The basement was quiet for once.
I stood with the group, eyes sharp, mind restless.
"I want to go out too," I said.
The words landed hard.
Aroha turned first. "Insane."
Odai: "That's a crime. You're fourteen."
Hiba: "They'll arrest you."
Etisham: "You won't clear the gate."
I kept my voice low. "What if no one notices I'm gone?"
Silence answered.
Odai shook his head. "Not bravery. Stupidity."
One by one they agreed.
I exhaled. "Okay."
The moment passed.
Then—
The main gate groaned open. Heavy. Uneven.
Everyone ran.
Elders staggered inside. Bandages swaddled arms, legs, shoulders; blood had dried to rust. Two collapsed into chairs before the gate clanged shut.
Mothers screamed. Aunts rushed.
"What happened?"
"Where are the others?"
"Who did this?"
No answers.
They were guided to cots, laid down gently. Breaths came shallow; bodies shook. The air smelled of iron and fear.
Only Uncle Shahzad stayed upright.
A thin cut crossed his forehead—minor—but his eyes were too awake.
The room pivoted toward him.
Shahzad studied the gate as if it might reopen on its own.
Quietly: "It wasn't empty."
Stillness settled like dust.
"We thought it was safe," he continued. "Fog thin. Streets silent. We started looting."
His jaw locked.
"Then the fog moved."
A ripple passed through the listeners.
"Something stepped out. Human-shaped. Black. Wrong."
A scream—not outside, inside the skull.
They found a body.
"A man," Shahzad said. "Or what had been one."
A black, jelly mask pulsed across his face.
"It wasn't wearing him," Shahzad whispered. "It was steering."
They attacked.
Arms severed at the elbow. A hammer crushed both knees.
"For a heartbeat we thought it was over."
His voice dropped.
"Three more came."
The dead one twitched.
"Limbs regenerated. Fast. Like flesh remembering itself."
The human pieces stayed on the ground.
"The mask… smiled."
Someone gagged.
"We ran. Nowhere to go."
One creature shaped its forearm into a blade—long, glassy, obsidian.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
It carved a man in half; black spray hit exposed skin, burned, peeled.
"Our armor saved organs," Shahzad said. "Not the pain."
Another pinned a runner.
"Nails through the neck. When he dropped, the thing flowed onto his face."
Shahzad's voice cracked.
"They screamed for their mothers."
Silence crushed the room again.
"We had to end them," he said. "Before they stood back up."
A distant window shattered.
"That's how we escaped."
He exhaled.
"Some didn't."
After a moment: "On the way back, a wolf took the fallen."
Aroha frowned. "Lone?"
"No pack." Shahzad's eyes unfocused. "It ran on two legs, then four, then none—sliding like meat down stairs."
My pulse sharpened.
"For this intel we earned points," Shahzad finished. "Heads are arranging a training camp. When everyone recovers."
A whisper: "Shemsher?"
Shahzad shook his head. "Dying."
Later, we moved among the cots—bandaging, lifting water, wiping blood.
I worked without a word.
Through a doorway, I saw him.
Bandages black with spray. Breath wet. Eyes already fogged.
Shemsher's hand shot out, grabbed my wrist. Fingers like iron.
"Don't let them wear me," he rasped.
I nodded.
I didn't promise.
I knew I might break it.
Aroha caught my sleeve. "Still want out?"
I looked at Shemsher's cot. At the gate. At the ceiling where fog lived.
"Not yet."
"When?"
"When I know how to break them faster than they heal."
That night we lay in a circle on the floor. Someone spun a bottle.
It stopped at Odai.
"Dance," Aroha said.
"Hit me instead."
They did.
Etisham's swing cracked loudest.
Odai yelped. "You psycho?"
Laughter burst—brief, desperate, human.
I didn't laugh.
I stared at the ceiling.
Fog. Regeneration. Parasites. Blades. Burning liquid.
A flake of plaster landed on my chest.
I didn't look up.
My ears flattened against the sound of something crawling above.
They weren't invincible.
They were systems.
And systems could be broken.
I smiled.
"Good," I whispered to the dark. "I was getting bored of winning."
