A dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. I blinked, trying to clear the haze, but the world refused to sharpen into focus. It was wrong. Displaced. My mat was gone, replaced by cold, uneven ground.
"Azrael... Azrael," I mumbled, my voice rough, tasting of dust and confusion. My brother's name. Why was I on the floor? Why was our home... like this?
I pushed myself up, my limbs heavy, each movement a protest. The house was a wreck. Not just untidy, but ruptured. Walls cracked, debris scattered, as if a silent, violent storm had passed through its very heart. My father and brother were nowhere to be seen. A cold dread, far deeper than the dust coating my tongue, began to settle.
My father's phone lay amidst the rubble, almost swallowed by a crack in the floor. My heart seized. No way Dad would ever leave his phone. He relied on it for everything. What had happened here? Had thieves broken in? But where were they? Where were my brother and father? The questions hammered at my skull, each one heavier than the last.
I fumbled for the phone, my fingers shaking as I pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, the battery icon glowing a sickly red: 2%. My first thought was to find a charger, to salvage this last tangible link to the life I knew. I stumbled towards the familiar wall socket, my hands blindly seeking the plug, and with a clumsy fumbling, managed to connect it.
But my gaze lingered on the screen, drawn not by the charging indicator, but by the date. My breath hitched. Dread, cold and absolute, claimed my face, tightening every muscle. It had been a month. A full month since yesterday. I mean, I had simply gone to sleep yesterday. The thought was absurd, monstrous.
And then, voices began to echo in my ears, faint at first, then growing louder, like whispers from an ancient, forgotten wind. A sharp, deep sting erupted on my right hand. I yanked it up, checking the source of the pain, and there it was, starkly etched onto my skin: a symbol, a number. -99%. What was this? No matter how hard I rubbed, no matter how much I tried to scrape it off, it refused to budge. It was a part of me now.
Driven by an inexplicable urge, a compulsion to see beyond the confines of our ruined home, I stumbled outside. The air hit me, shockingly cold, and the street before me was utterly, disturbingly empty. No cars, no passersby, no familiar sounds. Just a vast, unnatural silence. And then I saw it.
Rising from beyond the distant city skyline, obscuring even the tallest buildings, stood a tower. Disgustingly, impossibly tall. It soared into the sky, a dark, monolithic scar against the muted dawn. I didn't need anyone to tell me its name. My mind, inexplicably, screamed it. Babel. And somehow, with a certainty that transcended logic, I knew I had to head there. That was where the answers lay.
Confusion warred with a growing, cold fear for my missing family. But beneath it all, a newfound resolve, born from the depths of my past misery, solidified. I had to understand. I had to find them. I quickly scavenged what I could from the wreckage of our home: some dried food, a few valuables I could easily carry, and a pair of crude knives that felt chillingly heavy in my hands. Weapons. For what, I didn't know. But I had to be ready.
I turned and began to walk, towards the ruined heart of the city, towards the impossible tower that beckoned like a dark beacon. Somehow, despite the madness, I knew I'd find my answers there.
The urban silence stretched, vast and unnerving. Then, a low growl cut through it.
"Arrrrh!..."
My instincts flared. I spun around, my blood turning to ice. My day, it seemed, could indeed get worse. Three gaunt, hungry wolves emerged from the shadows between collapsed structures, their eyes gleaming with savage intent. They weren't interested in negotiation, in pleas, in any words I might have. They wanted to eat. I could feel their hunger, a palpable force in the air.
I did what any man, stripped bare of all but the primal urge to survive, would do. I ran.
They were fast. Too fast. Their ragged breaths pounded behind me, their snarling growing louder. I pushed my aching legs, ignoring the burning in my lungs, the protesting screams of my muscles. But it wasn't enough. They were gaining. I felt a sharp tug, a searing pain at my leg, and the world tilted.
I fell, hard, the ground rushing up to meet me. The snarls were now above me, hot, foul breath on my face. This was it. After all the misery, all the struggle, all the resolve… to end like this? Torn apart by beasts in a silent, dead city?
I tried to fight back, clawing at the dust, trying to push against the crushing weight of their bodies, but it was futile. On that day, right there, to those wolves, I died.