The Alley. A pulse—heavy, pounding, uneven. The world tilts, sliding sideways. A hand brushes the wall, cold and slick, leaving streaks behind. Dark, too dark to tell if it’s rain or something thicker.
The smell—metallic, sharp, undeniable. It clings to her, fills her lungs with each ragged breath.
A flicker of movement. A flash of light bouncing off something curved, something solid. The scrape again—metal against stone, deliberate, unhurried.
Her knees falter, striking the pavement with a dull thud. Warmth spills over her leg, too much warmth. Her fingers press against it instinctively, sinking into something wet.
“Not far now,” she thinks, but the thought feels distant, fragmented, as though someone else whispered it into her ear.
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The Memory. The house. The heat of summer pressing against the walls. The sting of words flung like blades, slicing through the stagnant air.
A flash—red streaked across the linoleum. A handprint smearing down the doorframe.
Her father’s shadow looms, distorted and jagged under the dim kitchen light. His voice, thick with venom: “You’ll never run far enough.”
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Her chest tightens. She remembers the weight of her own breath, shallow and heavy, the way the floor seemed to pull her down.
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The Present. She stumbles forward, her body dragging against the wall. The ground beneath her feels slick, the soles of her shoes slipping.
Something hot trickles down her side, pooling at her hip. She doesn’t look. She can’t.
The air shifts. Heavy. Electric. The sound of metal scraping closer, slicing through the hum of the rain.
Her fingers grasp for the corner of the alley, slick with water and something else. Her hand slips, and she falls. The impact knocks the wind from her chest, leaving her gasping against the cold pavement.
A shadow falls over her. It moves with purpose, the edges sharp and unyielding. The curve of a shield flashes under the faint light, droplets of rain sliding off its surface like blood.
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The Descent. The smell of rain and iron thickens. Her body feels distant, weighted, as though it’s already sinking into the earth.
She rolls to her back, the movement slow, heavy. Her vision swims, the edges darkening.
The scrape of the shield stops. The silence is unbearable.
A voice—low, resonant, filling the space between them: “Let your god know: you have been judged.”
Her lips move, soundless at first. A whisper escapes, faint and fleeting: “Aegis.”
The air grows colder, pressing against her skin. The weight in her chest fades to nothing.
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The End. Red pools across the ground, mingling with the rain. The faint echo of footsteps recedes into the darkness. The world tilts one final time before it fades.