"…Shhhieeeeetttttt…"
Tariq collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, trying to steady his breath.
The hell was wrong with her?
The question rang in his head, but no answer came. Just silence. And the faint, sticky tug of spider silk against his skin.
After a minute or two, his heart rate started to settle. He blinked up at the ceiling, exhaled slowly, and pushed himself up.
Only for a tight pull at his chest to stop him short.
Right. Still stuck.
He looked down at the shimmering strands wrapped tight around his arms and torso. The webbing clung like it had fused to him — flexible, but unyielding.
He tugged. Hard.
Nothing.
Again. Still nothing.
Tariq huffed and let himself fall back onto the floor with a groan.
"Well… at least I'm not dead," he muttered.
A beat passed.
"…Yet."
He chuckled once. Dryly.
Suddenly, Tariq heard a voice—small and indistinct.
He snapped his head up, heart pounding, eyes scanning the ruined classroom. One of his students was still standing there—frozen, pale, lifeless.
Then he heard it again. Louder this time.
A whisper, but not a human one.
He couldn't make out the words.
And then—it got hot.
Unbearably hot.
"Uwaaah!" he gasped, as sweat poured down his face. His vision blurred. His skin felt like it was blistering—burning from the inside out.
*Let me out!*
The voice returned, echoing now. Clear.
Tariq's eyes darted around in desperation. No one was there.
LET ME OUT
Pain surged through him. His body twisted and spasmed uncontrollably. His hand shot up—and then slammed down into the tiled floor of his classroom.
Suddenly, there was no more pain.
No more heat.
Tariq gasped and sat up slowly. His breath came in short bursts as he looked around, confused.
He wasn't in the classroom anymore.
He was home. His childhood bedroom.
The shelf in the corner still held all his old mythology books — and there, on the top, was his signed copy of The Lightning Thief, proudly displayed. His desk, beside the shelf, was a mess — half-finished math homework scattered across it. Posters lined the walls: heroes, villains, fantasy worlds. Everything a teenage boy might need to feel like he mattered.
Why am I here?
How did I get here?
Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside his room. They stopped right at his door.
Then it flew open.
Zora stood there, arms crossed and scowling.
She always carried that energy — the type that looked for trouble and usually found it. Her caramel skin practically glowed against her black dress. Her curly black hair fell to her shoulders, bouncing as she moved. Sneakers, as always.
"You fell asleep again," she snapped.
Tariq blinked at her, stunned. "I… I don't—"
"No. Nuh uh." She cut him off, raising a finger. "It's my birthday today, and I don't care what excuse you've got — you're going."
She stomped over to his closet and began tossing clothes onto the bed.
Tariq could barely keep up. His limbs felt heavy. His eyes drooped.
Why am I so sleepy…?
Boof. A black t-shirt hit him square in the face.
"Put it on!" she ordered.
He hurriedly slipped it over his head. He knew that tone — ignore it and suffer.
Still half-asleep, he slouched in his bed.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
She smacked him three times with a pair of jeans.
"Ten seconds," she warned. "Once I walk out of here, I better hear buttons."
She marched out of the room.
Tariq's heart jumped into action. Sleep forgotten, he scrambled into the jeans.
Right as he was zipping them up, the door flew open again.
"Good," she said, grabbing his hand. "Now come on."
As she dragged him into the hallway, she smiled. "Your shoes are downstairs."
"You can't stay in bed all day today, T."
Then she stopped.
She turned to face him
Suddenly, blood poured from her mouth.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I won't be here forever."
Tariq stumbled backward, yanking his hand away from hers. The world darkened. The walls began to close in.
What's going on…? What the hell…
He dropped to the floor, breath short and eyes wide. Zora stepped toward him, slow, deliberate. Her shadow stretched across the room.
She leaned down, her mouth near his ear.
"Wake up."
Tariq gasped, his body jolting upright. He was standing—no, already standing—at the front of the classroom, facing his desk. His breathing was ragged. Sweat clung to his skin.
He blinked and looked around.
It was chaos.
The webs were gone—ripped or disintegrated. The bodies of his students lay motionless across the floor, blood pooling beneath them.
The room looked like a bomb had gone off.
In the center was a massive crater—cracked tile fanned out from the point where he vaguely remembered slamming his arm into the floor. A few desks near the impact were half-melted, warped like they'd been hit with a blast of heat.
Did I… do that?
He stared at his hands.
A sudden ring pierced the silence.
Tariq froze.
That ringtone—Zora's.
He turned, heart pounding, and tore through his bag. His phone lit up.
Her photo smiled back at him.
He answered.
"Hel—"
"TARIQ!? TARIQ!?"
Tariq winced and yanked the phone away from his ear.
"Hello, Zora," he muttered, already annoyed.
"Get that attitude out of your voice!" she snapped. "I was worried about you and this is how you comfort me?"
He smiled despite himself.
Still the same old Zora.
"What do you want me to say?" he teased.
He heard her inhale sharply—and then came the giggle.
His stomach dropped.
That giggle.
The one that meant danger.
"Figure it out, Tariq."
Scrambling, he shoved his things into his bag. Useless now maybe, but comforting. Something to do with his hands.
"I'm waiting," she warned, her voice suddenly sharper.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, moving to the door.
"Uh… I'm going to my parents' house?"
A beat.
Then a string of profanity exploded from the speaker.
Tariq waited until she finished, then smiled faintly.
"I'm glad you're okay, Z. I'll see you soon."
She exhaled slowly.
"Okay, okay, fine. My parents and I will meet you there."
"Be careful," he said, eyes on the door. "Some weird shit is happening right now."
She chuckled. But it wasn't her usual giggle—it was dry.
"You have no idea. See you soon, T. Be safe."
Click.
The call ended.
He twisted the handle and stepped outside.
The hallway greeted him with silence—and death.
Bodies. Everywhere. Students. Faculty. Strewn across the floor like broken toys.
His stomach lurched.
Some were burned. Others crushed. One had no legs. One had no head.
Jesus...
Still, he walked. Forced himself forward.
So much death... What happened here?
It's like a war broke out.
He reached the entrance. Pushed the doors open.
And stepped into a new world.