The first thing he registered as the ringing in his ears slowly died and the shock in his bones faded was pain.
It resounded, latching onto his nerves until it hurt to even see.
Shriek.
Shriek.
He froze.
Not today. Fuck, not today.
The world around him flickered in and out of focus like an old screen struggling to hold its images.
Fight! Run!
Instinct drove his limbs before reason could catch up. He shoved himself up, hands scraping against the shattered road.
A low groan slipped past his clenched teeth. His left arm—fuck. Something was wrong. He could feel the heat of torn skin, the sticky warmth of blood soaking his sleeve.
Every inch of his body protested as he scanned his surroundings: metal scraps, burning tires, thick black smoke curling into the already darkened heavens.
A groan tore through his clenched teeth. His left arm was useless. Were the muscles torn? It didn't matter now. If he stopped, he was dead.
He pushed forward, boots against the slick pavement. Something wet trickled from his temple, smearing into his vision and burning opened skin as it mixed with sweat and dirt.
His breath was short and raspy, fighting for a whisp of clean air as his body warred against itself, demanding he drop and give in.
Finally, he saw it: his blade, now blackened and just a few steps away. It was close to useless—no better than a kitchen knife, but it was better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing.
Another screech rapidly drew closer.
Eric bolted toward the open gates of the checkpoint. Once or twice, his knees gave out, and each time, it took that cursed sound storming closer to push him back up.
No way had he stayed alive this long just to be some ashspawn's meal. Kael was waiting for him, and he wasn't about to let her down without a fight.
Past the checkpoint, his brain switched to full calculation mode as his eyes swept over the vast expanse of land before him.
Darkness owned the parts the searchlight couldn't reach, leaving them in perceived emptiness.
But Eric knew better. That void had just moved; bright, round torches shining like burning embers, accompanied by soft croons.
Shit.
His instincts screamed trap, but his feet couldn't stop, not with those things behind him.
He tightened his grip around the knife, fingers slick with sweat, and he took the only option left: up the stairs of a watchtower.
Knife between his teeth, fingers clutching the rods tightly, he scrambled up with his one good hand, two steps at a time.
Halfway up, he heard it—like a hundred wet feet skittering against the pavement, followed almost immediately by the soft clink of nails against metal.
There, Eric made the mistake of looking down, and his blade nearly dropped from his lips. He'd only ever seen them dead, or captured on billboards, but now, there they were.
All teeth, and hunger he could smell—one that made him want to puke through his clenched jaw.
He had to move, not think. Had to shut his eyes to how pale their skin were, to their gleaming red eyes, to how they moved on all fours with elongated limbs like spindly spiders.
He didn't want to think about how that clinking sound came from creatures that soft.
Five more steps to go. Then… what?
He just couldn't die! Kael needed him! If he was going to, it wouldn't be as dinner.
He'd promised her he'd always be one "Tomato" call away.
"…Can't die! Can't fucking die!"
The metal rattled under his boots. He climbed faster.
Don't look down. Don't look down.
He looked down.
And he saw them climbing, dashing up the stairs like ant.
Fast, too? How can they be that fast when they weigh five times as much as me?
What the fuck were these creatures?
But just as he touched the edge, the first one lunged.
Eric barely jerked back in time. His hand slipped, and for a terrifying half-second, his balance was tipping into that darkness—
He grabbed the edge.
"Christ!"
Pain shot through his arm and down his back, straining as he held the concrete biting into his palm.
Below him, the shrieks grew louder, as though they knew he was slipping.
As though they were just toying with him.
Bastards! Damn, bastards! Damn the pink result and his weakness. He was going to show them how he'd survived all those years with bad decisions and a scrappy car.
Eric gritted his teeth against the blade and pushed upward, throwing his weight forward before the next one could grab him.
Another pull was just another second alive.
The platform was so fucking close.
Then came the sharp snap and the stairs jerked back.
Eric's stomach dropped. The whole structure swayed, metal groaning beneath the weight of the monsters scrambling up its frame.
His hands slammed into the railing, barely stopping himself from tumbling back down.
"No. No, no, no—"
Something grabbed his boot.
Wet, leathery, sickening and hot just as he'd expected them to feel.
Eric kicked, but the hold only tightened. The impact jarred his leg, sending sparks of agony through his already battered nerves.
It was impossible to move, impossible to reach for his knife without slipping into the darkness below, filled with those bright red torches.
Another jerk. The stairs strained again.
A ball rose in Eric's throat. Lights flashed before his eyes. He needed a miracle.
If there was anyone above who could see this—a God, a normal pair of eyes in the shadows—he needed a fucking helping hand.
But nothing was coming. He should've known that by now.
Then another jerk, and up came another ash spawn, lurching toward him. The beast holding him screamed in agony as its colleague's nails dug into its hide.
Its grip loosened, and Eric knew he wasn't getting another chance.
So he kicked harder. The ashspawn's hold slipped—and so did his. Fuck. The weight on his leg, mixed with the pain, was becoming too much to bear. Soon, he'd be falling with them, whether the stairs gave way or not.
To make it worse, the ashspawn's second hand wrapped around his calf.
"Get off!" he yelled, voice filled with agony and terror, reverberating through the darkness. The knife between his teeth clattered to the floor, his feet numb from their hold. "Get off me, damn it!"
This time, they did but not without sharp, pointed fingers dragging down his calf, tearing him open. Eric screamed, tears trailing down his face.
There were bones breaking thuds below.
With the last ounce of his strength, he hurled himself onto the cemented platform. With a grunt infused with pain, he kicked against the hinges twice.
Down went the stairs, toppling over, sending the ashspawns crashing. Eric didn't need to look down to know it hadn't done much good. The rising shrieks were loud enough.
Now, on his back on the pavement, sniffling against the back of his knuckles, pain tore through him.
His eyes traced the inky sky as he fought not to roar—not just from the pain, but from every frustration and stroke of bad luck he'd had to laugh off to stay sane in Neal City.