The Road to Batac
The afternoon sun bore down on the cracked asphalt as Marko and Ara followed the long stretch of the national highway. Cars lay abandoned, some dented and smeared with dried blood, others flipped on their sides as if tossed by unseen hands. Clothes, broken shoes, and torn bags littered the road, silent reminders of those who fled—or never made it out alive. The faint stench of decay clung to the air.
They passed through the shattered iconic giant clay pot of San Nicolas, its pieces scattered across the ground like the broken remnants of a forgotten craft.
Ara kept her bow drawn at her side, her steps light and wary. Marko, gripping his spear, scanned the surroundings. Neither spoke for a long while, the silence between them broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet.
Finally, Ara's voice came, quiet but heavy. "Every road feels like a graveyard now."
Marko glanced at her, then at the ruins around them. He didn't argue.
The silence grew heavy, so Ara nudged Marko's arm with a small smile. "Remember when you tried to make a spear from bamboo in your backyard?"
Marko blinked, then smirked despite himself. "It broke the moment I threw it. My grandfather laughed for days."
Ara chuckled. "And you teased me when I used a bent stick as a bowstring. I nearly shot the arrow backward into the chicken coop."
For a moment, the weight of the world slipped off their shoulders. The memories wrapped around them like a thin shield—reminders that they were not just survivors of ruins, but children who once dreamed and played.
By mid-morning, the sun began to burn through the mist. They found shade beneath the wreckage of a toppled bus. Ara pulled an arrow, aimed at a rusted signpost, and loosed it. Frost crept over the metal in thin veins, catching the light like shards of glass.
She lowered the bow. Her voice was quiet. "I was just a kid then. Playing with it. I never thought I'd hold it like this, for real."
Marko gripped his spear, eyes narrowing as he summoned the ember inside. A faint glow shimmered at the tip, flickering like a fragile flame. Sweat rolled down his temple, but he forced it steady. "Back then, it was just a game. Now... it's life and death."
Ara looked at him, eyes firm. "Then we win. No matter what."
New Awakeners
When they reached the outskirts of the small city of Batac, it was already afternoon. The once-familiar city looked like it had been gutted. Trees lay uprooted, houses collapsed in heaps, and power lines dangled like webs over cracked pavement.
Ara's face hardened. "It looks worse than San Nicolas."
Marko scanned the distance, his grip tightening on his weapon. Beyond the grounds of the Memorial Hospital, faint clashes echoed—the ring of metal, followed by shrill, guttural cries. The air shifted, heavy with tension.
Ara slowed, her grip tightening on the bow she was holding. "Do you hear that?"
Marko nodded and urged them toward the source of the sounds.
As they neared the broken entrance of the hospital, the reason became clear. Scavengers had come here for medicine and supplies—bandages, antibiotics, anything that could keep their people alive. But the scent of blood and decay had drawn worse things.
Inside, a group of survivors fought desperately against a swarm of rat-like monsters, each the size of a dog, their teeth snapping like glass. They scurried along the cracked tiles, crawling over toppled gurneys and shattered cabinets, eyes gleaming red in the dim light.
One man's arm was coated in stone, swinging with brutal weight to crush a beast against the floor. Another thrust his hand forward, sparks igniting into flame that seared through matted fur. Together, the ragged group hacked, stomped, and burned until the last shriek died out.
Then one of the survivors spotted them near the doorway. "Hey—!"
Heads turned. Murmurs rippled across the group as they noticed Marko's spear and Ara's bow. Tired eyes narrowed; suspicion stirred. In this new world, armed strangers could be as dangerous as monsters.
A man stepped forward, his right hand a jagged stone from wrist to fingertip, still dripping black ichor. He studied the newcomers carefully before speaking. "Don't be alarmed; I'm Ramon. I was previously a professor at MMSU. "Now I gained an ability like this after the monster attacked two nights ago," he said, showing his stoned hand.
Marko lowered his spear slightly but stayed wary. "We're not looking for trouble. I'm Marko. This is Ara." We're just trying to head south when we suddenly hear strange sounds."
Another survivor named Shan stepped up beside Ramon, flicking fire across his fingers—showing off his weak but steady power. "Not much, but it keeps the pests off," he muttered, glancing at the corpses.
The tension eased. A few nodded in greeting, though their hands never strayed far from makeshift weapons. Around them, others gathered what they could—cans, bottles, scraps—from the nearby store.
One of the middle-aged scavengers spoke up, glancing at the fading daylight. "Professor, we need to get back to the university before dark."
Ramon frowned but agreed with a nod. "He's right. Night isn't safe."
Ara took a step forward. "If you're headed to MMSU, can we come with you? Our path is toward Paoay anyway... and that means passing by the campus."
For a moment, silence hung in the hospital corridor. Then Ramon looked at their weapons again and back at their faces. Slowly, he gave a nod. "Fine. But you walk with us. No surprises."
Relief softened Marko's stance. He glanced at Ara, who gave him the slightest nod in return.
Hostel Encounter
As the group prepared to leave the Memorial Hospital, packs filled with salvaged medicine, a sudden noise broke the tense quiet.
From across the street, near the half-collapsed student hostel, came the crash of breaking glass, followed by high-pitched snarls and desperate shouts.
Ara froze. "That's not far."
Ramon turned, his stone arm flexing. "The hostel. Students stayed there... Some might have survived."
Without hesitation, Marko rushed forward, Ara covering him with her bow. Ramon and his scavenger group followed.
Inside the dim corridors of the hostel, chaos reigned. Young survivors—students no older than Ara—were cornered by a pack of goblin-like monsters. The creatures were small but vicious, with hunched backs, mottled green skin, and jagged knives of bone gripped in clawed hands. They darted between overturned chairs and broken beds, shrieking as they slashed.
One student swung a broken mop handle wildly, while another tried to shield a wounded friend. The monsters pressed closer, teeth bared.
Marko leapt in first, his spear skewering a goblin through the chest. Ara's arrow followed, pinning another to the hostel wall. Ramon's stone fist came down like a hammer, breaking bone and silence in one crushing blow. Shan ignited his palm, flames scattering the remaining goblins.
The tide turned quickly. Within minutes, the last monster hit the floor, its screech dying in its throat.
The students—seven in all—stared wide-eyed at their rescuers. Relief mixed with fear.
A young woman with a cut across her cheek spoke up, voice trembling. "We thought... no one would come."
Ramon stepped forward. "You fought well. But staying here is suicide. We're heading back to MMSU. It's safer, and we have supplies."
Marko glanced at Ara, then added, "There's also a larger refuge at Teatro Ilocandia. Survivors are gathering there. If you want a real sanctuary, you should come with us."
The students exchanged looks—hesitation, hope, and exhaustion written in their faces. Slowly, one by one, they nodded.
Ara lowered her bow, her voice steadier now. "Then gather what you can. We leave before nightfall."
As the last light bled across Batac, two groups of survivors—professors, scavengers, strangers, and students—stepped out together, bound now by necessity and the promise of a fragile sanctuary.
Refuge at MMSU
The Teatro Ilocandia cultural center had become the largest refuge they'd seen. Nearly five hundred survivors crowded the space—a mix of exhaustion, fear, and determination.
Marko and Ara helped distribute food and water, listening to whispered debates. Arguments broke out among the survivors over how to ration supplies and establish watch rotations. Some survivors eyed newcomers warily, their distrust thinly veiled.
Ara walked past a cluster of makeshift tents. A small child peeked out from behind a mattress, clutching a scorched stuffed toy. "You're not monsters."
Ara said softly, kneeling. "We're here to help."
The boy blinked, unsure whether to trust her. Marko gently touched the child's shoulder. "You'll be safe tonight.
The child hugged his toy tightly. "Are the monsters gone?"
Ara's chest tightened. "Not completely. But we'll fight them, together."
Inside the theater, a group of students argued with older survivors.
"I've been cooking for this camp all day!" one teacher shouted. "You can't just take extra food for yourself!"
"We're hunters now!" A teenage girl snapped back, holding a broken pan like a shield. "We need strength to fight tomorrow!"
Marko and Ara exchanged uneasy glances. Hunger and fear made allies brittle.
Ramon stepped in, raising his stone arm like a gavel. "Enough! Share what you have. If we fracture now, the gates will have already won."
Even in despair, the humans found sparks of light. Near the makeshift kitchen, an older man tried to fry instant noodles over a flickering fire.
"Who knew cooking could be harder than fighting monsters?" he grumbled.
A teenage boy snorted. "Maybe the monsters are watching and laughing at us!"
Ara and Marko couldn't help but smile. For a heartbeat, the camp felt normal—a reminder that even in chaos, life endured.
From the western edge of campus came a low, distant roar. People froze, ears straining. Nothing appeared—but the reminder that monsters still roamed sent a shiver through the crowd.
Ara pulled Marko aside. "Even here, safety is temporary."
He nodded. "The calm won't last. But for tonight, this is enough."