In the days of the old world, before the Hellgates tore through the veil separating humanity from the demonic planes, there was a prophecy whispered among the dying flames of faith. It spoke of a warrior, chosen by the gods of Valhalla, destined to descend and cleanse the earth of its infernal blight. This warrior, born not from privilege but forged in the crucible of suffering, would unite the remnants of humanity and stand as their final shield against annihilation. For centuries, it was a tale of hope, told to comfort the desperate. But now, in a shattered world, such tales feel like cruel fantasies.
…
The city of Kuala Lumpur was no longer recognizable. Once bustling streets were now lifeless, littered with decaying bodies, overturned cars, and the faint echoes of desperation. Smoke rose from the skyline like the slow exhalation of a dying beast, blotting out the sun. The air reeked of death and ash, and in the distance, the faint hum of a Hellgate could be heard—a pulsing vibration that set teeth on edge and stirred an instinctive fear in the hearts of any who dared to remain alive.
Mehdi Cole crouched behind a rusting van, clutching a length of rebar like a lifeline. His breathing was shallow, controlled, even as the distant growl of a demon rippled through the silence. He scanned the empty street ahead, his storm-grey eyes sharp despite the weariness etched into his face. He had learned early on that hesitation in this new world was death.
It had been nine months since the Infernum Plague swept across the globe, taking his sister Lily with it. At first, it had been a sickness—high fever, convulsions, and black veins spreading across the skin like ink spilled on paper. Then, as though Hell itself had been waiting for the world to weaken, the gates opened. They erupted across the earth in jagged, glowing scars, tearing through reality and unleashing horrors humanity wasn't prepared to face.
Demons spilled out in droves—grotesque creatures of all shapes and sizes. Some hunted for sport, others for sheer malice, and the strongest claimed entire cities as their playgrounds. Humanity was no longer the dominant species.
Mehdi had been a paramedic before all this. He had saved lives, comforted the dying, and held onto the fragile belief that even in the worst of times, there was hope. But hope had died with Lily. Now, all that was left was survival—cold, detached, and unrelenting.
He moved quickly, darting from the van to the shattered window of a clinic. His boots crunched softly on broken glass as he slipped inside. The air was stale, thick with the coppery scent of blood. Shelves had been ransacked, and the floor was littered with discarded syringes and vials. Mehdi's practiced eyes scanned for anything useful—bandages, antiseptic, painkillers. Supplies were scarce, and he wasn't picky anymore.
As he stuffed a half-full bottle of saline into his pack, a distant scream shattered the quiet.
It was sharp, high-pitched, and unmistakably human.
Mehdi froze, every muscle in his body tensing. His first instinct was to leave. Screams meant trouble, and trouble meant death. But something in the sound—desperation, innocence—pulled at a part of him he had tried to bury.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, gripping the rebar tighter as he moved toward the source.
He found the boy in an alley two streets over. Small and frail, with silver hair that gleamed even in the dim light. He was cornered by three demons—minor ones, but no less deadly. Their twisted bodies were hunched and sinewy, their skin a mottled gray, and their yellow eyes glowed with cruel amusement.
Mehdi didn't hesitate. He slammed the rebar into the back of the nearest demon's skull with a sickening crunch. The creature crumpled to the ground, but the others turned on him immediately, snarling.
The fight was brutal and inelegant. Mehdi wasn't a soldier, but he had learned how to survive. He dodged the swiping claws of one demon, using its momentum to drive the rebar through its chest. The last one lunged at him, its jaws snapping inches from his throat. With a desperate yell, Mehdi drove his boot into its knee, sending it sprawling. He didn't stop until its head was a pulp of blood and bone beneath the rebar.
Panting, Mehdi turned to the boy, who was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
"Are you hurt?" Mehdi asked, crouching down to his level.