while others seemed half-consumed by shadows that moved like living things.
A monstrous screech tore through the air. A beast—once an elk, now something far worse—charged down the shattered main street. Its antlers glowed with a molten red light, its body a grotesque fusion of flesh and stone, dripping with black tar. It plowed through an overturned car as if it were paper, sending debris flying in all directions.
“Stand your ground!” barked a voice from behind a makeshift barricade of broken furniture and scrap metal.
A woman stepped forward, her face streaked with soot and sweat. She held a Heart Card between her fingers. With a resolute yell, she pressed it to her chest. The card dissolved into her skin, and a ripple of stone surged up her arm, encasing her in armor that gleamed like polished granite. She raised her newly formed fist and swung as the elk-monster lunged.
The impact was deafening. The beast stumbled, antlers cracking against her armored frame, but it roared and pressed forward, its tar-dripping maw snapping inches from her face.
Behind her, a younger man fumbled, hands trembling. “Now’s not the time to freeze up!” she shouted, shoving the creature back with another earth-shattering blow.
The man nodded shakily and activated his card. A burst of silver light enveloped him, forming a shield of shimmering energy around his body. He leapt forward, slicing at the elk’s legs with a blade of pure light. Black ichor sprayed across the ground as the beast howled in pain.
Other survivors joined the fray, each using their Heart Cards in desperate defiance. One conjured a golem of jagged ice that hurled itself into the chaos. Another summoned daggers of molten steel that snaked through the air, lashing at the beast.
But for every monster they felled, another took its place. From the shadows, more grotesque forms emerged—deer with hollow eyes, moose with too many limbs, and figures that flickered like broken holograms. They moved unnaturally, their shapes blurring as if reality itself rejected their presence.
The battle raged on, and it was clear the survivors were losing. Their movements slowed with exhaustion, their defenses cracking under the relentless onslaught.
The militia, battered but unyielding, regrouped in the shattered remains of the old courthouse on 100 street. Their leader, Sergeant Kieran Holt, stood at the center of the makeshift war room, his silver-streaked hair damp with sweat and grime. Around him were the remnants of a community that had been anything but soldiers: former teachers, paramedics, mechanics, and grocery store clerks. Yet in their eyes burned a fire fueled by desperation and resolve.
Holt slammed his fist onto the map spread over a cracked wooden table. “We’ve pushed them back to the town square. Their leader is the key. If we take him down, the rest will scatter.”
The murmurs of uncertainty among the coalition were silenced as Holt straightened, his voice steady as iron. “They aren’t invincible. Look around you—look at what we’ve already survived. We are Fort Saint John, and we are not giving up this town!”
A cheer erupted, shaky but real. The militia prepared for their final stand.
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The Elk Clan awaited them in the ruins of the town square, their leader towering above his monstrous kin. His antlers gleamed like jagged, bone-carved crowns, and his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He was a creature of nightmares, a living embodiment of the chaos that had consumed the world. His Heart Card, clutched in one gnarled hand, pulsed with a deep, ominous rhythm that sent tremors through the ground.
As the militia advanced, the Elk Clan surged forward with guttural roars. The two forces collided in a brutal wave of violence.
Holt led the charge, his shotgun barking fire as he took down an elk-beast with a well-placed shot to its malformed skull. Beside him, a paramedic-turned-fighter swung a fire sword, cleaving through sinewy flesh as sparks flew from her gritted teeth.
The coalition’s Heart Card users unleashed their powers, a chaotic symphony of elemental force and ingenuity. One man hurled bolts of searing flame, scorching the elk monsters where they stood. A former high school science teacher conjured walls of shimmering light, holding back the tide of claws and antlers long enough for others to strike.
But the Elk Clan leader was a force unto himself. He charged into the fray, his massive form scattering militia fighters like leaves in a storm. A single swing of his antlers sent a car-sized chunk of debris flying, crushing a group of defenders.
“Fall back!” someone yelled, but Holt barked a command: “No retreat! Focus fire on the leader!”
The militia shifted tactics, their movements coordinated through sheer will and desperation. Snipers on the rooftops took aim at the Elk Clan leader, their bullets sparking off his hardened hide. Heart Card users targeted his flanks, blasting him with fire, ice, and raw kinetic force.
Yet the leader shrugged off the attacks, his Heart Card pulsing brighter with each assault. The air grew heavy with tension as he reared back, releasing a guttural bellow that shook the town square. Tendrils of blackened energy erupted from his antlers, wrapping around several fighters and dragging them screaming into the air.
Holt saw his chance. “Now! Focus on his Heart Card!”
A woman wielding a massive, glowing sledgehammer stepped forward, her Heart Card granting her enhanced strength. She dodged the leader’s sweeping antlers and brought the hammer down with a thunderous crack, striking the glowing card in his hand. The elk-beast howled, his monstrous form flickering as cracks spidered across the card’s surface.
The militia pressed the advantage. Holt unloaded his shotgun into the beast’s chest, each shot tearing away chunks of its unnatural armor. A firefighter wielding a flame-spewing Heart Card unleashed a torrent of fire, engulfing the leader in a roaring inferno.
The Elk Clan leader staggered, his towering form swaying as his strength waned. He dropped to one knee, his antlers dragging furrows through the rubble-strewn ground. His glowing eyes dimmed, but the defiance in them burned brighter than ever.
Holt stepped forward, his breath ragged. “This is for Fort Saint John.”
He raised his knife—a simple, unassuming blade, worn and battered but steady in his hand. With a final surge of effort, he plunged it into the leader’s Heart Card. The card shattered, releasing a shockwave of raw energy that sent the militia sprawling.
When the dust settled, the Elk Clan leader was gone. Only his shattered antlers remained, a grim monument to the battle.
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The town square was a field of ruins, littered with the bodies of elk-beasts and militia fighters alike. Survivors staggered to their feet, their faces pale and bloodied, but their eyes alight with victory.
Holt looked around at the battered coalition, his voice hoarse but resolute. “We’ve taken back our town. Now, we will rebuild.”
The survivors let out a ragged cheer. Fort Saint John was theirs once more. But as they stood amidst the rubble, they knew the fight was far from over. The monsters were still out there, and the world beyond their scarred town remained a battlefield. Yet for now, they had a sliver of hope—and the strength to keep fighting.
Now was the time to lay to rest the dead, and treat those who could be saved.
The hospital was a battlefield of its own. The sterile white walls were smeared with blood and ash, and the faint hum of mana lights barely competed with the chorus of chaos outside. Someone, with their own Heart Card abilities was able to rig a basic steam generator and start to replace the old electric lights with mana lamps. The acrid stench of antiseptic mixed with the metallic tang of blood, creating a nauseating cocktail that clung to the air.
Oliver adjusted his surgical mask, sweat streaking his face beneath it. His hands, once steady and practiced, trembled slightly as he tightened the makeshift tourniquet around a young woman’s leg. She bit down on a strip of cloth to stifle her screams, her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on him in desperation.
“You’re going to be okay,” Oliver murmured, his voice calm but firm. He didn’t know if it was true, but at this moment, reassurance was all he could offer.
The woman nodded faintly, her grip on his wrist weak but insistent. "Please... don't let me die."
Oliver swallowed hard and forced a smile. “We’ll get you patched up before anything happens.”
The emergency ward was overwhelmed. Patients lay on gurneys that lined the hallways, their injuries ranging from broken limbs to deep lacerations caused by the elk monstrosities outside. Some weren’t injured at all but had been brought in due to uncontrollable panic attacks, their minds buckling under the pressure of survival.
Doctors, nurses, and volunteers darted between rooms, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Shouted orders and cries of pain echoed through the corridors. Supplies were running low—gauze, sutures, and even clean water were rationed with increasing severity.
Oliver wasn’t a doctor, but he knew enough first aid to be useful. As a firefighter and paramedic before the chaos began, he was no stranger to emergencies. But this wasn’t a house fire or a car crash. This was war.
Stolen story; please report.
“Oliver!” a nurse called out, her face pale and streaked with grime. “We need another set of hands in Room 3—stat!”
He grabbed his kit and followed her into the room, where a man was thrashing on the table, his torso covered in jagged claw marks. Blood seeped through the hasty bandages wrapped around his chest, pooling beneath him.
“He’s losing too much blood!” the nurse shouted, fumbling with a syringe.
Oliver stepped in, his training taking over. He pressed his hands firmly against the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. “What’s his type?”
“O-negative,” she replied. “But we’re out.”
Oliver cursed under his breath. “We’ll stabilize him until you find a donor. Get me saline—anything to keep his pressure up.”
The nurse nodded and rushed off. Oliver focused on the man beneath him, his breathing shallow and ragged. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “You’re not dying here, not today.”
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In the lobby, chaos reigned. Families huddled together on the floor, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. Children cried, their sobs muffled against their parents’ shoulders.
A man in a bloodied coat burst through the doors, cradling a limp child in his arms. “Help! Please, someone help!”
Oliver sprinted to meet him, his boots echoing against the tile floor. “What happened?”
“She—she was hit by one of those things!” the man stammered, tears streaming down his face. “It tossed her like a ragdoll—her head—”
“Lay her down,” Oliver instructed, his voice steady. The child’s small body was unnaturally still, her skin cold to the touch. He checked her pulse, his heart sinking when he found none.
“She’s... gone,” Oliver said softly, his hands stilling.
“No, no, no!” the father sobbed, shaking his head. “Do something! You have to do something!”
Oliver placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, his grip firm but empathetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s gone.”
The man collapsed to his knees, his wails piercing through the chaos. Oliver’s chest ached, but he didn’t have time to grieve. There were others who could still be saved.
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The hospital was no safe haven during the Elk Clans invasion. The elk monstrosities prowled the streets, their haunting cries echoing through the night. Windows were barricaded with metal sheets and wooden planks, but their security was tenuous at best.
Occasionally, the ground would rumble as one of the creatures slammed against the walls, testing the defenses. Each time, Oliver felt his heart leap into his throat. Thankfully, Sarah and the baby were safe in the higher floors of the hospital. He prayed that Joel was as well.
During a brief lull, Oliver stepped outside to help fortify the barricades. He worked quickly, hammering nails into place alongside a group of volunteers.
“We’re holding for now,” one of them said, a young man with hollow cheeks and shaking hands. “But for how long?”
“As long as we need to,” Oliver replied.
The young man nodded but didn’t look convinced.
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The first day after the battle at town square and the peace didn’t last. A deafening roar shattered the night, followed by the sound of splintering wood. One of the barricades had given way, and a monstrous elk burst through, its massive form silhouetted against the flickering streetlights.
“Get inside!” Oliver shouted, grabbing a crowbar from the ground.
The creature charged, its antlers tearing through a makeshift barricade like paper. Volunteers scattered, some tripping in their panic. Oliver stood his ground, his grip tightening on the crowbar.
“Over here, you bastard!” he yelled, drawing its attention.
The elk turned, its glowing eyes locking onto him. It charged, its hooves pounding against the pavement. Oliver waited until the last second before sidestepping, swinging the crowbar with all his strength. The metal connected with the beast’s leg, a sickening crack echoing through the air.
The creature stumbled but didn’t fall. It turned on him, its maw opening to reveal jagged, yellowed teeth. Before it could strike, a bolt of fire erupted from behind Oliver, slamming into the elk’s side.
“Got your back!” a Heart Card user shouted, stepping forward with flames swirling around their hands.
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Day five after they had taken the town back, Oliver, his body aching and his clothes soaked in sweat and blood. The wounded were still being tended to, their cries a haunting reminder of how far things had fallen.
He took a moment to lean against the wall, closing his eyes. He could still hear the father’s sobs, the crash of barricades, the roar of the elk.
But then he opened his eyes and saw a nurse stitching a wound, her hands steady despite the chaos. He saw a volunteer handing out bottles of water, their face set with quiet determination. He saw the young woman he had helped earlier, her leg now wrapped in clean bandages, giving him a weak but grateful smile.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough to keep going.
Oliver pushed off the wall and headed back into the fray. There was still work to be done.
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Day, God, who fucking knows? Oliver’s exhaustion weighed heavily, but he couldn’t stop. Not with so many lives hanging by a thread. The hospital was teetering on the brink, and every breath, every action, felt borrowed against an inevitable collapse. He grabbed a bloodied towel to wipe his hands and turned toward the next patient, a young man clutching his abdomen, his face pale and clammy.
As Oliver crouched beside him, a flicker of light caught his eye. It wasn’t from the flickering overhead mana lamps or the erratic glow of gas lights. It came from his chest—or rather, within it.
“What the...?” Oliver muttered, his hand instinctively rising to his sternum.
The glow intensified, warmth blooming beneath his palm. Then, with a jarring lurch, a card tore itself from his chest. It floated in the air before him, spinning slowly, its edges lined with a faint golden glow.
The card's back shimmered with an intricate design of a caduceus—two serpents entwined around a staff—emblazoned against a soft, radiant light. The front depicted a scene of hands glowing with healing energy, hovering over a wounded figure. Beneath the image, words burned into view:
Heart Card: Healer's Embrace
Rarity: Rare
Resource Used: Mana (Life Based Source)
Level: One
Ability: Restorative Surge
* Converts mana into potent healing energy, capable of mending wounds and revitalizing the injured.
Oliver stared at the card, his breath catching in his throat. He’d heard whispers of these cards—miraculous gifts, some said, others calling them curses. He hadn’t expected to get one himself, let alone one so... appropriate.
Personal System Notification:
[You have bonded with your Heart Card: Healer's Embrace.]
Mana reserves detected. Ability unlocked: Restorative Surge.
The voice in his head was cold and mechanical, but Oliver barely registered it. His focus was on the card, which dissolved into motes of golden light and merged with his hands. He gasped, feeling the warmth spread through him, pooling in his chest and radiating outward to his fingertips.
He turned to the young man beside him, whose breathing was shallow and erratic. Without thinking, Oliver pressed his glowing hands against the wound. A wave of energy surged from his palms, golden light cascading over the torn flesh.
The effect was immediate. The bleeding slowed, then stopped entirely. Muscles and tissue knitted themselves together, the wound sealing as if it had never existed.
The young man’s eyes fluttered open, his color returning. “What... what did you do?”
“Just hold still,” Oliver said, his voice shaking. “You’re okay now.”
The nurse from earlier rushed over, her eyes wide. “What was that? Oliver, did you—”
“I don’t know,” he interrupted, pulling his hands away and staring at the faint glow that lingered on his skin. “But I think I can help.”
Oliver moved through the chaos, his heart pounding. He sought out the most critical cases—the ones who would have been left for dead in any other situation. A man with a crushed leg, his face twisted in agony, screamed as Oliver approached.
“Easy,” Oliver murmured, kneeling beside him. His hands glowed once more as he poured his mana into the injury. The mangled bone shifted, realigning itself beneath the skin. Torn flesh stitched together, the swelling subsiding until the leg looked almost normal.
The man stared in disbelief, his pain replaced by awe. “You... you saved me.”
Oliver gave him a tired smile. “Just doing what I can.”
Word spread quickly. People began calling for him, their voices rising above the din:
“Over here!”
“This one’s not breathing!”
“Oliver, we need you!”
Each time, he answered, pouring more of himself into the wounded. The glow of his hands dimmed slightly with each use, and a deep fatigue began to settle into his bones. But he didn’t stop.
By the time he reached a child on the brink of death, Oliver could feel his mana reserves depleting. His head pounded, his vision blurred, and his knees threatened to buckle.
“Come on,” he muttered, pressing his hands to the child’s chest. “Just one more.”
The golden light flared weakly, then sputtered, struggling to maintain its intensity. Panic clawed at Oliver as he realized he might not have enough left.
Personal System Notification:
[Mana reserves are critically low. Ability effectiveness reduced.]
“No,” Oliver hissed through gritted teeth. “Not yet.”
He focused harder, drawing on every ounce of strength he had. The light brightened, flickering like a candle in the wind, but it was enough. The child’s breathing steadied, their chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm.
Oliver slumped back, gasping for air. He felt like he’d run a marathon while carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The nurse approached, her face a mixture of awe and concern. “Oliver, you need to rest. You can’t keep this up.”
He shook his head, struggling to stand. “I can’t stop. Not when there’s still so much to do.”
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You’ve done enough for now. If you push yourself any further, you’ll collapse—and then who’s going to save you?”
Her words struck him like a blow. He glanced around the room, at the lives he’d saved and the ones still waiting for help. The weight of responsibility threatened to crush him, but he knew she was right.
Reluctantly, Oliver allowed himself to be led to a quiet corner of the hospital, where he collapsed onto a battered chair. The nurse handed him a bottle of water, which he drank greedily.
“Take a breather,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’re a miracle worker, Oliver, but even miracles need a break.”
He nodded, his hands still faintly glowing as he stared at them. The power was incredible, but it came with a cost—one he wasn’t sure he could afford to keep paying.
For now, though, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. The battle outside raged on, but inside the hospital, hope burned a little brighter.
He went to check on his daughter, and rested.
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The air grew colder.
A hush fell over the city’s growing walls centered around the hospital, the only sound the crackle of distant fires and the labored breaths of the fighters. From the far end of the street, a figure stepped forward.
He wore a suit—impeccably tailored and impossibly clean despite the chaos around him. His sharp features were illuminated by the eerie, flickering glow of the warped streetlights. Shadows clung to him like an aura, shifting and twisting unnaturally with every step.