The Bus Station
On the western edge of the city, near the battered bus terminal, another group of survivors pressed on. Their leader, Russel, a broad-shouldered man in his forties with the steady calm of someone who had ferried passengers through storms and long nights, now carried no ticket puncher or timetable. Instead, he carried people's lives in his hands.
Around him clustered a ragtag mix of bus drivers, stranded travelers, and a handful of residents from nearby houses who had clung to their group for safety. They moved between shuttered stores and half-collapsed houses, scavenging for food and bottled water. Every sound of glass breaking or tin rattling made them tense, yet hunger pushed them on.
Then the air tore open.
A jagged gate split the street ahead with a crackling hiss, its light stabbing through the dusk. From it poured snarling kobolds, yellow eyes glowing like embers in the dark. Their guttural shrieks filled the alley as they charged, crude blades flashing.
Screams erupted. People scattered, arms full of bags and baskets clattering to the ground.
"Hold the line!" Russel bellowed, snatching up a rusted crowbar.
The drivers and civilians scrambled for anything that could serve as a weapon—steel pipes, wooden planks, even splintered chair legs. Travelers swung wildly, more flailing than striking, driven by raw panic. The street turned into chaos: snarls, shrieks, metal against claws, and the cries of the terrified.
In the madness, Joel, one of the older drivers, barely dodged a kobold's lunge. He stumbled backward, arms pinwheeling, and his foot caught on loose rubble. Before anyone could grab him, he fell straight into the shimmering gate. His scream was swallowed instantly, his body vanishing as though the world itself had gulped him down.
"Joel!" Russell roared. "He's gone!" a woman shrieked. "They... they took him!" another yelled.
The group panicked, believing the gate had devoured him whole. None of them realized the truth of the gate.
A kobold lunged for the panicking survivors, and Russel planted himself in front of them. Instinct surged through him—an energy he had never known before—and with a guttural shout, a translucent wall of light flared into being. A curved barrier erupted in front of them, shimmering like glass. With their claws screeching pointlessly across the shield, the kobolds slammed into it.
The survivors froze, staring in awe. "You... you did that?" someone whispered. Russel gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. "Don't just stand there. Fight!"
Behind the safety of his barrier, the group pushed back with renewed courage, battering kobolds until the last fell bleeding across the pavement.
But their brief victory soured when one of the travelers pointed to the horizon. Beyond the burning rooftops, near the direction of the provincial capitol, several points of distorted light flickered—like storm clouds forming on the ground. The faint outlines of more gates shimmered, their tension swelling as if ready to burst open.
Silence fell on Russel's group.
"More gates..." someone muttered, voice breaking. "God help us," another whispered.
Russel lowered his hand, the barrier fading. He looked toward the capitol with weary eyes. For every threat they survived, ten more seemed to rise. And though he stood strong for his people, despair gnawed at the edges of their hope.
The Mall Fortress
In the southern part of the city lies Laoag's Supermall, which has changed. The bright lights and festive banners of a shopping mall were gone, replaced by barricades of overturned carts, stacked crates, and ripped metal shutters. The air smelled of dust, stale food, and fear as broken glass crunched underfoot.
The first wave of gates had come five days ago, spilling monsters into the city. Thousands had died, but no bodies were found, as if they had vanished or been devoured by the monsters; however, a few hundred had managed to survive inside. They were lucky—or smart enough—to reach the relative safety of the mall before the streets became hunting grounds.
Now, word spread quickly among the desperate: if you could reach the mall, you might survive. Inside, shelves brimmed with canned goods, bottled water, first aid kits, and stores untouched by looters. The building had everything a person could need to last... if they could survive long enough to claim it.
Newcomers arrived cautiously, dragging their few belongings behind them. Some entered silently, heads low, while others peeked from the gates, watching the fortified perimeter before daring to step inside.
Survivors who had been inside since the first attack patrolled the corridors, setting up makeshift checkpoints, rationing supplies, and ensuring that chaos didn't consume what little order remained. Shifts rotated between guarding the entrances, scavenging nearby streets for anything missed during the initial panic, and cleaning debris to keep the mall passable.
But as the days passed, survival alone was not enough. Hierarchy formed. Factions began to emerge. Those with power, cunning, or charisma quickly gained influence. Others fell in line, either out of respect or fear.
In the center of it all, the mall hummed with a tense, fragile life. Families huddled together, scavengers scoured every corner, and guards—some armed with pipes, others wielding whatever weapons they had—kept watch from the rooftops and corridors.
The mall was a fortress now. Its walls were human-made and reinforced with ingenuity born of desperation. But outside those walls, Laoag was still a city under siege, and no amount of barricades could make the survivors forget the pulse that had awakened the gates—or the monsters that still lurked just beyond.
Even inside, whispers traveled fast. "Did you see the new guy? He's... different." "They say there's another gate forming near the capitol.""More monsters. More chaos."
Survivors exchanged glances, realizing that safety inside the mall was temporary at best. The fortress offered protection, yes, but also a constant, pressing tension: how long could they last before the world outside caught up—or tore them apart from within?
Jeric's Leadership
Among the survivors, one figure moved with quiet authority: Jeric, a mall security guard in his late twenties. He wasn't the strongest nor the flashiest, but he had something that mattered more in these times—calm under pressure and a clear head when everything else was chaos.
Jeric had awakened on the first day of the gates. His ability—telekinesis—was modest at first, enough to lift heavy objects, slam doors, or shove people out of harm's way. But in the hands of someone who could think fast, it became a tool for survival.
He moved through the central atrium, checking the barricades and the perimeter. "Shift change in five," he called, voice steady but carrying over the chatter of survivors. "Keep an eye on the entrances. Watch the rooftops. Don't let anyone slip through."
A group of students carrying water barrels rushed past him, struggling under the weight. Jeric raised a hand, and with a subtle push of his mind, the barrels slid safely across the tiles. One of the students let out a relieved laugh.
"Thanks, Jeric!" she called.
Jeric nodded briefly, then turned his attention back to the perimeter. The mall was crowded now. Families huddled in the food court, scavengers checked the lower levels, and guards—some wielding pipes, others using broken chairs as improvised shields—kept watch from every floor.
"Remember," Jeric reminded them, "we're only as strong as the people we protect. Stick to the rules. Follow orders. We survive together, or we don't survive at all."
Even with his guidance, whispers of unrest began to circulate. New awakeners were appearing almost daily—people discovering latent powers under the stress of survival. Some used their abilities to help; others... began to push for more.
One name started rising in those whispers: Rodney.
For now, though, Jeric focused on the task at hand: ensuring the barricades held, supplies were rationed fairly, and the weakest were protected. He knew that power alone didn't make a leader—discipline, quick thinking, and a sense of responsibility did. And for now, he would have to hold the mall together... before it all fell apart.
Rodney's Dominance
By the third day, a new presence had unsettled the fragile order within SM Laoag. Rodney, a rugged man in his early thirties with a scar tracing his jawline, had awakened under pressure, his strength and reflexes enhanced in ways that made him dangerous in close combat. Unlike Jeric, Rodney had no interest in rules and no patience for hierarchy. Survival, for him, meant dominance.
He moved through the corridors with calculated ease, gathering those who shared his outlook—young men and women emboldened by their own newly awakened abilities or by sheer desperation. Together, they formed a faction that whispered promises: "The weak will follow. The strong take what they want. This mall is ours for the taking."
Rodney's presence was magnetic, his confidence infectious. Where Jeric's calm authority commanded respect, Rodney's audacity inspired fear and admiration in equal measure.
"Listen up," he said quietly, leaning against a barricade in the once-bustling food court. The torchlight flickered across his scarred face, shadows highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. "This isn't a playground anymore. This is survival. Supplies, power, control—they don't go to the cautious. They go to the bold. And bold... is us."
A few of his followers nodded, murmurs of agreement spreading. Their eyes flicked nervously toward Jeric's patrols, but Rodney only smiled—a predator aware of his prey's hesitation.
He walked among them, inspecting barricades, peeking down stairwells, and pointing to hidden nooks that could serve as vantage points or ambush spots. "We hold these spots. Anyone tries to cross us? You stop them. Protect what's ours. Everyone else... they'll follow if we're strong enough."
Some survivors, unsure where their loyalty lay, gravitated toward him. They were young, frightened, and hungry for someone decisive to follow. Others stayed with Jeric, trusting in his fairness and disciplined approach.
Rodney's faction began pushing boundaries, quietly taking control of key areas: hidden storage rooms, stairwells, and corridors with strategic vantage points. Some survivors, unsure where to place their loyalty, gravitated toward him. Others remained steadfast with Jeric, trusting in the order and fairness he maintained.
Clash of Factions
The mall was tense. Torches flickered along makeshift barricades, creating long shadows throughout the corridors. Jeric patrolled the central atrium, checking that supplies were rationed fairly, when a ripple of unease ran through the crowd.
Rodney had arrived, flanked by his followers, moving confidently through the chaos. His presence was deliberate, a challenge that no one could ignore.
"Jeric," Rodney called, his voice echoing over the chatter of the survivors. "Still playing the mall cop, huh? How long do you think your little rules will hold?"
Jeric stepped forward, hands relaxed but ready. "We survive together, or we don't survive at all. There's no room for power plays here, Rodney."
Rodney smirked, eyeing the gathered crowd. "Power plays? Are you referring to my demonstration of how people can take what they need? You're weak if you think everyone will obey a security guard. The government's gone, Jeric. No one's coming to save us. Rules? Laws? They don't matter anymore. Out here... only strength counts."
A murmur ran through the survivors. Some whispered approval, others gritted their teeth in frustration. The tension was thick enough to choke.
Without warning, Rodney's strength surged. He lifted a heavy metal beam from a nearby barricade and slammed it down near Jeric, sending shards of concrete scattering. The crowd screamed and scattered, some taking cover behind crates and tables.
Jeric reacted instinctively, telekinesis flaring. With a sharp gesture, he slammed a stack of overturned carts between them, creating a shimmering barrier. Dust swirled in the air as the two men faced each other across the gap, measuring strength and resolve.
"Enough!" Jeric shouted. "This isn't a fight for ego! People could die out there—or in here if you don't stop!"
Rodney laughed, walking closer, his followers fanning out behind him. "Ego? Maybe. But strength rules here. You've protected people for days, sure... But for how long? When the monsters come, will your rules save them?"
Jeric's eyes hardened. He could feel the barrier trembling under Rodney's presence, the tension of the mall itself echoing in his mind. "Rules aren't everything. Discipline, unity, and thinking ahead—that's what keeps people alive."
Rodney shrugged. "We'll see who survives longer."
Even without a full-on fight, the confrontation left the survivors anxious and divided. Some shifted toward Rodney's faction, drawn by his audacity and apparent strength. Others tightened their loyalty to Jeric, trusting his measured judgment and calm leadership.
From the upper levels, a flicker of distorted light glimmered in the distance—the unmistakable sign of a forming gate near the capitol. The sight silenced the crowd, a grim reminder that human conflict might pale in comparison to what was coming.
Jeric clenched his fists. "We'll settle this—but later. First, we survive. Then we deal with you."
Rodney's grin widened, a mixture of amusement and challenge. "Fine. Survive all you want... Just don't pretend I won't be waiting."
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, the uneasy truce holding for now. Torchlight flickered across barricades, LED panels hummed in the background, and the murmurs of a society on edge filled the mall. Factions had formed, with whispers of betrayal, rivalry, and ambition circulating like the pulse of the gates outside.
Jeric paced along the central atrium, eyes scanning every shadowed corner. He noted the subtle changes in survivor behavior: hesitant glances toward Rodney's followers, the quiet but deliberate rearrangement of barricades, and the few awakeners testing the limits of their abilities.
Each new awakening, each subtle act of defiance, reminded him that the mall was a fortress—but even fortresses could crumble from within.
Outside, the distant rumble of another forming gate near the capitol served as a silent warning: the world beyond the mall was far from safe. The human conflicts inside were only a prelude to the storm waiting to strike.
Jeric's jaw tightened. He would need to prepare his people—not just to defend against monsters, but to survive each other. And as night fell over the shattered windows, he knew the next challenge would arrive sooner than anyone expected.