Chapter 4: The Second Countdown & The Gates Open
The moment the oppressive stasis lifted on January 1st, 2020, the world didn't erupt in the apocalyptic invasion everyone had braced for. Instead, it snapped back into a fractured, uncertain 'normalcy'. Lights hummed back to life, sound rushed back in, and the global paralysis released its grip, leaving behind bewildered, System-bonded survivors. **For two entire years – seven hundred and thirty days** that crawled by under the System's silent, inscrutable gaze – the monstrous entities people had read about in fantasy novels failed to appear. The System, having integrated itself into Earth's very fabric, seemed to hold its breath. The storm everyone feared wasn't falling from the sky or crawling from the earth... not yet. Instead, chaos was unleashed by the awakened humans themselves.
Across the globe, the sudden manifestation of abilities warped daily life. Simple feats like enhanced strength made theft easier, while control over elements or minds enabled far graver crimes, including exploitation and violence that traditional law enforcement was ill-equipped to handle. The collapse of the global economy shattered existing structures, leading to rampant scarcity that hit the poor hardest, driving many to desperate measures, including crime, just to survive. The lines between survivor, opportunist, and predator blurred. Powered individuals formed gangs, vying for control over scarce resources or territories. Vigilantes, both genuinely altruistic and dangerously self-righteous, emerged to fill the void left by overwhelmed or corrupted authorities. Basic necessities became bargaining chips, power determined dominance, and the most horrifying acts were sometimes committed by those who had been ordinary citizens just days before, their darkest impulses amplified by newfound might. Amidst this, stories of true heroism emerged, like that of The Healer, Alicia Carpio, whose online popularity skyrocketed as she used her abilities to aid the sick and injured, often defying government directives to consolidate or evacuate, choosing instead to stay where she was needed most.
Meanwhile, the world grappled with understanding. News channels broadcast non-stop, sensationalizing every reported power sighting and conflict. Social media, swiftly restored by the System, exploded with shaky phone footage of impossible feats, whispered rumors, desperate pleas for help, and rampant speculation. "Ability vloggers" became a new class of celebrity, showcasing powers, offering dubious tutorials, or spreading wild, unverified theories about the System's purpose and the nature of the Bonding. Governments issued confusing statements, implemented unenforceable curfews, or attempted to form specialized units. Amidst the noise, a thousand different hoaxes and delusional beliefs bloomed – System cults, prophecies of alien saviors or demonic reckoning, and baseless claims of how to gain specific powers or find safety in mythical 'unaffected zones.'
Yet, beneath the surface of human-made anarchy and the white noise of misinformation, the original terror lingered. The System remained, silent but omnipresent, its purpose inscrutable. And the promised invasion, the monstrous entities glimpsed in fleeting System messages or hinted at by the very existence of abilities clearly designed for combat and survival, had never arrived. This absence was not comforting; it was a prolonged, agonizing suspense. All year, that question loomed: When? The date loomed larger with every passing day, a dark star on the calendar. As December 31st, 2021, approached, the global sense of relief that the first year was monster-free curdled into a potent, inescapable dread. The world held its breath once more, bracing for a midnight that felt less like a celebration and more like an execution.
8:00 PM, Evening, December 31st, 2021
Calamba, Laguna. The air wasn't buzzing with the usual frantic energy of New Year's Eve. There were no loud firecrackers yet, no excited street vendors hawking Año Nuevo staples. Instead, a quiet, almost somber atmosphere hung in the humid air. Tonight, survival was the only cause for celebration.
Inside a brightly lit karinderya on a side street, just a few blocks from their apartment building, the usual clatter of spoons and plates mixed with the low murmur of conversation. The small eatery, worn but clean, was packed. Families, couples, solo individuals – they filled every plastic chair at every Formica-topped table. Many, like Diego and Martha's family, hadn't cooked the traditional elaborate media noche feast. The trauma of the previous New Year's Eve, when the world had simply stopped, leaving everyone frozen and terrified, had stolen the festive spirit from countless homes. Coming to a karinderya offered a simple meal and, more importantly, the quiet reassurance of shared survival.
Diego, Martha, Dan (15), and Bliss (8) sat huddled at a corner table, their plates holding modest portions of adobo and rice. Bliss picked at her food, her eyes occasionally drifting towards the small, old television set mounted high on the wall. It usually played a static-filled local channel, providing background noise more than actual entertainment.
Suddenly, the screen flickered, displaying a news channel's emergency broadcast graphic. The low chatter in the karinderya began to die down as heads turned towards the TV. The reporter's voice, grave but with a hint of reverence, filled the sudden silence.
"...and in a story that has captivated the nation, Alicia Carpio, known to many as 'The Healer,' continues her work in the affected zones..."
Diego and Martha, who had been in quiet conversation, paused. Dan and Bliss stopped eating, their eyes fixed on the screen. On the TV, grainy phone footage showed Alicia Carpio, looking tired but resolute, her hands glowing faintly as she tended to an injured man amidst rubble that looked all too familiar from viral videos earlier in the year.
"...Despite the government's repeated requests for her to relocate to safer, designated facilities, Ms. Carpio released a statement today saying, 'My place is here, with the people who need me most. Hope is not found in hiding, but in helping each other, wherever we are.'"
A collective, soft exhale swept through the karinderya. Forks were still paused mid-air. Faces, drawn with a year of anxiety and the fear of the looming midnight, softened slightly. Here was proof, broadcast into their quiet corner of the world, that even in the persistent chaos and uncertainty, there were those who embodied strength and compassion. A fragile seed of hope, planted by a woman on a flickering screen, seemed to bloom for a moment in the tense, shared air of the little eatery.
Martha was the first to break the silence, her voice soft. "She's so brave. Staying there..."
Diego nodded, swallowing hard. "Hard to imagine. Most people with powers like that... they'd hide. Or worse."
Bliss looked up from her plate, her eyes wide. "Is she a Darna, Dad?" she asked, looking at Diego.
Diego watched the screen for another second before turning back to Bliss, offering a small, tight smile. "Braver. Darna fights monsters. Alicia fights... people." His knife scraped his plate—a sound like bones grinding. He saw
Bliss look from him back to the screen.
Onscreen, a gecko-monster scuttled past Alicia. It was a quick, almost subliminal flash in the grainy footage, but Dan, watching intently, noted its spindly legs—how they buckled under its weight like dry twigs.
Bliss giggled, poking her older brother's arm.
"Dan is afraid!" she declared with childlike honesty. Martha and Diego exchanged amused glances and chuckled softly, a brief, warm ripple in the quiet tension.
Bliss's eyes were wide, fixed on the TV again. "I want to be like her when I grow up! I want to help people like that!"
Martha reached over and gently patted Bliss's hand on the table. "You're too young for things like that, my little one. That's for the adults." She glanced at Diego. "You just focus on staying safe, okay? That's your job." Her tone was firm but loving, a parent's automatic shield against a dangerous world.
Martha then reached across the table, placing her hand over Diego's. Her smile was thin, her eyes holding a depth of unspoken worry. "I'm just... grateful. For right now. For us being here. Together."
Diego squeezed her hand, his smile fading. "Me too, Marth."
"She gives people hope, at least," Martha added, picking up her fork again, though her gaze lingered on the now-changing TV screen, the emergency graphic replaced by a tense-looking anchor.
"Hope is good," Diego said, but his voice lacked conviction. They all knew hope was a thin shield against the unknown that ticked closer with every second.
Just then, the news segment shifted abruptly. The tense anchor returned, his voice now tight with urgency. The screen cut to shaky phone footage from somewhere unfamiliar, showing blurred figures in a street choked with smoke. The audio filled with shouts and the distant sound of shattering glass.
"...reports are coming in from several districts about disturbances, apparently involving groups of powered individuals... witnesses describe uncontrolled ability usage..."
The camera jerked wildly, catching glimpses of unnatural phenomena – a burst of raw energy slamming into a wall, debris levitating erratically, a figure moving too fast to track. The reporter's voice continued, strained, over the chaotic visuals. "...authorities are advising citizens to stay indoors... do not approach areas with active disturbances..."
What was most disturbing was the sound beneath the chaos – not just fear, but what sounded like laughter, wild and exhilarated. The glimpses of faces in the smoke and flashing lights seemed young, high on the anarchy their powers unleashed. Everything around them – parked cars, small vendor stalls, streetlights – was being senselessly battered and broken by the sheer force of their uncontrolled abilities.
Diego's jaw tightened. Martha's hand instinctively reached for Bliss, pulling her daughter closer. Dan, despite his age, visibly tensed, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something unreadable as he watched the destructive display.
"Turn it off," Martha said, her voice sharp with sudden urgency, not to the TV but to Diego, a silent command to leave.
Diego nodded grimly. The fragile moment of shared survival and the brief flicker of hope from Alicia's report were instantly overshadowed by the stark reality of the chaotic power unleashed in the world. This wasn't heroism; it was destruction, and it was happening out there, among people barely older than their own son.
Martha stood abruptly. "We're leaving."
Diego signaled the karinderya owner, quickly settling the bill as Martha gathered their children, shielding Bliss's eyes for a moment from the violent images still flashing on the screen as they stood up. The quiet comfort of the eatery was shattered. Getting home, behind locked doors, was suddenly the only thing that mattered.
Outside the brightly lit karinderya, the air was cooler but still heavy with the weight of the approaching hour. They stepped back into the muted sounds of Calamba's New Year's Eve – less the joyous explosion of celebration and more a cautious murmur, punctuated by the occasional, tentative pop of a distant firecracker. The images of the rioting youth lingered in the back of their minds, a stark reminder of the unpredictable dangers now woven into the fabric of daily life.
Diego kept Bliss close, his hand firm on her shoulder, while Martha held Dan's arm as they navigated the familiar few blocks back to their building. The walk was short, silent mostly, each lost in their thoughts. This move to Calamba, to the relative quiet and the unspoken security of being near Martha's parents after the trauma of the previous New Year's Eve in Metro Manila, had been a necessary step. They had sought refuge, a place less exposed, less chaotic than the capital after the System's terrifying debut. Calamba wasn't insulated from the world's upheaval, but it felt... smaller. More manageable. Being close to family felt like an anchor in waters that had become impossibly vast and turbulent.
They reached their apartment building quickly. The elevator ride up was quiet, the tension thick in the enclosed space. Stepping inside their unit, the familiar layout of their living room, kitchen, and bedrooms offered a small, fragile sense of control. The lingering scent of their own modest efforts at holiday food contrasted with the karinderya smells still on their clothes. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, the minutes pushing them closer to the dreaded hour. It wasn't yet time for the final, anxious countdown, but the air in the apartment was already growing taut with anticipation.
Hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. Sleep was impossible, a distant luxury in the face of the gnawing fear that settled in their stomachs. Every creak of the building, every distant, slightly-too-loud noise outside, sent a jolt through their nerves. Bliss occasionally whimpered softly, clinging to Martha or Diego, while Dan sat quieter than usual, his gaze often fixed on nothing in particular, processing his own anxieties.
Outside, a profound, unnatural silence began to fall as the evening wore on. By 9 or 10 PM, the sporadic pops of firecrackers had died down almost entirely. The distant hum of traffic, usually a constant in Calamba, faded. Any sounds were isolated – the bark of a stray dog, the meow of a cat, sounds that emphasized the eerie lack of human activity. Peeking through the curtains, all they could see were empty, silent streets under the streetlights. The festive energy that should define this night was utterly absent; it felt like a city holding its breath, or worse, like a city already deserted. This odd, heavy silence added its own layer of stress, amplifying their internal fears.
The old television, now tuned back to a local channel, wasn't showing festive specials. Instead, it broadcast official government messages, interspersed with news reports from around the country and the world – a grim mosaic of continued chaos and stern warnings. On a small laptop nearby, muted social media feeds showed similar advisories scrolling endlessly. The official message, repeated hourly through every available channel, was stark: Stay at home. As much as possible, do not use the System. Avoid manifesting abilities. Do not interact with System interfaces if they appear. The System's "Bonding" phase was complete; its "Initialization" status remained. The next phase was unknown, but the clear implication was that human interaction with its gifts might trigger it.
But woven through these official channels, and even more rampant on the unfiltered social media feeds, was a torrent of conflicting information and outright hoaxes. Self-proclaimed "System experts," viral social media personalities, and anonymous online accounts churned out wild theories: the System was a test, a punishment, a gift; using your powers unlocked secrets, not using them made you vulnerable; midnight would bring rapture, judgment, or another, worse stasis.
Some peddled talismans or rituals claiming to offer protection or favorable System alignment. This constant influx of unverified claims and desperate speculation added another layer of confusion and helplessness. It was impossible to know what was true, who to trust, or if anything they did even mattered.
Martha and Diego moved through the apartment with quiet purpose, performing last-minute checks. Near the door stood two backpacks, packed with essentials – clothes, water bottles, non-perishable food, a basic first-aid kit. On the coffee table, a small, heavy-duty flashlight lay ready, next to a spare set of batteries and a reliable lighter. Every item they might possibly need if they had to leave in a hurry, if things went wrong, was accounted for. Diego went to the kitchen, not for food this time, but to retrieve two of his longest, sharpest chopping knives – heavy blades typically used for hacking through bone and tough meat. The System had classified him, essentially, as a fighter, and without access to conventional weapons, his tools of the trade would have to suffice.
Martha, too, prepared with her own System-given capabilities in mind. Classified as a healer, her hands could mend flesh, though only minor wounds for now – cuts, bruises, maybe a simple fracture if she focused. She double-checked the bandages and antiseptic in the first-aid kit, knowing that while her ability was a blessing, it had its limits in the face of true danger.
Their hushed conversations often circled back to the same critical instruction, repeated gently but firmly, primarily directed at Dan.
"Dan," Martha said for what felt like the tenth time, her eyes meeting his, "remember what your Papa and I said."
"Yes, Mama," Dan replied, the weariness in his voice evident, but he didn't argue.
"You stay right next to Bliss," Diego added, his voice low and serious. He patted the handle of one of the knives tucked into his waistband, hidden by his shirt. "Always keep an eye on her. No matter what happens. If... if we get separated, you look after your sister first. Do you understand, Brother?"
"Yes, Papa," Dan affirmed, nodding. The weight of responsibility, heavy for a fifteen-year-old, was clear in his eyes. He reached over and gently took Bliss's hand, holding it in his own, a silent promise.
As 11 PM arrived, the atmosphere in the apartment became even more charged. The silence outside was absolute now, pressing in on them. Their anxiety spiked, a cold wave of fear washing over them with renewed intensity. Only sixty minutes remained until the hour that had fundamentally changed their lives a year ago. They were more afraid now, perhaps, than they had been the first time, armed this year with the terrible knowledge of what the System was capable of, and the chilling uncertainty of what its "next phase" would bring. The conflicting messages swirling through the media only deepened the dread – was the government telling the truth? Were the hoaxers right? Was there anything they could do but wait? Their abilities felt like meager defenses against an unknown, cosmic threat.
They sat together, the four of them, surrounded by their preparations, the unsettling mix of official warnings and rampant hoaxes a low hum from the TV and laptop, the oppressive silence outside broken only by the ticking clock and their own anxious breaths. The final hour had begun, each minute a step closer to the terrifying unknown awaiting them at midnight.
The luminous hands of the clock on the wall crept inexorably towards the twelve. Outside, the absolute silence of Calamba felt heavier than any noise could have. It was a vacuum, a void where celebration should have been, amplifying the frantic pounding of their own hearts in their ears. Each tick was a hammer blow, driving them closer to the unknown.
Martha held Diego's hand, their knuckles white. Diego's other hand rested protectively on Bliss's head, stroking her hair softly, though his eyes were fixed and distant. Dan sat rigidly beside Bliss, his earlier weariness replaced by a wide-eyed, adrenaline-fueled watchfulness, his hand still tightly gripping his sister's smaller one. The air in the apartment was thick, stagnant with unspoken dread. The government warnings on the TV and the swirling hoaxes on the laptop seemed to blend into a single, meaningless static against the stark reality of the ticking clock.
The TV screen flickered, graphics changing to a simple, bold digital clock filling the screen.
00:01:00 it read. The final minute.
Bliss buried her face in Martha's side, trembling. Martha wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, while her other hand squeezed Diego's tighter.
The digital clock on screen began to count down the seconds.
00:00:50...
Diego swallowed hard, his gaze sweeping over his family, a silent vow passing between him and Martha. Dan leaned closer to Bliss, instinctively trying to shield her small form with his own.
00:00:40...
The silence outside was so profound now it felt unnatural, like the world itself was holding its breath, bracing. Inside, their own breathing was shallow, ragged. The packed bags by the door seemed miles away. The knives in Diego's waistband felt cold against his skin.
00:00:30...
Only half a minute. A year ago, this was the peak of joyful noise and anticipation. Now, it was pure, unadulterated fear. The light from the TV seemed too bright, the ticking of their internal clocks deafening.
00:00:20...
Martha closed her eyes for a brief second, a silent prayer. Diego's grip tightened almost painfully on her hand. Dan pulled Bliss onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her, his face pressed against her hair.
00:00:10...
The digital clock filled the screen, bold red numbers dominating everything. A synthesized voice from the TV, chillingly calm, began the final vocal countdown, stark against the silence.
"Ten."
"Nine."
Their eyes were glued to the screen, to the seconds melting away, to the terrifying inevitability.
"Eight."
Hearts hammered. Time felt stretched, yet rushing away.
"Seven."
Diego's jaw clenched. Martha's grip was iron.
"Six."
Bliss whimpered, a small, muffled sound against Dan's chest.
"Five."
Dan squeezed her tighter, his own body rigid.
"Four."
The air crackled with tension, not just in the room, but seeming to emanate from the silent city outside.
"Three."
Almost there. The precipice.
"Two."
A collective, silent gasp in the room.
"One."
The numbers on the screen flipped. The voice fell silent. The clock read 00:00:00.
Midnight.
January 1st, 2022.
Then, a gut-wrenching vibration tore through the apartment. It wasn't the sharp jolt of an explosion, but a deep, resonant shudder that seemed to come from the very bones of the building, from the earth beneath. It was a roar like the earth vomiting its spine. Items rattled violently on shelves, the floor seemed to hum, and a primal fear surged through them – Earthquake!
"Get out! Run!" Diego roared, the fear raw in his voice, grabbing Bliss from Dan's arms as Martha scrambled up.
The apartment door flew open, but they weren't alone. From other units, doors burst open simultaneously. Shouts of panic echoed in the hallway. "Earthquake! Earthquake!" Footsteps pounded down the stairs – their own frantic descent mingling with the thud of hurried feet from above and below. A wave of shared terror propelled them.
They spilled out through the ground floor exit into the open air, part of a small crowd of residents rushing from the building. Brief, chaotic moments ensued as people jostled, eyes wide with fear, looking up at the now-still building or around for danger. The karinderya's awning across the street had collapsed, burying the scent of adobo in powdered concrete.
Putting a few meters between themselves and the concrete structure that had felt ready to collapse moments ago, Diego steered his family slightly away from the main cluster of panicked neighbors, towards the quiet asphalt beside the road. Panting, hearts hammering, they halted there, a small, tight unit.
And then it settled. The absolute silence they had observed for hours outside, the eerie stillness of the empty streets, returned and deepened, pressing in on them. The streetlights, though still on, cast a weak, almost ghostly glow on the faces of the other residents standing frozen in place near the building's entrance, their moment of panicked chaos abruptly cut short. Their phones, checked in trembling hands, showed flat signal bars, screens dark or useless. No sound of celebration, no distant siren, no sign of life or activity broke the profound quiet across the city visible in the weak light.
But this time was different.
They could move.
Their bodies weren't locked in horrifying
stasis. They could gasp, tremble, look around. Diego clutched his knives, ready. Martha kept Bliss pulled tight against her side, her eyes wide but scanning the silent street, the dark buildings, and the now-silent, immobile figures of their neighbors a short distance away. Dan, standing close, looked from his parents to the eerie emptiness, to the frozen cluster of residents, his young face etched with a mixture of fear and readiness.
They were outside, by the road, vulnerable but mobile, slightly separated from the others, facing the mysterious aftermath of midnight in a world that had just vibrated, triggered a panic, but otherwise offered no explanation, only silence and frozen forms. Their neighbors, just moments ago a small crowd rushing from the building, were now still again, frozen in postures of fear and flight in the dim streetlight.
The profound silence stretched, pressing in on them. They could move, they could breathe, their hearts hammered – but the world outside their small family unit was eerie, terrifyingly still.
Then, cutting through the absolute quiet, a sound began to grow. Not loud, not sharp, but a deep, monotone, continuous hum that seemed to air in the air, felt as much as heard. It resonated not just around them, but somehow deep within their bones, a low, persistent frequency that vibrated in their chests.
Simultaneously, they all felt a weird, inexplicable sensation. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but a profound wrongness, a feeling they couldn't understand or name. It was like their internal compasses had spun wildly off course, leaving them disoriented and deeply unsettled. It was an invasive feeling, cold and alien, separate from the hum but tied to its presence.
Bliss, sensing the sudden terror in her parents and brother, and overwhelmed by the inexplicable hum and weird feeling, let out a cry, a small, terrified sound that was instantly swallowed by something far more terrifying.
Around them, from the building they had just fled, from others across the silent street, from seemingly everywhere in the near distance, sounds began to erupt. Not the return of city noise, but something else – shrieks of pure, unadulterated terror, desperate cries slicing through the hum, low, frightened murmurs like a chilling wind, and the frantic, repeated pleas of women crying out prayers. "In Jesus' name! In Jesus' name!" the desperate invocations rose, a chorus of human panic answering the alien hum.
The stasis for others had broken, but their movement was clearly limited, perhaps just their voices freed, or their bodies released into moments of terrified reaction before freezing again. The silence was gone, replaced by the unnatural hum and the horrifying symphony of widespread human fear and confusion. Diego and Martha instinctively pulled their children closer, their eyes wide with terror, trying to understand the feeling, the sound, the chorus of panic rising from the people around them.
Diego, though shivering from fear, his knees feeling suddenly soft, spoke in a low, trembling voice. "W-we need to...run."
Martha's voice was tight with her own terror and uncertainty. "Whe-where? It's...too dark. What if we get separated?"
Diego's gaze was wild, desperate. "So we're just going to wait?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered, mirroring the terrible uncertainty of the moment. Run into the unknown darkness and risk losing each other? Or stand frozen by the roadside, waiting for whatever the hum and the fear of others portended?
From nearby, they heard the desperate, grinding cough of engines failing to catch. Someone was trying to start a vehicle, then another, the sounds sharp and futile in the otherwise silent street. The attempts died out as quickly as they began.
The chorus of cries around them seemed to grow louder, more desperate, a chilling wave of human fear echoing in the night.
Then, the deep, monotone, continuous hum stopped. It didn't fade, it simply cut out, abruptly and completely, like an unseen conductor had lowered their baton, silencing a terrifying choir. The sudden absence of the sound was almost as jarring as its presence had been.
Simultaneously, the heavy, weird feeling vanished. The invasive disorientation was gone, leaving behind a lingering sense of violation but also a stark clarity. The world suddenly felt… normal, physically, but wrong in its quiet emptiness and the echoes of recent panic.
But the return to normalcy was short-lived.
Shimmering distortions began to manifest at various points in the night air around Calamba. These weren't mere tears in reality; they were taking the form of Gates.
Appearing in the air above the silent buildings, not too many, but enough to catch the eye with terrifying clarity, they looked like something out of a nightmare made real – large, irregular shapes, their edges glowing with an intense, otherworldly purple light. But they weren't confined to the sky. Some blossomed halfway down the sides of buildings, clinging to concrete walls like monstrous barnacles. A few appeared directly over the asphalt of the road near the intersection. And chillingly, through the dark, silent windows of nearby structures, they could see the faint, unmistakable purple glow manifesting inside rooms, in hallways, in what looked like stairwells. The space within their frames wasn't just dark; it swirled with a visible, turbulent energy, like a cosmic storm contained within a window. Their manifestation was not fast, not slow – the glowing borders expanding gradually, the turbulent energy within becoming more defined as the seconds passed, silent promises of passage to somewhere else entirely, appearing in places both distant and terrifyingly close.
Diego, Martha, Dan, and Bliss watched in stunned silence, their earlier fear transforming into a new, wide-eyed awe mixed with dread. The System's "Next Phase" had arrived, not with a roar or continuous hum, but with a vanishing feeling and the silent, majestic, terrifying blooming of gateways in the sky, on walls, and even within the seemingly solid safety of buildings.
Then, a sound answered the silent appearance of the Gates. It was a low, guttural noise that seemed to originate not from any single point, but from the air itself, carrying the distinct, chilling resonance of something ancient and predatory. It was a terrifying sound of a monster, echoing in the sudden quiet – like a small dinosaur sound effect in the movie, reptilian and unnatural, a horrifying counterpoint to the human cries that still hung in the air.
The sound snapped their heads around, eyes darting towards the direction it seemed strongest – from somewhere near the cluster of buildings across the road where Gates had appeared. Fear, fresh and sharp, pierced through the awe. The Gates weren't just visuals; they were doorways, and something was waiting on the other side, or perhaps, had already stepped through.
Their fears were instantly confirmed by a new sound, a piercing, human cry that originated from the same general direction. A woman's horrifying scream ripped through the air, ragged with pure terror.
"Monsters!" the shout followed the scream, raw and unmistakable, carrying across the street from the group of previously frozen residents near the building entrance.
The scream and the shout solidified their worst fears. Something had emerged. Someone had seen it. Diego instinctively pushed Bliss further behind him, knives now held openly in his hands, his eyes scanning the darkness near where the woman's voice had come from. Martha pulled Bliss tightly against her, her gaze also fixed across the road, her face pale with terror.
Then, from the Gates across the road, they began to emerge.
From a portal halfway up the side of the corner store building, something that looked like an oversized, skeletal gecko with too many joints crawled out, scuttling down the wall with unnerving speed, letting out a chittering sound that echoed the earlier monster noise.
From the glowing frame embedded in the apartment building wall near the entrance where the neighbors were clustered, a hunched, ape-like creature with glowing red eyes jumped into the street, landing with a soft thud, its shadow looming large. From a small Gate that had appeared high atop the building roof, something with leathery wings detached itself and began to fly silently downwards, a dark, gliding shape against the slightly-less-dark sky. And from the portal glimpsed inside a ground-floor window, a thick, segmented body began to push through, and as more of it emerged, it let out a wet hiss, and a cloud of thick, purple smoke puffed out, smelling foul even from their distance.
They were here. Low-level monsters from the middle realm, alien and terrifying, their features a grotesque mix of chitin, bone, and unnatural flesh. None were humanoid, just monstrous, predatory shapes. And they weren't dispersing randomly. Drawn by the sounds of panic or perhaps simply programmed for aggression, they began to move, converging on the cluster of terrified, partially unfrozen residents near the apartment entrance across the street.
Diego's grip tightened on his knives, his knuckles white. Martha gasped, her hands covering Bliss's eyes instinctively. Dan stared, wide-eyed, at the horrifying spectacle unfolding across the road. The fear was no longer anticipation; it was immediate, present, and closing in.
But their attention was suddenly ripped away from the horror across the street. With a heavy thump that made the ground vibrate slightly, a figure jumped from the top of the building they had just fled, landing with unnatural force just a few meters away from where they stood by the roadside. It was big and tall, towering over them – a gorilla-like monstrosity with disproportionately long, muscular arms that nearly dragged on the ground. Its hide was a dark, rough texture, maybe scales or thick hide, and its face, though vaguely simian, was twisted into a silent, terrifying rictus, its eyes glinting with cold intelligence. It didn't immediately attack. Instead, it straightened up, letting out a low growl that was different from the smaller monster noises – deeper, more resonant. It scanned the family standing by the road, its gaze settling on Diego and the glint of the knives in his hands. The creature tilted its head, a slow, deliberate movement that felt unnervingly intelligent. It raised one massive, long-fingered hand, slowly beating it against its chest with a heavy thud-thud-thud, a silent, terrifying challenge. It seemed to be taunting Diego, acknowledging the flimsy weapons he held, asking for a fight.
Diego felt his breath catch in his throat. His body was rigid with terror, a cold sweat breaking out despite the humid air. His knees felt like they might buckle. He had grown up a quiet, patient man, always preferring to let things slide, actively avoiding conflict and enemies for the sake of a peaceful life for his family. Brawls and fights were utterly outside his experience. He was classified as a fighter by the System, he had his knives ready, but this... he had never seen a monster like this before, not up close, not real. It was immense, powerful, and right there, challenging him directly. He gripped the knives tighter, but his hands were shaking violently.
Martha let out a strangled whimper, pulling Bliss even harder against her, shielding her with her own body. Dan stood frozen for a second, then instinctively moved slightly forward, positioning himself between his mother and sister as they stood by the road, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a desperate, futile protectiveness.
For a drawn-out second, the stand-off held – the massive, taunting creature, the trembling man with kitchen knives, and the terrified family. Then, Diego made his decision. Unable to speak past the terror in his throat, he gave a simple, urgent head gesture – a sharp nod back down the road they had come from, the unspoken command clear: Run.
Martha didn't hesitate. Her eyes, locked on the monster, flickered for a second to Diego, understanding flashing between them, before she spun, pulling Bliss with her. Dan immediately turned, keeping himself between the monster and his mother and sister as they began to move, not a full sprint yet, but a desperate, hurried scramble away from the towering creature.
As the three of them scrambled away, they instinctively looked back. What they saw etched itself into their minds forever. The gorilla-like monster, with astonishing speed, had lunged not after them immediately, but towards a parked car just behind where Diego had stood. With a terrifying roar that finally broke its earlier silence, it smashed its massive hands down onto the vehicle, the metal crumpling like paper, lifting it, and then, with brutal force, bringing the crushed car down onto Diego who had been one heartbeat too long in turning fully, perhaps trying to buy them a second, or simply paralyzed for a fraction too long. Metal met flesh with a wet crunch like overripe fruit.
A collective, choked sound escaped Dan, Martha, and Bliss. They froze in shock, their hurried steps halting as the horrifying sight unfolded. Papa... buried beneath twisted metal. From Bliss, a piercing, grief-stricken scream ripped free. "Papaaaa!"
Dan vomited bile, hot and acrid, onto the asphalt. His knees felt like they might buckle again.
For a terrifying second, only the monster's roar, the shriek of tormented metal, and Bliss's heartbroken scream filled the air, drowning out the distant human cries. Then, the monster dropped the car and seemed to momentarily ignore them, its attention perhaps caught by something else, or satisfied with its immediate, brutal display of power.
Martha's face, already pale with terror, drained completely. A raw, guttural sound of grief escaped her. Forgetting everything but the man she had just seen crushed, her first love, the love of her life, her feet moved, stumbling, starting back towards the wreckage where Diego lay broken beneath the car. "Die—" she choked out, his name a torn sound.
Before she had taken more than a step or two, a blur of impossibly fast figure streaked past them from the direction of the buildings. It was too fast to see clearly, a dark shape moving with inhuman speed and agility. Martha stopped mid-stumble, her eyes wide, not in fear of this new threat but perhaps in dawning understanding. Then, with a horrifying, wet sound that sliced through the night, her body was sliced in a single, slanting motion. She didn't cry out. Her eyes widened in a final expression of shock and agony before her severed breath fogged the asphalt as she fell, fingers still outstretched toward the car where Diego lay buried. Her body seemed to fold in on itself, collapsing beside the road.
Dan and Bliss stood frozen, watching in horror, their parents struck down before their eyes within seconds of each other. Orphaned, exposed, with monsters emerging and unseen horrors lurking, their small family was shattered. The sounds of the chaotic middle realm felt terrifyingly close now.
And in the background, from across the road where the other Gates had opened and the low-level monsters were converging on the previously frozen residents, the horrifying reality was unfolding. Sounds of screaming, abruptly cut short, mingled with wet, tearing noises. The chittering and growling of the smaller monsters rose, punctuated by the sharp crack of things breaking and tearing metal as they began to destroy what they saw, fueled by alien hunger or simple destructiveness. Glimpses in the dim light showed dark shapes hunched over still forms, or batting aside debris like toys.
Dan and Bliss were alone, stranded between the immediate, immense threat of the gorilla monster and the unseen, deadly fast figure, with the sounds of a massacre providing the chilling soundtrack to their sudden, absolute loss.
Overwhelmed by the double shock and the absolute terror, Dan's legs gave out. He fall down, landing heavily on his knees beside the road, his body shaking uncontrollably, bone-deep terror seizing him. His eyes, wide and unfocused for a second, suddenly sharpened. He did the only thing he could think of, a desperate, ingrained reaction from the past year – he glanced at his stats panel.
Impossibly, a shimmering, holographic screen materialized in the air before his eyes, visible only to him.
--- Character Stats ---
Name: Dan
Status: Awakened Mortal
Age: Fifteen years old
Country: Philippines
Primary Category: DPS
Specific Class: Assassin
Level: 1
EXP: 100/100
Health Points: 100/100
Mana Points: 50/50
Attributes:
* Strength: 4
* Agility: 6
* Stamina: 5
* Perception: 6
* Intellect: 5
Basic Class Skill:
* Swift Strike: A quick, precise attack that targets weak points, dealing slightly increased damage or having a higher chance to critically hit compared to a normal attack.
Other Abilities:
* None
Equipment:
* None
Inventory:
* Emergency kit, food, pair of clothes.
The stark numbers, the simple words on the panel, swam before his tear-filled eyes. Level 1. Awakened Mortal. Specific Class: Assassin. Attributes so low, barely above average human, except maybe for a slightly higher Agility and Perception. HP and MP full, but what use were they? In this situation, can he do anything? The answer screamed back at him – nothing. He had stood there, paralyzed, while Papa was crushed. He had watched, frozen, while Mama was sliced apart. He did nothing for his father and mother. What was the use of this System, these stats, these seemingly useless abilities in the face of that? What's the use of the System?!
Despair, black and crushing, threatened to swallow him whole. He wanted to curl up, to disappear, to scream until his lungs gave out. Bliss's terrified whimpers from beside him were a thin, reedy sound in the horrifying soundscape. But then, a fragmented memory pierced through the horror – Mama's voice, Papa's hand on his shoulder, repeated countless times over the past year. Take care of Bliss. Keep an eye on her. If we get separated...
He remembered his parents' reminder. Bliss. His little sister.
He wasn't alone. He had a job. A promise he couldn't break, not now, not ever. The terror was still there, a freezing weight in his chest, his knees shaking, but beneath it, a flicker of fierce, desperate resolve ignited. He had failed his parents, but he wouldn't fail her.
With a choked sob, he forced his shaking legs beneath him and pushed himself up. He turned to Bliss, scooping her up. She was a little chubby, yes, but in his adrenaline-fueled state, the extra weight barely registered as he swung her onto his back in a piggyback ride. He could feel her small body trembling against him, her wet tears dripped salty onto his collarbone.
He turned and ran, not back towards their building, but away from the immediate horror, down the silent, streetlit road. His knees still felt soft, threatening to give out, but his legs pumped on pure instinct and the fierce will born of that promise. Tears streamed down his face, blurring the empty street ahead, and he wiped them away with his arms roughly as he ran.
Just ahead, beside the road and near the corner where he remembered seeing a 7-ELEVEN, he spotted a potential refuge. A large delivery truck had been flipped onto its side, a huge tree had fallen onto it, and several cars were leaned against the wreckage, creating a jagged, sheltered space beneath the overturned cargo bed. It was a twisted monument to the previous year's chaos, but now, it looked like a haven.
Gasping for air, his muscles screaming, he reached the wrecked truck. He saw the gap beneath the cargo bed, partially blocked by the fallen tree and cars. He needed to get inside. Seeing a loose panel or perhaps the edge of a lifted door on the cargo bed, he scrambled towards it. Using his arms that felt pathetically frail against the weight of the metal, but powered by a desperate strength he didn't know he possessed, he lifted the edge of the door just enough to create an opening.
"Bliss! Get in! Now!" he urged, lowering her slightly. He helped push her through the gap first, her small body wriggling into the dark space beneath the truck. Then he scrambled in after her, letting the heavy door clatter back down, plunging them into near-total darkness, broken only by slivers of light filtering through gaps in the wreckage.
He pulled Bliss close in the cramped, metal-smelling space. She was still sobbing, her cries muffled. "Bliss, shhh! Stop crying! Stop making noises!" he whispered fiercely, his voice rough with tears and exhaustion, covering her mouth gently with his hand. They were inside. Hidden. For now.
The space inside the cargo bed was low and narrow. They couldn't stand up inside, so they sat down, huddled together, despite the dark inside. The only source of light was from gaps at the back of the truck, slivers revealing twisted metal and glimpses of the silent street outside. Bliss, her face streaked with tears, nodded obediently, covering her mouth with both hands while continuing to cry, the sounds now tiny, muffled gasps. Dan could see the sadness and fear in her wide eyes while she was looking at him, her expression mirroring the profound loss they both felt.
Seeing her face, raw with shared grief, and feeling her small, trembling body against him, Dan couldn't help but cry too. The tears he had roughly wiped away while running returned, heavier now, intensified by the crushing reality of their parents' deaths, the terrifying events they had just witnessed, and the terrifying uncertainty of being alone. He wrapped his arms around Bliss, burying his face in her hair, letting the sobs wrack his body, a desperate, silent release of grief and terror in the dark, cramped space.
They stayed in that place, the twisted metal and fallen tree a fragile barrier against the monstrous night. Their initial, raw sobs subsided into quiet, trembling breaths. Dan, with no experience in survival or the harsh realities of this new world, treated this damaged truck as their new home, a place of immediate, necessary refuge, the only stability he could grasp onto. His mind, reeling from trauma, found a simple, desperate logic in staying hidden.
In the stifling dark, they focused on their other sense: hearing. They observed the surrounding based on the sounds outside, straining to interpret the terrifying symphony of the Next Phase. They heard more distant roars and chitters of monsters. They heard the crunch of metal and the splintering of wood as things were destroyed. Occasionally, a human scream would rise, sharp with terror, before being abruptly silenced or fading into a whimper. The chorus of desperate prayers seemed to have stopped entirely, perhaps the source eliminated, or simply frozen once more. It was a horrifying, confusing soundscape – nearby, the terrifying silence, punctuated only by their own ragged breaths and Bliss's tiny whimpers; in the middle distance, the sounds of destruction and killing; further out, the unknown expanse of a world fundamentally changed.
Through the gaps at the back, they could see the dim streetlights illuminating the empty road they had just run down. And just around the corner, recognizable even in the dim light from its distinct signage, was the convenience store, 7-ELEVEN. A place that, in a world where food was becoming scarce and dangerous to find, might offer a lifeline. They could get food from there. It was a thought that flickered in Dan's mind, a tiny, practical pinprick in the overwhelming darkness of their situation. But for now, movement was too dangerous. They could only hide, listen, and hope they weren't found.
As time crawled by in the suffocating dark, the sounds from across the road began to change. The most frantic shrieks seemed to have died down, replaced by a more constant, chilling background noise – wet, tearing sounds, guttural feeding noises, and the rhythmic thump-thump of something large moving or striking repeatedly. The initial chaos seemed to have settled into a grim, predatory activity. It wasn't exactly quieter, but the nature of the noise was different, more focused, and somehow more terrifyingly mundane in its brutality.
Driven by a nervous energy he couldn't suppress, and needing to know if the gorilla monster or the fast figure were still nearby, Dan cautiously crept towards the back of the truck. He positioned himself near one of the wider gaps in the twisted metal, peeking through. What he saw made his blood run cold. The gorilla-like monster wasn't visible, nor was the fast figure. But across the road, the cluster of neighbors they had fled alongside were... no longer a cluster. Dark shapes were hunched over forms on the ground, and the smaller, skeletal gecko-like creatures were scuttling over what looked like discarded clothes. It was a scene of quiet, horrifying feasting. The initial wave of monsters had done its work.
He flinched back from the gap, trembling anew. He huddled closer to Bliss, trying to be silent, trying to process the fresh wave of horror.
And then, right outside the truck, close enough to make them jump, they heard it. A heavy, dragging sound, followed by a low sniff. Something large was moving alarmingly close to their hiding spot. A rough hide scraped against the metal of the truck. A deep, familiar growl rumbled, muffled but unmistakable – the gorilla-like monster. It seemed to be investigating the wreckage, perhaps drawn by their scent, or just patrolling its new territory.
The sound of the immense creature just outside the flimsy metal wall sent Bliss into renewed panic. Her muffled sobs under her hands turned into desperate, choking gasps for air, her small body shaking violently against Dan. She was trying so hard to be quiet, but the terror was overwhelming her. Her crying escalated, a raw, fragile sound threatening to give away their position entirely.
"Shhh! Bliss, please, shhh!" Dan whispered frantically, covering her mouth more firmly, his own heart pounding like a drum against his ribs, his own breath sour with panic. He was trapped between the terrifying presence outside, Bliss's uncontrollable fear, and his own paralyzing terror.
It was in this peak moment of quiet, suffocating fear, with the monster sniffing just outside and Bliss struggling for breath, that it happened. A shimmer in his peripheral vision, just like before. A System Notification materialized before his eyes, its glow a stark contrast to the dark interior of the truck.
--- Quest Alert ---
New Quest Available!
[First Contact: Eliminate Crawlers]
Objective: Eliminate 5 Ossified Crawlers.
Location: Area around current position
Reward: Basic Middle Realm Weapon Crate.
Observed Weakness: Ossified joints (2x damage)
Accept? Y/N
The stark white text on the shimmering panel swam before Dan's eyes. A quest? Eliminate? Him? Eliminate the small, skeletal gecko-like things he'd just seen scuttling over bodies across the road? Kill 5 Ossified Crawlers for a Basic Middle Realm Weapon Crate? His mind reeled, flashing back to his useless stats, his 'Assassin' class he didn't understand, his inaction when his parents were killed. What was the System asking him to do? Walk out there and fight those things? With what? His bare hands? A rusty pipe?
He felt the despair rise again, the utter uselessness of it. He couldn't even stop his little sister from crying properly, how could he fight monsters? What's the use of that quest?!
But then, as the gorilla monster scraped a heavy claw against the metal right above his head and Bliss's gasps became more frantic, his eyes fell on the Reward line: Basic Middle Realm Weapon Crate. A weapon. Something real. Something tangible, unlike his useless stats or his unknown skill. Something that might actually give him a chance.
And beneath the terror, beneath the despair, the fierce spark ignited again. Take care of Bliss. A weapon might let him do that. He looked at the Quest prompt again, specifically at the objective and the reward. Fighting head-on was suicide. But 'Assassin'? 'Swift Strike'? They weren't about brute force. They were about precision, speed, finding weaknesses. He glanced at the location hint – Area around current position. The 7-Eleven was right there. And he'd seen the Ossified Crawlers across the road... could they be in the store?
His mind, despite the terror, began to scramble for a plan. An assassin wouldn't face five head-on. An assassin would use the environment. The store. The aisles, the shelves... hiding places, ambush points. Maybe 'Swift Strike' wasn't a full combat style, but a quick, deadly jab at a critical moment.
He focused on the shimmering panel, his finger trembling. He needed that weapon. He needed to protect Bliss. He had to try.
He made his choice. Mentally or by tapping the 'Y', he Accepted the quest. His fingers remembered snapping crab legs at the karinderya, the joints brittle under pressure.
The Quest panel vanished, replaced instantly by another brief, glowing notification.
Quest Accepted: [First Contact: Eliminate
Crawlers]
Objective: 5 Ossified Crawlers Remaining.
Basic Class Skill [Swift Strike] Tutorial Unlocked:
* Swift Strike: Execute a rapid, low-MP attack targeting enemy weak points. Effective from stealth or flank. Practice to increase proficiency and unlock enhanced techniques.
The notification dissolved. Effective from stealth or flank. Target weak points. It wasn't much, but it was a hint. A confirmation of his instinct. He couldn't fight them head-on, but maybe he could ambush them. Five of them. In the dark store.
He needed to move. The gorilla monster was still outside, its sniffing sounds growing more agitated, closer to the opening where they entered. And Bliss's gasps were getting louder, more desperate. He had to get her quiet, and he had to get them out before they were discovered in the truck. The 7-Eleven was the only place nearby that offered both potential hiding and the possibility of completing that terrifying Quest.
He gently pulled his hand away from Bliss's mouth. Her eyes were wide, pleading.
"Bliss," he whispered, forcing his voice to be steady, "shhh. Listen to Brother. We have to be very quiet. We need to go somewhere safer. Just a little bit more, okay? Like Mama taught us. Stay low."
He slowly, painstakingly, began to shift in the cramped space, moving towards the opening they had used to get in, peering out cautiously through the gaps. The monstrous sniffing was closer now, heavy breaths just outside the metal wall. His eyes darted towards the corner, towards the dim lights of the 7-Eleven sign. That was their target.
He took a deep, shaky breath, adrenaline surging again. He waited, listening to the gorilla monster's movements. It seemed to be moving around the front of the truck now, its heavy footfalls receding slightly, distracted by something else perhaps, or simply finished investigating their immediate area. This was their chance.
Keeping his body low, he crawled towards the opening, Bliss right beside him, her small hand gripping his shirt, her gasping breaths muffled against his back. He reached the edge of the twisted metal, peering out into the dim light of the street. The gorilla monster was nowhere in his immediate line of sight. The sounds of feasting and destruction were still present across the road, but seemed contained to that area for the moment.
He carefully pushed at the edge of the bent metal door, creating a gap just large enough to squeeze through. He slid out first, landing silently on the asphalt beside the truck. He immediately knelt, scanning the area, listening intently. Nothing seemed to have noticed them. Then, he reached back into the opening.
"Bliss, come on," he whispered, helping her slide out after him. She landed beside him, trembling but silent now, her eyes huge in the dim light.
They were out. Crouched low beside the wreckage, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stale air of the truck. They didn't pause. Keeping low, moving with desperate, silent speed, they began to creep the short distance towards the corner where the 7-Eleven stood. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every faint sound from across the road sent jolts of fear through them, but they moved, a small, determined unit in the terrifying, silent night. The glowing purple Gates hung silently in the sky above, a constant, ominous reminder of the horrors that had just been unleashed, and the horrors that now lay within the walls of the convenience store they were heading towards.
They reached the corner, peering around it towards the convenience store. The familiar bright facade was gone. The front view of the 7-ELEVEN was already destroyed. The glass doors were shattered inwards, the frame twisted. Shelves near the entrance were overturned, scattering products onto the floor amidst shards of glass and chunks of concrete. It looked like something had smashed its way in, or out.
Taking a shaky breath, Dan led the way through the gaping entrance. They entered slowly, watching every step not to step on anything, the crunch of broken glass and debris underfoot sounding deafening in the unnatural quiet, despite their caution. The air inside smelled of spilled soda, dust, and something vaguely acrid and alien – perhaps the lingering scent of the monsters that had been here.
The store was dark, the emergency lights providing only weak pools of yellow illumination. Aisles were disheveled, some shelves cleared, others untouched. The sounds from outside seemed slightly muffled here, but still present – the distant monster noises, the sounds of destruction.
Their priority shifted momentarily from shelter to the basic need that gnawed at their empty stomachs. Seeing a few intact racks of bread and packaged snacks further inside, they quickly grabbed a few items – small loaves of bread that felt stale even through the plastic, packets of crackers, a couple of juice boxes. They didn't linger to look for more.
Eyes darting around the dark, messy interior, searching for another place to hide, Dan's gaze fell upon the small, usually ignored door at the back – the restroom. It was a small, enclosed space, hopefully with solid walls and a lock.
"The bathroom," he whispered, urgency returning to his voice.
Holding Bliss's hand now, still keeping low, they ran towards the bathroom, their footsteps louder this time on the uneven floor as they scrambled past overturned displays and scattered goods. Reaching the door, Dan fumbled with the handle – unlocked. They slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind them. With trembling fingers, Dan slid the small bolt lock into place with a soft click.
They were inside. Locked away. Just them and the eerie silence of the small, dark room, the muffled sounds of horror outside a terrifying backdrop.
The bathroom was tiny, barely big enough for a single person usually, but felt like a fortress in this moment. The walls were solid, tiled from floor to ceiling. He felt secured in the bathroom, the sudden solidity and enclosure a stark relief after the exposed roadside and the flimsy truck. The tiles were clean and cold beneath his hands as he leaned against the wall, a grounding sensation that contrasted sharply with the smelly and heat of the truck interior and the pervasive, alien smell that lingered throughout the destroyed store and the night air outside.
Bliss, still quiet but trembling, huddled against his side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. For a moment, the terrifying Quest notification, the dangling Y/N prompt, the low Level 1 stat, his useless 'Assassin' class, the dead parents, the monsters outside – it all faded into a dull roar in his mind. He forgot the quest. All of it. In this small, locked room, there was only one reality that mattered: Bliss.
His parents' final, repeated instruction echoed clearly in his mind. Take care of Bliss. Keep an eye on her. His promise. He looked down at her small, tear-streaked face pressed against his side. He would never leave Bliss alone. Not now. Not ever. That was the only mission, the only quest that mattered.
The urgency of terror subsided slightly, replaced by a gnawing physical sensation. After the adrenaline of the escape and the horror, they felt very hungry. Dan remembered the packaged food they had grabbed. With fumbling fingers in the dark, he managed to tear open the plastic on the pandesal and a packet of crackers.
They decided to eat, sharing the dry bread and crackers in the cramped space. The simple act of chewing and swallowing, the small comfort of food in their bellies, felt profoundly grounding amidst the chaos. Bliss ate slowly, her trembling hand bringing crumbs to her mouth.
While they were quietly eating, their ears, hyper-sensitive in the silence of the bathroom, caught a sound from just outside the door. A heavy footfall, distinct from the distant sounds of destruction. Then, a chilling scraping noise. Like a footstep who have a claw scratching on the floor. It was right there, just outside their locked door. Outside, claws scraped concrete—a sound like knives on plates.
They froze, food midway to their mouths, breath held tight in their chests. The scraping sound moved back and forth, a slow, deliberate pattern. The monster outside seemed to be investigating the door, the walls, sniffing the air perhaps. The stench of rotting meat seeped through the cracks beneath the door. Every second stretched into an eternity. Fortunately, it leave after almost a minute, the scraping sounds receding, followed by heavy footsteps moving away down the aisle outside.
A shared, shaky exhale escaped them. They stayed utterly still for a long time after, listening, ensuring the threat was truly gone.
As the silence settled back in the immediate vicinity of the bathroom, Dan finished his cracker, the dry taste sticking to his tongue. He looked at the few remaining pieces of food. It wasn't much, but they had found it easily just outside the bathroom door in the destroyed store. And he knew, just around the corner, was the whole 7-Eleven.
As a simple minded person, overwhelmed by the complexity and horror of the world outside, Dan latched onto this one concrete fact: food was here, close, and accessible. This small, locked bathroom felt safe right now. The wrecked store outside contained food. The road outside the store contained monsters and death. The choice seemed simple, almost instinctively made in his traumatized mind.
This place, near the food... this would be it. Their new home. For now, at least. They will surely stay here for good. Find ways to survive within the store. If they ran out of food, or if monsters eventually broke in... bahala na. That familiar, uniquely Filipino phrase echoed in his head, a quiet surrender to the unpredictable fate that the System had imposed on their world. Survive today, worry about tomorrow when it comes. For now, food was near, and they were hidden.
Exhaustion, bone-deep and overwhelming after the adrenaline and terror, finally claimed them in the cramped, dark space. Huddled together on the cold tile floor, using their meager food bags as makeshift pillows, they slept for a long time. The sounds of the monstrous night faded into the background as their minds sought refuge in unconsciousness.
When he waked up, it was still dark inside the bathroom. He shifted slightly, his muscles stiff and sore. Silence surrounded them, thicker than before, broken only by Bliss's soft, even breathing beside him. For a confused moment, he didn't know where he was. Then, the chilling events of the night crashed back into his awareness – the vibration, the Gates, Papa... Mama...
The reality of their aloneness, the sheer, crushing weight of their loss, hit him anew. A raw, agonizing pain squeezed his chest. He wanted to cry out, to scream the names of his parents into the dark. But he couldn't. Not loudly. He glanced down at Bliss, still sleeping peacefully beside him, her face thankfully free of the terror that had etched it just hours ago. He couldn't disturb her sleep. He couldn't break down and frighten her further.
Swallowing the sobs, pressing a trembling hand against his mouth, he just sobbed silently, his body shaking with the effort to contain the grief. Tears streamed down his face, hot and silent, mingling with the dried tears already there. He held it in, afraid to interrupt Bliss's peaceful sleep, his silent agony the only witness to the fresh wound left by waking up in a world without their parents. He still don't know the time, whether it was still the dead of night or the dawn had arrived unseen outside their concrete box.
He continued to stay quiet, the silence of the bathroom a fragile shield. His gaze remained on Bliss, waiting for her to wake up. His mind was a confusing mess of grief, fear, and the cold, terrifying reality of their situation. He had to know what was happening outside, if it was safe.
Getting up slowly, trying not to make a sound, he stepped onto the toilet bowl lid, hoping to reach the small window high on the wall. He stretched, straining, but his fingertips were still inches away. He was too short to peek out. Defeated, he stepped back down. He couldn't see out, and the thought of unbolting the door and going out into the dark, monster-filled store was a cold, impossible dread that seized him, freezing him in place. He is afraid. Utterly, bone-deep afraid.
His eyes landed on the faint outline of the System panel, still accessible to him. He considered bringing it up, a flicker of the earlier quest returning. He took a glance of his panel, the stats appearing before him – Level 1, Assassin, Swift Strike. But the numbers felt meaningless, a cruel joke in the face of crushed cars and sliced bodies. What could that do? In this situation... it has no use for him. He pushed the panel away, the glowing projection vanishing.
There was nothing to do. Nowhere to go right now. Just hide. Survive the moment. After a while, with silent tears still tracking down his face, his gaze drifted, unfocused, across the small, dark room. He simply stare at the wall, his mind a weary blank, waiting for Bliss to wake, waiting for... something.