In the dimly lit alleyway, a figure lay hunched against a crumbling wall, battered and bruised. Ezra pressed a trembling palm to his abdomen, desperately trying to stem the bleeding, but it was useless. The wound gushed crimson, staining his once-white shirt—a shirt he'd treasured dearly—now soaked and clinging to his skin like a second layer of agony.
Above him, neon lights flickered erratically, casting an eerie, unnatural glow across the shattered pavement. The city pulsed with chaotic life—black market deals exchanged in hushed tones, muffled music booming from distant nightclubs, and drunken laughter echoing through narrow alleys.
Towering skyscrapers loomed over him like silent sentinels, their colossal screens advertising gleaming new technologies with hollow promises of a brighter future.
But for Ezra, the city was anything but bright.
The once serene outskirts, a place he'd called home—a rare solace in an unforgiving world—were now reduced to ash and ruin. Heavy smoke clogged the air, stinging his eyes and obscuring his vision.
The acrid stench of burning flesh choked him, fueling his desperate need to move—to escape. With a ragged breath, he pushed himself up on trembling legs, leaning heavily on a rusted pole for support. His body screamed at him, muscles trembling with every step, but he had to keep moving.
Stepping out of the alleyway, Ezra stumbled forward, weaving through lifeless bodies strewn across the streets. Desperate cries filled the air, a chorus of agony and fear. Once-peaceful protests had spiraled into unbridled chaos—an endless wave of violence as rebels clashed with armored soldiers.
It was utter madness.
People pushed and shoved, their faces twisted in desperation, scrambling over one another in a frantic search for safety. Bodies collided and fell, piling together like a collapsing house of cards.
Ezra couldn't even remember how things had spiraled into this nightmare. His mind was hazy, his vision blurry, and his ears rang with the echoes of distant gunfire.
He stumbled into a narrow corner, pressing himself against a cracked wall as stray bullets tore through the air. Each deafening crack was followed by bodies collapsing lifelessly to the ground, blood splattering across the broken pavement.
Leaning heavily on a metal pole for support, Ezra muttered to himself, his voice trembling but laced with stubborn resolve.
"Alright, focus. Move fast. Don't die. Preferably in that order."
Suddenly, a figure collapsed in front of him—a bloodied, broken man whose wicked smile stretched across his cracked lips. Crooked teeth, some stained, others missing entirely, twisted the expression into something grotesque. His grime-covered hand latched onto Ezra's thigh, nails digging into his flesh.
Ezra recoiled with a grimace, kicking the hand away. "Sorry, buddy. Not my type."
But his escape was short-lived. His knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the ground hard. His vision glossed over, and tears pooled in his eyes. The pain was overwhelming—every breath sent knives through his ribs, and sticky warmth trickled down his forehead, coating his sight in red.
His ribs felt shattered, and his hands trembled as he tried to crawl forward, clawing at the ground.
The fire crept closer, flickering with ravenous hunger. It bit at his exposed skin, leaving blistered trails as smoke filled his lungs. Each ragged breath was drawn with choking desperation, every cough bringing up flecks of blood.
"Why the hell am I not healing?" he shouted hoarsely, his voice breaking with frustration.
The fight raging between soldiers and rebels wasn't just physical—it was a clash of ideologies, beliefs forged in the fires of oppression and rebellion. People scattered like frightened moths, closing market stalls with deafening bangs as the conflict tore through the streets.
Ezra's shirt was now burnt and torn, exposing a deep, jagged scar running from his collarbone to his hip—a fresh reminder of just how close he'd come to death tonight.
The distant screams began to fade, replaced by the crackling of spreading flames and the groaning of collapsing structures. Ezra clenched his fists, his body convulsing with pain as he coughed violently.
"Heal, damn it!"
With the last flicker of strength, Ezra closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. A faint glow—soft and warm—began to radiate from him. The light seeped into his wounds, knitting shattered ribs back together and sealing torn flesh.
The warmth spread through his body, comforting him like a fleeting embrace—a feeling he hadn't experienced in what felt like a lifetime.
When the light faded, the gaping wound on his abdomen was gone, leaving smooth, unmarred skin. Ezra let out a shaky breath, his head drooping forward as sweat dripped from his brow.
He couldn't stay here. He had to move.
Even if it meant running straight into the inferno, even if death clawed at his heels with every step.
"Focus, Ezra. Think!"
"You're smart. Cool. Intelligent. You'll figure this out. No one's smarter than you. As a matter of fact, you're the smartest one here—"
His thoughts were interrupted by a deafening crash.
A hulking SUV was catapulted through the air, spinning weightlessly for a brief moment before gravity reclaimed it. The vehicle slammed into the ground, scattering bodies and igniting an explosive inferno that erupted in a burst of searing light.
Sparks and debris rained down, casting grotesque shadows against crumbling buildings. Ezra's wide eyes darted to the origin of the chaos.
"What the actual heck…?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
He wasn't the only one who noticed. The chaos stilled for a brief, eerie moment as countless faces turned towards the massive breach in the city walls.
"Alright… who's throwing cars now?" Ezra muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the chill that ran down his spine.
The city's emergency broadcast system crackled to life, distorted and panicked.
"WARNING! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY! BREACH AT WALL 5! PROCEED TO THE NEAREST S—"
Static. Then silence.
Ezra's breath caught as a hulking shadow emerged from the darkness. It moved jerkily, its grotesquely elongated limbs stepping over the wreckage with an unnatural grace. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly in the smoke-filled darkness, locking onto Ezra.
The creature let out a screech—a sound so piercing and primal it rattled his very bones.
"Fantastic," Ezra said dryly, brushing ash from his torn shirt. "As if today wasn't bad enough, now we've got nightmare fuel screaming at us."
The creature's head snapped in his direction.
Its hollow eyes locked onto him.
It lunged forward.
Ezra barely had time to react before the world exploded into chaos once more.