Late evening—probably around 7. The sun had mostly dipped below the horizon, its dying glow barely illuminating the broken skyline. Shadows stretched long and eerie, creeping across the ruins like they had a life of their own.
I adjusted the straps on my shoulder, exhaling slowly as I calculated my next move. Three nights. That was how long it would take to reach my city if everything went smoothly. But who was I kidding? Nothing ever goes smoothly.
Factoring in the inevitable "unforeseen circumstances"—which was code for absolute chaos—I was looking at six days, minimum. It was doable. Uncomfortable, dangerous, and stupid, but still doable.
I wasn't exactly brimming with confidence, but I'd do it anyway.
Moving as quietly as possible, I hugged the shadows, wishing—not for the first time—that I had the ability to phase through walls like my counterpart. Maybe one day I'd develop that power, but for now, I had to settle for hiding in the darker corners of the world.
The first objective was simple: find food.
Superhuman or not, I still needed sustenance to function properly. And while the idea of raiding random houses for leftovers was tempting, it was also inefficient. A grocery store, a mall—something larger would be the smarter play.
That was the plan, at least. But as usual, fate had other ideas.
After twenty minutes of walking in pointless circles, I somehow ended up right back where I started. In front of my so-called "base."
With an exasperated sigh, I dropped onto the cracked pavement, crossing my legs.
"So... we have four options," I said, turning toward my shadow.
It sat opposite me, perfectly mirroring my pose, head tilted just enough to give off the undeniable energy of "We?"
I ignored its silent protest and continued, sketching a rough map on the dusty ground.
East led directly toward that abomination from earlier—the one with the oversized head and a mouth where its eyes should be. Hard pass.
West had more of those headless banshees. I'd seen two before, but I had a bad feeling there were more lurking around.
North was an open road. No immediate threats, but also nowhere to hide. A sitting-duck scenario.
South was... not an option. The air in that direction felt wrong. Something—or someone—was watching me from those ruins. Staring straight into my soul. And I had enough self-preservation instincts to know better than to go poking around where the air itself screamed danger.
"So... what do we do?" I asked—more to myself than anything.
Shadow, as expected, didn't answer. (Honestly, I should just start calling it that. Shadow. Fitting, right?)
No matter which direction I chose, it was a death sentence if I engaged the creatures head-on. But direct combat wasn't my only option. Stealth was my true advantage.
While I couldn't turn into a shadow (yet, hypothetically), my shadow could do a lot more than just follow me around. My movement was already unnaturally quiet in darkness—another perk of my ability, I assumed. I could use that.
The real question was which path offered the safest way to sneak past.
East was out. That thing's hearing was too sharp—it could probably detect my heartbeat.
North was too risky. Too exposed.
That left... West.
Of course. The banshees. Because the universe was always against me.
"The universe is always against me," I muttered, rising to my feet before doubt had the chance to sink its teeth in.
I gave a mental command to Shadow. "Scout ahead."
It obeyed immediately, slipping away into the darkness, moving across rooftops like a whisper. Meanwhile, I took the longer route, keeping my steps slow, calculated. It took an hour of weaving through alleys, slipping behind rubble, and holding my breath to avoid attracting unwanted attention. I stood atop a building
Then—I saw them.
The banshees.
Five of them. Three patrolled the ground, their movements unnervingly smooth, while two lingered atop lower buildings.
I exhaled quietly, trying to suppress my unease. One was bad enough. Five? A nightmare.
And to make matters worse—there was no grocery store in sight.
The mission was a bust.
I felt a surge of disappointment, but it barely had time to settle before—I was kicked.
Hard.
I nearly flew off the rooftop, barely catching myself at the last moment. Heart pounding, I spun around, ready to curse out my attacker.
It was Shadow.
I narrowed my eyes, irritation bubbling up. "Now is not the time for your—"
Then, before I could finish, Shadow turned incorporeal.
And a split second later—something blurred past where I had been standing.
I barely registered the black mass of movement before it slammed into the opposite building.
I had almost died.
A second. A single second slower, and I wouldn't have been standing.
But I hadn't completely dodged that bullet. The Banshee was already moving again.
I barely had time to react before it launched toward me.
I rolled to the side just in time.
"Shadow!" I called.
A second later, it materialized beside me—a black version of myself. (No racist pun intended.)
"Pick your weapon," I ordered, unsheathing both the claw and the cleaver.
Shadow reached forward and—of course—picked the claw.
I scoffed. "Figures."
Our real problem?
It wasn't just one of these things.
More were coming.
I could hear them—the shrieks in the distance growing closer.
We had, at best, a minute before they reached us.
One minute to kill this thing. Or die trying.
The creature tensed, ready to lunge. My grip tightened on my cleaver.
Shadow shifted beside me, poised for battle.
We had sixty seconds.
Time to move.