The car sped down the winding roads of Okinawa, tires gripping the pavement as the late afternoon sun stretched golden light across the hills. Shadows lengthened beneath the trees lining the highway, their branches swaying gently—a stark contrast to the panic surging through the world beyond.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was suffocating. The low hum of the radio filled the silence, delivering grim updates in a voice too calm for the chaos it spoke of.
"Impact expected within the next eight hours. Evacuation efforts are ongoing, but citizens are urged to reach designated shelters immediately. The government cannot guarantee further assistance past nightfall—"
Hayato barely heard the rest. He sat in the back seat, his fists clenched against his knees, staring blankly at the road ahead.
Beside him, Hikari leaned into his side, gripping his arm as if afraid he'd disappear if she let go. Her normally tidy white hair was slightly disheveled, a few strands falling into her face. She hadn't let go of her stuffed rabbit since they'd left the house, and now, she held it against her chest like a lifeline.
Outside, the world passed by in slow motion—cars stuffed with suitcases and terrified families, people abandoning their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs, soldiers directing panicked crowds at makeshift checkpoints.
It wasn't just Okinawa.
The entire planet was bracing for the end.
Hayato swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the road. The pit in his stomach only deepened.
"Are we almost there, Grandpa?" Hayato asked, his voice quieter than usual.
His grandfather, normally composed and dignified, didn't take his eyes off the road. His grip on the wheel was tighter than it should have been.
"Not much further," he replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his knuckles. "We'll pick up Kenji and head straight for the evacuation center."
Kenji.
Uncle Kenji was strong. Reliable. If anyone could keep them safe, it was him.
Still, Hayato couldn't shake the unease twisting in his chest.
His grandmother, sitting in the passenger seat, turned to check on them. Her silvery-gray hair was tied in a neat bun, but worry lined her face like cracks in porcelain.
"Are you both holding up back there?" she asked, her voice gentle but tired.
"I'm okay, Grandma," Hikari said softly, though she tightened her grip on her rabbit. "Nii-chan says we'll be safe at the bunker."
She looked up at Hayato for reassurance.
He forced a smile, even though his heart was pounding. "We'll be fine," he promised, ruffling her hair. "Uncle Kenji will be waiting for us."
Hikari nodded, but the fear didn't leave her eyes.
Outside, the golden hues of the Okinawan evening felt surreal. The world looked too peaceful for what was coming. The soft colors of the sky, the gentle sway of the trees—it all felt wrong.
The roads grew busier as they neared the city, families hurrying toward unknown destinations. People ran alongside the streets, carrying hastily packed bags. Some vehicles had broken down, their owners standing beside them, arguing or sobbing.
A mother pulled her crying child along as she pleaded with a soldier near a barricade. A man banged his fists against a closed shop, screaming for help.
This wasn't just panic.
It was the beginning of collapse.
Hayato gritted his teeth and looked away.
No matter how bad things got, they had to keep moving.
The only thing that mattered now was getting to Kenji—and surviving what came next.
The car tore through the winding road like a lifeline, its tires gripping the asphalt as if sheer willpower alone could outrun the disaster looming ahead. Dense forests flanked them on either side, the towering trees stretching endlessly into the horizon, their dark silhouettes a stark contrast against the fiery hues of the setting sun.
Inside, the tension was suffocating. No one spoke, but the weight of unspoken fears pressed against them like an invisible force.
Hayato clutched Hikari's small hand, their fingers intertwined. Her grip was tight—tighter than usual. She was scared, but instead of saying it, she hummed quietly to herself, a soft, almost trembling melody. It was the same tune their mother used to sing to them when they were little.
It barely reached Hayato's ears over the low, monotonous murmur of the radio.
"—evacuations continue, but officials warn that remaining roads will become impassable as congestion worsens. Citizens are advised to—"
A sigh from the front seat made Hayato glance up. Their grandmother turned slightly, her tired eyes lingering on them. Though her face was lined with exhaustion, she still managed to pull together a gentle, reassuring smile.
"Once we get to Uncle Kenji, everything will be okay," she said softly.
Hayato wanted to believe her. He really did.
But something about the eerie quietness of the road unsettled him.
The further they drove, the more he noticed—fewer cars, fewer people. Just an expanse of road stretching on and on, vanishing into the distance like an abyss.
Too quiet.
He turned back toward the window, his eyes scanning the passing trees, the empty intersections. The pit in his stomach deepened.
Then—
A flash of movement.
A sharp glint of metal.
His breath hitched.
Before he could fully process what he was seeing, a massive delivery truck tore into view from a side street, barreling toward them at a terrifying speed.
The blaring horn split through the air like a desperate scream.
Hayato's heart lurched. The truck wasn't stopping.
His eyes locked onto the driver—a man with wide, frantic eyes and knuckles so white against the steering wheel they looked bloodless. He was yanking at the wheel, but the truck wasn't responding, wasn't slowing down.
Too fast.
Too close.
"Hold on!" their grandfather bellowed, his voice slicing through the chaos.
The old man's hands clamped onto the steering wheel, twisting it violently to the left.
The car veered sharply.
The tires screeched.
Hikari screamed.
Hayato was thrown against the door, his shoulder slamming hard into the frame. His stomach lurched as the car swerved wildly, the seatbelt cutting into his chest.
For a single, breathless moment—time slowed.
The truck loomed, its hulking frame filling the entire windshield.
Hayato could see every detail—the cracked paint on the hood, the sheer panic in the driver's face, the way his mouth formed a silent, helpless plea.
A terrible inevitability swallowed them whole.
Then—
Impact.
A deafening crash.
The world flipped.
Glass shattered, shards slicing through the air like razors.
A metallic groan filled Hayato's ears as the car lifted off the ground, spinning—once, twice—before slamming down with bone-rattling force.
Pain exploded through his body.
Something wet ran down the side of his face.
A loud ringing consumed everything.
For a moment, all he saw was darkness.
A sharp, pulsing pain radiated through Hayato's skull as he forced his eyes open. Everything was blurred, his vision swimming with flickering spots of light. The world felt tilted—wrong.
His ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest burning as if he had inhaled smoke.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was.
Then, the chaos of reality slammed into him.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of gasoline and burnt rubber. Smoke curled in ghostly tendrils from the wreckage, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The car's frame groaned, its metal warped from the impact, glass littering the interior like fallen stars.
A distant voice—muffled and distorted—echoed somewhere in his mind. Someone was calling his name. Or maybe it was just the ringing.
Hayato's body screamed in protest as he tried to move. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself up. The seatbelt dug into his shoulder, its restraint the only thing keeping him from collapsing forward. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the buckle.
Then, his heart stopped.
Hikari.
She was slumped against the door beside him, her small form eerily still. A deep, crimson streak ran down her forehead, staining her snowy white hair.
For one horrifying second, everything around him vanished—the pain, the smoke, the destruction. Nothing mattered except her.
His breath caught in his throat.
"Hikari?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
She didn't move.
No. No, no, no.
His fingers gripped her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Hikari," he tried again, this time louder. His voice cracked with desperation. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"
A small groan.
Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
Relief hit him like a crashing wave, leaving him lightheaded. But there was no time to breathe. They had to get out.
His fingers fumbled with her seatbelt, his entire body trembling as he worked to free her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity.
"Grandma? Grandpa?" he called, his voice shaking. No response.
His chest tightened.
He forced himself to turn, his eyes darting toward the front seats. The sight made his stomach drop.
His grandfather was slumped over the steering wheel, his head resting against the cracked glass of the windshield. Blood trailed down the side of his face.
His grandmother lay against the dashboard, her breathing faint, her face obscured by the mess of airbags and debris.
They weren't moving.
Panic clawed at his throat.
"Grandpa! Grandma!" he shouted, his voice raw.
Nothing.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His fingers curled into trembling fists.
They couldn't be—
No. Don't think like that.
They were still breathing. They had to be breathing.
But how much time did they have?
The car let out a deep groan as the metal frame shifted slightly, a cruel warning that it wouldn't hold much longer. If the gas ignited—
Hayato swallowed hard. No time to think. Just move.
He turned back to Hikari, brushing her bangs aside. "Hikari, stay with me," he whispered, his tone softer now, but no less urgent. "We're getting out of here."
She gave a tiny nod, but her eyelids were still heavy, her body weak.
Damn it.
Bracing himself against the searing pain in his ribs, Hayato reached for the car door handle. They had to get out—now.
The front of the car was unrecognizable, a twisted heap of crushed metal and shattered glass. Smoke curled from the wreckage, mixing with the sharp, metallic scent of gasoline and blood. The dashboard had caved inward from the force of the collision, pinning everything in the front seat beneath its weight.
Hayato's pulse pounded in his ears as he forced himself to look at the driver's seat.
Grandpa.
His grandfather sat slumped forward against the steering wheel, his body motionless. Deep crimson trailed from a wound at his temple, staining the collar of his shirt. The glasses he always wore lay in pieces, one lens missing entirely.
A cold dread settled in Hayato's stomach.
His breath hitched as he reached out with trembling fingers, his palm pressing against his grandfather's shoulder.
"Grandpa…" His voice came out barely above a whisper, shaking.
No response.
"Grandpa, wake up." His voice cracked, growing desperate. "Please."
Still nothing.
A cold weight wrapped around his chest.
"No… no, no, no." He shook him harder, his movements frantic now. "You're okay! You're fine! Just wake up!"
But the old man didn't stir.
His body was still. Too still.
Hayato's entire world tilted. His fingers curled into the fabric of his grandfather's sleeve, gripping so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
This isn't real.
It can't be real.
A weak, rasping breath cut through the chaos in his mind.
His head snapped toward the passenger seat.
Grandma.
She was still alive—but barely. Blood seeped from a deep gash in her leg, staining the fabric of her kimono and pooling onto the floor beneath her seat. Her face was ashen, her breaths shallow and uneven.
But when Hayato leaned over, her eyelids fluttered open.
"Hayato…" she whispered, her voice so faint that it almost got lost in the ringing in his ears.
His throat tightened. "Grandma, I'm here," he said quickly, moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. His fingers fumbled against the twisted metal. "I'll get you out, okay? Just hold on!"
Her frail hand reached out, grabbing his wrist with what little strength she had left.
"No," she said, her tone sharper than he expected. Her grip, though weak, sent an unmistakable message—stop.
Hayato froze, confusion flashing across his face. "W-What?"
"There's no time…" Her breathing hitched as she swallowed hard, forcing her pain down. "Take your sister… and go."
His chest constricted painfully. "No. I'm not leaving you here!"
"You have to." Her fingers tightened around his wrist for just a moment. Her gaze, though clouded with pain, held a fierce determination. "Protect Hikari. Get to Kenji."
The weight of her words crashed over him like a tidal wave.
His jaw clenched, his entire body shaking. "But—"
"Promise me, Hayato."
His breath came in short, uneven gasps. His entire being rebelled against the idea of leaving her here. Leaving them here.
But Hikari.
His little sister—his responsibility.
He turned to the back seat, where she lay barely conscious, her small chest rising and falling weakly.
A sob built in his throat.
I can't do this.
I can't leave them.
But—
I have to.
Tears blurred his vision as he turned back to his grandmother, his entire body trembling. "I… I promise," he choked out.
The smallest, faintest smile crossed her lips. "Good boy…"
Her hand slowly slipped from his wrist, falling limply to her side.
Hayato's breath caught.
Her head slumped against the seat, her eyes fluttering closed.
His heart shattered.
But there was no time.
He wiped furiously at his face, forcing himself to move. Because if he didn't—if he hesitated for even a second—he would break.
And if he broke now, he would lose everything.
The road stretched before him, an endless ribbon of cracked pavement, winding through the darkened countryside. The only sounds were his own ragged breaths and the muffled rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees. Each step sent jolts of pain through his aching legs, but stopping wasn't an option. Not now. Not ever.
Hikari's small, fragile body rested against his back, her arms limp around his shoulders. She was getting heavier with each passing second, but Hayato only tightened his grip.
He wouldn't drop her.
He wouldn't let her go.
The sky above had transformed into a hellish sight. The deep blues of twilight had been swallowed whole by a sea of orange and crimson, streaked with veins of unnatural red. It looked as if the heavens themselves were bleeding—ripped apart by something that had no place in this world.
And there, looming on the distant horizon, was Genesis.
The meteor burned like a second sun, its eerie glow intensifying with every passing second. It pulsed—alive, almost—as if aware of the destruction it was about to unleash.
Then—
The impact.
A blinding flash erupted in the distance, so bright that for a moment, night became day. Hayato barely had time to turn his head before an explosion of white-hot light engulfed the sky.
A wave of chaotic atmospheric pressure that came from a different continent slammed into the buildings, lifted debris, and sent people flying including Hayato and Hikari.
Hayato blacked out for a moment. When he came too, he looked around, searching for Hikari.
"HIKARI!" Hayato screamed throughout the mist in the streets where he could barely see.
While searching, he saw something glowing in the mist and went towards it. As he got close, he saw that it was a glowing rock. It turns out, when the meteor hit a chunk of it — no bigger than a fist — it broke off, flew all the way to the island and crashed down here. It didn't explode… it pulsed, radiating intense energy.
Beside it was Hikari who was still unconscious.
"Hikari!" Hayato screamed as he ran to Hikari to see if she's okay.
After checking, Hayato looked at the chunk of the meteor and went to go touch it. The moment he did, the fragment released a burst of charged energy, striking him in the face. Hayato fell to the ground.
He blacks out for just a second — when he comes to, his skin burns. The fragment is gone. And strange glowing lines, etched like esoteric symbols, are burned into his face. They don't scar — they glow. Hayato stood there, wondering what happened to him but he quickly snapped out of it to look around and see his situation.
The world trembled.
The earth screamed.
A deep, guttural roar tore through the atmosphere, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Trees shuddered violently, their branches snapping like brittle twigs. Birds shot into the air in frantic, aimless swarms, their terrified cries drowned beneath the deafening rumble of the apocalypse unfolding before them.
A massive plume of smoke and ash erupted into the sky, dark and suffocating, stretching outward too fast, too unnaturally. It wasn't just debris—it was something more. Something wrong.
Hayato staggered to the side of the road, his vision blurred by the sheer force of the shockwave rolling across the land. His ears rang so loudly that he could barely hear his own gasps for breath.
Run.
His instincts screamed at him, demanding that he move, that he get as far away as possible.
So he put Hikari on his back again and forced himself to keep moving anyway.
"I have to keep going," he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the trembling earth. He readjusted Hikari on his back, his arms trembling with the effort. "I can't stop."
The air was growing heavier. Thicker. Wrong.
It clung to his skin, making each breath feel like inhaling smoke, even though the fires were still far away. The pressure in the air was unnatural, as though reality itself was twisting under the weight of something far beyond human comprehension.
Hayato grit his teeth and pushed forward, his boots crunching against the cracked pavement.
The world was ending.
But as long as he could still move—
As long as he could still hold Hikari—
He would not fall.
The last remnants of twilight faded, swallowed by an oppressive darkness that stretched endlessly across the landscape. The moon, once a guiding light in the night, now felt distant and weak, its pale glow barely cutting through the suffocating gloom. The once-lively forest surrounding the road was silent—too silent. The usual hum of insects, the rustling of leaves, the distant croak of frogs—all of it had vanished.
The air was heavy. Wrong. Every breath Hayato took felt thick, as if the atmosphere itself had turned against him.
He pushed forward, each step a battle against the exhaustion creeping into his limbs. Hikari's unconscious body rested against his back, her warmth the only thing grounding him. The rhythmic bounce of her weight with each of his strides reminded him that he had no choice but to keep going.
Then, the sound came.
A low, guttural growl.
It slithered through the silence, deep and predatory, vibrating through the ground beneath him. It wasn't just a noise—it was a presence. A dark, suffocating force that sent chills racing down his spine.
Hayato froze.
His breath hitched in his throat, his pulse hammering so hard that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned toward the treeline, his entire body stiff with dread.
And then, she stepped into the moonlight.
At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. That it was exhaustion, stress, or the lingering effects of the crash messing with his head.
But no.
It was her.
His grandmother.
But it wasn't.
The figure that staggered from the shadows was not the woman who had raised him. The woman who had tucked him into bed, scolded him when he broke a dish, or hummed old lullabies as she cooked dinner.
That woman was gone.
What stood before him was a grotesque mockery of her, a twisted, hollow shell wrapped in scorched flesh and drenched in blood.
Her silvery-gray hair, once neatly tied into a bun, now hung in filthy, disheveled strands, matted with soot and congealed blood. Strands of it clung to her melted, peeling skin—grotesque burn marks spread across her forehead where the fire had licked at her flesh. The scent of charred skin and decay clung to the air around her, so pungent it made Hayato's stomach churn.
But it was her eyes—or what was left of them—that sent ice spearing through his veins.
Those once-kind, wise eyes, always filled with warmth, were now milky, lifeless orbs, staring at him with no recognition. No emotion. No humanity.
Just hunger.
Her jaw hung slack and dislocated, twitching unnaturally as blood and saliva dribbled from her cracked lips. She released a garbled, guttural snarl, something between a growl and a wheezing breath—a sound no human should ever make.
Her body—once so poised, so full of life—was now mangled and broken.
Her fingers—once delicate, the same hands that had held his so lovingly—were now twisted into grotesque claws, her nails cracked and blackened as if ready to rip through flesh. Her light cotton blouse, the one she had worn just that morning, was now a tattered ruin—charred in places, soaked in blood in others. The fire had not been kind to her, leaving patches of blistered, blackened skin where the fabric had melted into her body.
She took another staggering step forward.
Her knees buckled at unnatural angles, bones cracking audibly, yet she did not stop. Each movement was jerky and unnatural—as if she no longer remembered how to walk, only that she had to reach him.
Hayato's heart slammed against his ribs.
His stomach twisted.
This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
The woman in front of him wasn't his grandmother.
It was something else.
Something is wrong.
"G-Grandma…?" Hayato whispered, his voice trembling.
The creature twitched.
A violent, spasming jerk, as though reacting to the sound of his voice. Her body lurched forward, and for the briefest moment, a small, irrational part of Hayato hoped—begged—that some part of her was still in there. That she would stop, look at him, and recognize her grandson.
That hope was shattered in an instant.
The creature lunged.
An ear-splitting scream tore through the silence, so raw and unnatural that it sent an uncontrollable shudder down Hayato's spine.
She moved too fast.
One second she was stumbling, the next she was flying toward him, claws outstretched.
Hayato barely managed to throw himself sideways, stumbling as her clawed fingers sliced through the air where he had been standing just seconds before.
CRASH!
Her inhuman strength sent deep gashes ripping through the asphalt, chunks of road scattering in all directions. The sheer force of her attack left spiderweb cracks running through the pavement.
If she had hit him…
If he had been even a second slower…
"Nii-chan…?"
A weak, groggy voice stirred against his back.
Hikari.
She was waking up.
There was no time.
Hayato tightened his grip around his unconscious sister, his legs already moving before his mind caught up.
Run.
He bolted down the road, heart pounding, lungs burning. The creature that had once been his grandmother released another shrill, blood-curdling screech before giving chase.
Faster. Faster!
The world blurred around him as he ran into the forest, the only sound louder than his own desperate breaths being the monstrous, clawed footsteps pounding against the cracked pavement behind him.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
Because if he did—
He wasn't sure he could keep running.
The forest loomed ahead, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands, their twisted silhouettes illuminated by the eerie glow of Genesis burning in the heavens. The air was thick with moisture, the scent of damp earth mixing with the distant acrid smell of smoke from the meteor's impact.
Hayato didn't hesitate. He plunged into the trees, his heartbeat hammering so hard in his chest that it drowned out almost everything else. Almost.
Behind him—it followed.
A horrific crash of snapping branches and crushed underbrush rang out, the sound so forceful it felt as if the forest itself was being torn apart. The creature wasn't running. It was barreling through everything in its way.
Hayato's breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself harder. Faster. The weight of Hikari's small, unconscious body on his back grew heavier with each desperate step, but he didn't loosen his grip. He wouldn't.
He couldn't.
A low, guttural growl slithered through the darkness—too close. The sound sent a violent shiver down his spine, twisting his insides with fear.
It didn't sound human.
It didn't sound alive.
Hayato's legs burned as he forced his way through the tangled undergrowth. Low-hanging branches whipped at his face, leaving fresh stinging cuts across his cheeks and arms. His foot caught on an exposed root, nearly sending him sprawling forward, but he caught himself at the last second.
He couldn't fall.
If he fell, it would be over.
"Don't stop!" he gasped to himself, his voice barely audible over the roar of his pulse. "Don't look back!"
Another sound—a scream.
A wretched, nightmarish screech erupted from the creature, its unnatural voice tearing through the silence like a blade. The sheer force of it rattled in his skull, a sound so raw, so filled with rage and hunger that his knees nearly buckled beneath him.
It was furious.
It was gaining on him.
Hayato's breath hitched. The trees weren't slowing it down. If anything, it was getting faster. He could hear it now, its malformed limbs snapping against tree trunks, its claws raking through bark, carving deep gouges as it charged forward like an unstoppable force of nature.
His lungs burned. His vision blurred. Every part of his body screamed at him to stop, to rest, to just give up.
But he couldn't.
Then—
A mistake.
His instincts betrayed him, and for a split second, he looked back.
His blood ran cold.
There it was.
Its milky-white eyes burned through the darkness, locked onto him.
A grotesque, slack-jawed snarl stretched its face unnaturally wide, revealing jagged, yellowed teeth—each one dripping with fresh blood. Its mouth gaped open far too much, as if its jaw had become unhinged, grotesquely broken. A gurgling, wheezing breath hissed from its throat, a sound so distorted it made Hayato's stomach churn violently.
Its arms—**elongated and unnatural—**swung wildly as it ran, its clawed fingers tearing through trees as if they were paper. Wood splintered and cracked under its monstrous strength. It wasn't stopping. It wouldn't stop.
It was getting closer.
"No, no, no—!" Hayato whirled back around, panic surging through him like wildfire.
He needed to move. Faster.
But the ground wasn't even.
His foot caught on an exposed root.
He tripped.
A gasp tore from his throat as he stumbled forward, barely managing to twist his body to shield Hikari from the impact. He hit the ground hard, the force jarring his ribs. A sharp pain lanced up his leg, but there was no time to dwell on it.
The growl came again.
Too close.
Hayato forced himself up, every muscle screaming in agony.
He threw himself forward, but it was almost on top of him now.
He could feel its presence—the sheer, horrifying weight of it looming behind him.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and rot, suffocating and heavy. The sound of its labored, grotesque breathing was right there.
It was reaching for him.
For Hikari.
Hayato gritted his teeth.
He would not let it take her.
Not now.
Not ever.
With every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he ran.
He ran so far that he ended up in a forest where pursuit continues.
The terrain suddenly dipped, and Hayato lost his footing. His boots slid against the loose earth, sending him tumbling down a small slope. He hit the ground hard, rolling across the damp forest floor before skidding to a halt in a clearing surrounded by ancient, gnarled trees. The sharp scent of wet moss and decaying leaves filled the air.
Above, the moon cast a pale, ghostly glow through the twisted canopy, illuminating jagged shadows of rocks and roots stretching like grasping hands. The clearing was small—too small. The walls of trees loomed around him, their skeletal branches curling inward like a natural cage.
His chest heaved as he forced himself to his feet. He couldn't run anymore.
His legs shook violently, every muscle screaming in protest. His lungs burned, his ribs ached, and his vision swam from exhaustion. If he kept running, he would collapse, and he couldn't protect Hikari while fleeing.
This was it.
He had no choice.
He turned to his sister, his heart clenching at how fragile she looked. He gently lowered her from his back, propping her against the base of a tree. Her face was unnaturally pale, her delicate frame barely moving, but when he leaned in close—he could hear it.
Her breathing.
Steady. Soft. Alive.
Hayato swallowed hard. He exhaled a slow breath, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush a strand of snowy-white hair from her face. Even now, despite everything, she looked so peaceful.
"Stay here, Hikari," he whispered, his voice softer than he meant it to be. He didn't even know if she could hear him.
But he had to say it anyway.
"I'll protect you."
A low, guttural growl shattered the silence.
Hayato stiffened, his body moving on pure instinct as he whirled around.
The creature had arrived.
It stood at the edge of the trees, its grotesque, burned form partially hidden in the shadows. But there was no mistaking it. The dull gleam of its milky, sightless eyes locked onto him, the unnatural twitch of its fingers scraping against the bark of a tree, its bloodstained mouth curling into something that almost resembled a grin.
The moonlight spilled over its scorched, torn body, revealing the horrifying truth.
It had once been his grandmother.
Hayato felt his stomach twist, a lump forming in his throat.
But he didn't look away.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't let himself break.
The monster's head jerked to the side at an unnatural angle, the movement accompanied by a sickening crack. Then, it let out a deep, guttural snarl—low, menacing, hungry.
Hayato steeled himself. He took a defensive stance, his glowing facial markings flaring brighter as his breath came in measured, controlled exhales.
"You're not taking her," he said. His voice trembled slightly, but there was no hesitation.
The monster lunged.
Hayato had no time to think—only react.
He threw his hands up on pure instinct.
Something inside him surged.
The air around him shifted—like a sudden change in pressure before a storm. A powerful gust of wind erupted from his palms, tearing through the clearing with an invisible force.
The creature was hit mid-leap.
It was hurled backward, its grotesque form slamming into a thick tree trunk with bone-cracking force. The impact sent a thunderous crack echoing through the night as bark and splinters exploded outward.
For a brief moment—there was silence.
Hayato stood frozen, his chest heaving, his wide eyes locked onto his own hands. His fingers were still outstretched, trembling slightly. The glow of his markings pulsed rhythmically, as if mirroring his erratic heartbeat.
"What… was that?" he whispered. His voice barely rose above a breath.
He had felt it—the shift in the air, the power coursing through his body. It had responded to him.
A low, inhuman growl broke his trance.
The monster stirred.
A sickening crunch filled the air as it pushed itself upright, its burned, twisted limbs snapping back into place with horrific, jerking movements.
Its sightless eyes blazed with rage.
Then—it charged again.
This time, Hayato didn't hesitate.
The symbols on his face glow, He clenched his fists, feeling that strange energy surge through him again. The wind around him began to pulse, spiral, and intensify.
He could feel it—he could control it.
As the monster lunged, he exhaled sharply and thrust his arms forward.
A second gust of wind—sharper, more refined—ripped through the clearing like an invisible blade.
The air howled, slicing through the monster's torso in a single, fluid motion.
The creature staggered mid-step.
It let out a final, guttural scream—raw, piercing, almost… human.
Then, its body collapsed.
It hit the ground with a sickening thud, twitching once—twice—before falling completely still.
Hayato didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
His heart pounded in his ears, the rhythmic glow of his markings slowly dimming.
The only sound left was the whisper of the wind.
The battle was over.
But the nightmare… was just beginning.
Hayato sank to his knees, his breath coming in uneven, shaky gasps. His muscles ached, his head pounded, and a deep, consuming exhaustion weighed down his entire body. The last remnants of adrenaline faded from his veins, leaving behind a hollow, aching emptiness.
The glowing patterns on his face and arms, which had flared so brightly moments ago, flickered weakly before diming into nothingness. His body trembled, not just from fatigue—but from the sheer weight of what he had just done.
His gaze drifted to the unmoving form of the creature.
No.
Not a creature.
His grandmother.
Or at least—what had been left of her.
Hayato's throat tightened. He couldn't breathe. The world around him felt distant, muted, unreal.
His lips parted, his voice barely more than a breath.
"I'm sorry."
A single tear slid down his dirt-streaked cheek, falling soundlessly to the bloodstained ground.
"I'm so sorry."
A soft groan pulled him back to reality.
Hayato snapped his head around, his heart lurching.
Hikari.
She stirred slightly, her small body shifting against the rough bark of the tree. Her lashes fluttered, and with a faint, sleepy murmur, she slowly blinked awake.
"Nii-chan…?"
Her voice was weak, laced with confusion. She tried to lift her head, but her body didn't cooperate.
Hayato quickly wiped at his face, forcing the tears away before she could see them. He needed to be strong—for her.
He smiled, even though it felt like his chest was ripping apart.
"It's over, Hikari," he said softly, his voice steadier than he expected. "Everything's okay now."
Her gaze shifted past him—to the body in the clearing.
She froze.
A small shiver ran through her as she stared.
"Nii-chan… what is that?"
Hayato's throat closed up.
His pulse hammered in his ears.
He could still hear his grandmother's voice in his head. The warmth of it. The way she used to scold him for coming home late, the way she hummed while she cooked, the way she called his name when she needed his help with something small—something insignificant but so familiar.
And now…
Now she was gone.
He couldn't tell Hikari that.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Hayato forced himself to swallow, his voice coming out calm despite the storm raging inside of him.
"It was just… a monster."
Hikari's fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve.
"But it's gone now," Hayato said, placing a reassuring hand on her head. "You don't have to be scared anymore."
Hikari hesitated, her eyes searching his face as if trying to read something deeper. But in the end, she was too weak to press further.
Hayato silently thanked whatever force was watching over them.
With great care, he lifted her onto his back again, adjusting her weight so she rested comfortably against him. His legs shook, every muscle protesting after all the strain—but he forced himself to stand.
Hikari murmured something against his shoulder, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt.
She was tired.
She had no idea how much he wished he could be, too.
As they left the clearing, the night air felt lighter, the suffocating pressure of before finally gone. The wind rustled gently through the leaves, and for the first time since the crash, the world felt quiet.
But Hayato knew better.
The weight in his chest, the numbness in his limbs—they wouldn't fade.
The memory of what had happened would never leave him.
And as he carried his sister forward, stepping over the blood-stained grass without looking back…
He knew.
He would never be the same again.
The world around them was eerily quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the one that used to lull Hayato to sleep at night, where the waves whispered against the shore, and the breeze carried the faint hum of cicadas.
This was different.
This was a heavy, suffocating silence.
The wind rustled through the trees, making the leaves shudder as if they, too, felt the weight of what had happened. Distantly, the cries of unseen birds echoed through the dusk, their calls lonely, uncertain. The golden light of the setting sun had long faded, leaving behind an endless stretch of deep indigo sky. Stars flickered above them, cold and indifferent.
Hayato sat on the side of the road, his legs trembling beneath him as he held Hikari tightly against his chest. His arms ached. His body ached. His soul ached.
But he didn't loosen his grip.
He couldn't.
His heart pounded—not from the strain of carrying her, not from exhaustion, but from the crushing weight of reality.
Of what had just happened.
Of what he had lost.
He barely noticed the warmth of Hikari's breath against his collar, the slight movements of her small fingers twitching against his shirt. But when she stirred—her tiny body shifting against him—his heart nearly stopped.
"Nii-chan…"
Her voice was weak. Barely a whisper.
Hayato sucked in a sharp breath.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, dazed. She blinked sluggishly, confusion clouding her delicate features before her gaze found his.
"What happened?"
The question hit him harder than any punch he had ever taken.
His throat tightened.
His breath felt shallow.
He hadn't prepared for this.
Hayato hesitated for half a second before his body moved on instinct.
He quickly wiped at his face, erasing any trace of tears before forcing a smile—one that felt foreign, wrong.
But he had to smile.
For her.
"It's okay, Hikari," he said, his voice trembling despite his efforts to sound steady. "Everything's okay now."
The words tasted bitter.
A lie.
But he couldn't tell her the truth.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Hikari blinked up at him, still groggy. Dirt and dried blood streaked her pale face, her once-bright eyes now dulled with exhaustion. She shifted slightly, her small fingers clutching weakly at his sleeve.
Then she whispered the words that made his stomach drop.
"Where's Grandma and Grandpa?"
Hayato's breath caught in his throat.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his torn shirt.
For a split second, the images flash ed through his mind.
The mangled wreckage of the car.
His grandfather's still, unmoving form slumped against the wheel.
His grandmother's bloodied hands clutching his wrist, her voice weak but so determined as she made him promise—promise—to take Hikari and go.
The fire. The smoke.
His grandmother's lifeless body rising from the ashes, her once-loving hands now twisted into claws, her once-gentle eyes nothing but milky voids of hunger.
The scream.
The blood.
The weight of his own hands as he struck her down.
His chest felt hollow.
Hayato knew the truth.
But Hikari—
Hikari didn't need to.
Not now.
Not ever.
He took a shaky breath, forcing every muscle in his body to stay still, to not tremble under the unbearable weight pressing down on him.
His lips moved before his brain could catch up.
"They're…." he said softly, his voice hesitating to speak of the truth that she needed to hear. "Grandpa and Grandma… They were badly hurt. They told me we needed to go on ahead and get to Uncle Kenji's house."
Hikari's eyes widened slightly.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Hayato nodded, his hands gently brushing strands of hair from her face. "They… they had to rest for a while. But they're safe. And they want us to keep moving, okay? That's what they wanted."
Hikari stared at him for a moment, as if trying to see past his words, past the lie.
But she was tired.
Too tired.
She gave a small nod, letting her head rest against his chest once more.
"Okay…" she murmured sleepily, her grip on his sleeve relaxing slightly.
Hayato let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Relief.
Guilt.
He carried her on his back and tightened his arms around her legs, so that she wouldn't fall.
Protect her.
That was the only thing that mattered now.
And if protecting her meant carrying this lie for the rest of his life—
Then so be it.
The night stretched endlessly before him, swallowing the world in deep, suffocating silence.
The stars overhead twinkled faintly, distant and indifferent, offering no warmth, no comfort—only a reminder of how small he was in the vastness of the universe. The faint crescent of the moon cast a silver glow over the road, illuminating the path just enough to keep moving forward.
Hayato walked in silence.
His footsteps were soft, barely audible against the dirt road, but every step felt heavy—as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His back arched, his muscles screaming for rest, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Hikari's small, fragile body was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But no matter how far he walked, he couldn't outrun his thoughts.
The crash.
It replayed in his mind over and over, each detail burned into his memory like a scar he'd never erase.
The screech of tires.
The shattered glass raining down like cruel, glimmering stars.
The suffocating smoke.
The warmth of his grandmother's blood on his hands.
His grandmother's voice—her final words, her final plea—"Take Hikari and go."
Then, the monster.
His grandmother's lifeless eyes, her twisted form lunging at him with clawed hands, snarling like an animal, nothing of the woman he had known left inside her.
Hayato gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening against Hikari's legs as he adjusted her weight on his back.
He had to stop thinking about it.
He had to push it away.
But the images wouldn't leave him.
His chest felt tight, his throat dry. His heart pounded—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the guilt that curled around him like an iron chain.
His vision blurred for a moment, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep moving.
The cool night breeze brushed against his face, rustling through the trees. It carried the scent of damp earth and the faintest hint of salt from the distant ocean.
And yet, despite the stillness, despite the quiet—he felt like the night itself was watching him.
Like something was waiting.
Hayato clenched his jaw.
He didn't care.
He just needed to get Hikari somewhere safe.
That was all that mattered.
His voice barely rose above a whisper, carried away by the wind before it could fully settle in the air.
"I'm sorry, Grandma…"
His fingers trembled as he tightened his grip on Hikari.
"I'm so sorry…"
The night offered no response.
Only silence.
And the distant rumble of something far, far away.
The distant outline of a small house emerged from the dark horizon, its faintly glowing windows cutting through the night like a beacon.
The moment Hayato laid eyes on it, something inside him nearly collapsed. His breath hitched, his legs wobbled beneath him, and for the briefest second, he thought he might fall right there in the middle of the road.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
Not when Hikari was still unconscious on his back.
Not when they still weren't safe.
He forced himself forward, dragging his feet up the narrow path leading to the porch. His muscles screamed in protest, every inch of his body aching, throbbing, burning—but he didn't stop.
Then, before he even reached the door—
It swung open.
A tall figure rushed out, the warm glow of the house casting long shadows behind him.
Uncle Kenji.
His sharp tan features were tight with worry, his usually styled black hair slightly disheveled—a sign that he had been running his hands through it over and over again. His dark brown eyes, always calm and calculating, widened the moment he saw them.
"Hayato? Hikari?!" His voice cut through the night, urgent, borderline panicked.
Hayato barely made it onto the porch before his knees buckled. He gritted his teeth, using what little strength he had left to gently lower Hikari to the ground.
His arms felt like lead. His head spun. His heart hammered so loudly in his ears that he almost didn't hear Kenji kneeling beside him.
"What the hell happened?!" Kenji demanded, his voice sharp, but not unkind. His hands hovered over Hikari first, then over Hayato, his fingers ghosting over the bruises on the boy's face, the scrapes on his arms, the dried blood tangled in Hikari's hair.
Hayato tried to answer.
They stuck in his throat like stones, heavy and unmovable.
Kenji's eyes narrowed. He knew Hayato too well—he caught the way the boy's jaw clenched, the way his fists trembled at his sides.
Hayato stared at the floorboards beneath his feet, the grainy wood blurring beneath the sting of unshed tears. His throat worked uselessly, trying to form words that had no shape, no sound, only weight. A crushing, unbearable weight pressing down on his chest.
Kenji crouched beside him again, not rushing, not demanding. Just there. Solid as the earth beneath them. His hand stayed on Hayato's shoulder, steady and grounding, even as the boy's breathing turned shallow.
"I…" Hayato's voice cracked, barely a whisper. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn't budge. "They're gone."
Kenji stilled, but didn't flinch. His expression, though grave, didn't shift from that steadfast calm.
"Grandpa....Grandma….," Hayato rasped, the words jagged, like shards of broken glass scraping his throat as they forced their way out. His nails dug into his palms, the sting of it the only thing keeping him from falling apart. "We were driving. Almost here."
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head like if he could shake the memory loose, send it spinning into the dark where it couldn't reach him.
"There was… there was this light. Bright. Like the whole sky was on fire." His voice was trembling now, each word spilling out faster, as if he was afraid he'd never get them out if he slowed. "And the road—split. Just like that."
His hands clenched tighter, white-knuckled fists shaking against his thighs. "The car flipped. I— I tried to hold onto Hikari but—" His voice cracked again, thinner this time, raw. "I woke up. She was out cold. They—"
He couldn't finish. The words choked off in a sharp gasp, and the tears finally came, spilling over without warning, hot and burning down his dirt-smeared cheeks.
Kenji's grip tightened on his shoulder, just for a moment, before releasing it and pulling Hayato into his chest. It wasn't graceful, it wasn't the comforting embrace of a parent—but it was strong. Steady. A quiet promise.
Hayato didn't fight it.
He pressed his face into his uncle's shoulder, the rough fabric of his jacket scratching against his skin as sobs wracked through him. His body trembled, every muscle screaming from the weight of the day—but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop.
"They didn't make it," he gasped between sobs. "I tried—I tried to get them out. But there was nothing I could do."
Kenji's hand stayed on the back of his head, his other arm a firm line across Hayato's back. He said nothing for a long moment, just let the boy shudder and cry and breathe.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, gruff but certain.
"I know, kid. I know you did everything you could."
Hayato clung to those words like a lifeline.
Because even if he didn't believe them yet, even if the guilt clawed at his insides like a living thing, his uncle's voice—unshakable, unwavering—gave him something solid to hold onto.
Minutes passed like that. Maybe longer.
Until Hikari stirred, letting out a soft, whimpering sound that snapped both of them back into the moment. Kenji leaned away first, squeezing Hayato's shoulder before moving to kneel beside her.
"Hey, sweetheart. You with me?"
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, confused. She whimpered again, and Hayato was at her side in an instant, brushing her hair back, his hands gentler now, more steady.
"I'm here," he whispered, voice still hoarse, but stronger. "I'm here, Hikari."
Kenji rose, stepping back to the window once more, peering out at the horizon where distant flashes of light still danced. His jaw clenched.
"We're leaving soon," he said, more to himself than them. "But not before I know she can move."
Hayato nodded slowly, wiping his face on his sleeve. His heart still ached, the hole left behind by his grandparents' absence yawning wide—but at least now, the weight was shared.
At least now, they weren't alone.
Kenji's grip didn't waver. It was a silent reassurance. A silent "I understand."
Kenji stood, placing a guiding hand on Hayato's back. "Let's get you both inside."
The moment they stepped through the door, warmth wrapped around them like a thick blanket.
The scent of wood and herbs lingered in the air, the walls lined with old maps and books, remnants of Kenji's travels and military past. Under any other circumstance, it would have been comforting.
But right now, Hayato couldn't feel it.
His body was too cold. His mind was too clouded.
Kenji didn't waste a second.
He moved quickly, efficiently. He grabbed a wet cloth, gently wiping the blood from Hikari's forehead before pressing a cool compress to her skin. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of work, but his touch was careful.
"She'll be okay," Kenji muttered, mostly for Hayato's sake.
Hayato nodded, gripping the bottle of water his uncle handed him. His hands shook as he unscrewed the cap, exhaustion making his limbs feel numb.
Kenji exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He turned toward the window, his sharp gaze flickering toward the dark horizon, where the distant glow of disaster loomed.
"We don't have much time," he muttered, voice laced with urgency. "We'll take my car and head straight for the bunker."
The word hit Hayato like a cold slap.
Bunker.
His father's voice echoed in his mind.
"Get to the nearest bunker. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Just go."
He had called them. He had promised—"When this is all over, I will find you."
But now…
Now, that future was uncertain.
Hayato clenched his jaw. He hated how his hands trembled. He hated how his chest felt too tight, too heavy.
But then—Kenji placed a firm hand on his shoulder again.
That same unshakable grip.
That same silent reassurance.
That same promise—
"You're not alone in this."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Hayato allowed himself to believe it.
The house had settled into an uneasy quiet. Hikari dozed fitfully on the couch, wrapped in a wool blanket, her small frame dwarfed by the cushions. Her breathing was steadier now, the color returning to her cheeks—but Hayato stayed close, sitting on the floor beside her, one hand resting lightly on her arm as if afraid she might slip away again.
Kenji stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, brow furrowed deep in thought. The clock above the stove ticked too loudly in the silence, the only other sound the low hum of the wind pressing against the windows.
"They were coming for me," Kenji muttered, almost to himself. His voice was low, hollow. "Your grandparents."
Hayato looked up, his eyes rimmed red. He wiped his face on his sleeve, sniffling softly.
"They called me before they left," Kenji continued, fingers drumming against his arm. "Said they'd swing by, pick me up, and we'd head to the bunker together." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I told them the car wasn't ready. That I wasn't ready."
His eyes flicked toward the garage door at the far end of the hallway. The project car sat behind it—his old 1984 Toyota Land Cruiser. A beast of a machine, or at least it would've been, once he finished fixing it up. Years of work. New suspension. Rebuilt engine. But the fuel pump—still faulty. And half the dashboard wiring? Barely held together with electrical tape and hope.
Kenji pushed off the counter, pacing toward the window. He stared out at the growing orange glow on the horizon—distant fires, or worse.
"I don't have another choice now."
Hayato shifted on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. "That old car?" His voice was small, uncertain. "It's kinda broken, though."
Kenji turned, giving him a look that was somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. "We're about to find out."
He strode toward the hallway, motioning for Hayato to follow. Together, they moved toward the garage door, Kenji pausing just long enough to pull a heavy ring of keys from the hook by the door.
The garage smelled of old oil and dust, the faint metallic tang of rusting tools and unfinished repairs. The Land Cruiser sat like a sleeping giant beneath the flickering overhead light, its green paint dulled with age, hood propped open, wires and parts scattered like a battlefield across the workbench.
Kenji tossed the keys onto the seat, rolling up his sleeves. "We're leaving tonight. With or without this thing's cooperation."
Hayato stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "But… what if it doesn't work?"
Kenji shot him a lopsided grin, but there was no humor in it. "Then we push it 'til it does."
He ducked under the hood, hands already moving with practiced ease, checking connections, tightening bolts. The sharp click of metal echoed through the garage.
Hayato edged closer, watching the tangle of wires and metal with wide eyes. "Is it gonna explode?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Kenji huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Not today, kid."
Hayato hovered near the fender for a moment, then stepped closer. "Can I help?"
Kenji glanced at him, eyes softening just a touch. "Grab that toolbox. We've got a fuel pump to coax back to life."
The two worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of tools, the occasional muttered curse from Kenji as he navigated the car's stubborn engine. Sweat beaded at his temples, but his focus never wavered.
Hayato handed him a wrench, his small fingers brushing the cool metal. He watched his uncle work with wide-eyed awe, the way his hands moved fast and sure, like they knew exactly what to do.
Finally, Kenji stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag, eyeing the engine like a gambler about to flip a coin.
"Alright," he muttered, tossing the rag aside. "Moment of truth."
He climbed into the driver's seat, twisting the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered once, twice—then roared to life, the sound shaking the walls of the garage.
Hayato jumped, eyes going wide. "It worked!"
Kenji let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, shooting Hayato a quick nod.
"She's ugly," Kenji said, patting the dashboard affectionately, "but she's ours."
Hayato grinned, the first real smile to cross his face in what felt like forever. "I like her."
For the first time since the crash, there was a flicker of hope in his chest. Maybe this rusted-out beast could carry them where they needed to go.
Maybe they still had a chance.
The car tore down the ruined highway, its tires skidding slightly over the cracked asphalt. The once-smooth road was now littered with jagged fissures, chunks of concrete ripped from the earth like a wound torn open. Fires burned in the distance, their orange glow flickering against the shattered skyline. The sky itself was unrecognizable—a swirling mass of black and crimson, choked with clouds of dust and ash.
Genesis had already struck.
And the world was falling apart.
A deafening boom rumbled through the air, distant yet strong enough to rattle the car's frame. The ground quivered beneath them, sending tremors up Hayato's legs. He could feel it—the weight of destruction pressing in from all sides, the sheer magnitude of the catastrophe swallowing everything in its path.
He held Hikari tightly, his arms wrapped around her small frame as she trembled against him. Her usual warmth felt dimmer, like she was fading away, slipping into exhaustion. The dried blood on her forehead had cracked, streaking faint red lines down her temple.
"Nii-chan... I'm scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the car rushing through the devastation.
Hayato's grip on her tightened.
"I know." His voice was hoarse, raw from the smoke-filled air and the weight of everything pressing down on him. "But I won't let anything happen to you. I swear."
Kenji, face tense and lined with sweat, kept his hands locked on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white, his muscles stiff, his eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. His olive-green collared shirt was stained with dirt, and his usually composed demeanor had cracked under the pressure.
"How much further?!" Hayato called over the roaring wind.
Kenji didn't answer immediately. His gaze was sharp, calculating, scanning the wreckage ahead for the safest path. Then, his jaw clenched.
"Ten more minutes!"
"We don't have ten minutes!" Hayato snapped. Another distant explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the ground. The remnants of a collapsed building came into view, thick smoke curling into the sky like a funeral pyre.
Kenji's hands tightened on the wheel.
"We're going to make it." His voice was low, firm—unshakable.
Hayato wanted to believe him.
But as he stared out the window, watching the world collapse in real-time, watching the once-familiar landscape erode into ruin, he couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how fast they drove—
They were already too late.
The road stretched before them, dark and winding, with only the faint, eerie glow of the burning sky casting long, flickering shadows along the cracked asphalt. The rumble of distant explosions echoed in the air, a reminder that the world behind them was falling apart.
Inside the car, silence pressed down like a heavy weight. No one spoke, but the unspoken words were there, thick between them. Hikari had long since dozed off, her small body curled up in the backseat, her head resting in Hayato's lap. Her breathing was slow, even—but every so often, her fingers twitched against the fabric of his sleeve, as if reaching for something in a dream.
Hayato's own thoughts were racing. They were close. So close. Just a little farther, and they'd be safe. They had to be.
Then—without warning—the engine coughed.
Kenji's fingers tightened on the wheel.
Another sputter. Then another.
Then—silence.
A dead, lifeless silence.
The car jerked forward weakly, rolling a few more feet before the engine gave out completely, a low, defeated groan escaping from under the hood.
Kenji let out a sharp curse, his hand immediately moving to the fuel gauge. The needle was buried on empty.
"No… no, no, no..." he muttered, his knuckles white as his foot pressed the engine started smoking intensely. The car gave a weak, shuddering noise, but didn't move.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Kenji slammed a fist against the dashboard. "Damn it!"
The sudden outburst made Hayato sit up straighter. "What happened?"
Kenji exhaled sharply, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "The engine's busted!." His voice was taut, tinged with frustration—but mostly with regret.
Hayato's stomach twisted. They were so close.
Kenji rubbed a hand down his face, his expression tightening. "I didn't have time to fix it properly before we left."
Hayato clenched his jaw. His fingers curled into fists against the seat.
Of course. Everything had been too rushed. There had been no time. Not for repairs, not for second chances, not for anything.
Kenji turned, his eyes dark and unreadable. "We walk from here."
Hayato glanced at Hikari, still fast asleep. The journey had already worn her down. Now, she'd have to go even farther on foot.
He took a slow breath. "I'll carry her."
Kenji nodded once, no hesitation.
"Stay close," he warned as he reached into the trunk, grabbing as many supplies that he could carry. His sharp gaze flicked toward the darkness beyond the road. "We don't know who—or what—might be out here."
Without another word, they set off into the night.
Hayato's arms burned from carrying Hikari, but he refused to let go. His breaths were heavy, his legs sore, but none of that mattered. They had to keep moving.
The road stretched longer than it should have. Every shadow felt alive, every distant sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Then—finally—
The bunker loomed ahead.
A hulking, fortified silhouette against the smoke-filled sky. Bright flood lights shone down from towering poles, illuminating the massive steel doors that stood closed and unyielding—like the gates to another world.
For a fleeting moment, hope flared in Hayato's chest.
They made it.
This was the place everyone had talked about—the one built to withstand anything. Even Genesis.
But then—
The hope shattered.
The crowd came into view.
A large crowd of desperate families stood outside the bunker, their faces pale and gaunt under the harsh lights. Fear clung to them like a sickness.
Some held small, whimpering children close to their chests. Others clutched overstuffed bags, carrying whatever precious belongings they had managed to grab before running.
And then, there were the ones who weren't moving at all.
Hayato's breath hitched.
Bodies slumped against the walls, unmoving. Some people had collapsed from exhaustion. Others… he wasn't sure if they were even still breathing.
"Stay close," Kenji instructed. "Don't let go of me."
Hayato nodded, his arms tightening protectively around his sister as they moved toward the crowd.
The noise grew louder with each step. Shouting. Pleading. Some people banging fists against the steel gates. Others standing still in dazed silence, cradling what little they had left.
Kenji made his way to the edge of the crowd and flagged down a man leaning against a half-toppled signpost, his face pale with exhaustion.
"What's going on?" Kenji asked, raising his voice over the commotion.
The man wiped sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. "It's full," he said hoarsely. "The bunker's full. No more room. They locked it an hour ago. No one else is getting inside."
Kenji stared at him, heart hammering.
"What do you mean, full?" he demanded. "There's supposed to be capacity for thousands!"
"There were thousands," the man said bleakly. "They filled it. Packed in tighter than sardines. Once the last ones went in, the doors closed. They're not opening again." His voice cracked. "We're on our own now. They told us... find shelter somewhere else."
Kenji swore under his breath and turned back toward Hayato, who was watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
"What do we do?" Hayato asked, voice barely a whisper.
Kenji looked toward the bunker, the heavy steel doors looming like a cruel monument.
He had no answer. No plan B.
But he wasn't giving up.
He placed a firm hand on Hayato's shoulder. "We're going to try," he said. "We didn't come all this way to stop here."
Without another word, Kenji turned back toward the crowd and started pushing through.
The mass of bodies was dense, chaotic—everyone shouting, pleading with the soldiers guarding the perimeter. The soldiers stood firm behind the barricades: young, tense, rifles gripped tightly but not yet raised. They shouted at the crowd to back up, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with words alone.
Kenji shouldered through the press of people, Hayato struggling to stay close behind him, Hikari's unconscious form weighing heavily against his back.
As they neared the front, a line of soldiers blocked the final approach to the sealed doors. A young sergeant with a megaphone barked hoarse warnings:
"Fall back! The facility is at full capacity! Find shelter elsewhere! This bunker is sealed!"
Kenji didn't slow.
The air was thick with the sound of pleading voices.
"Please!"
A woman's desperate cry pierced the night as she clung to a soldier's arm. A young child, barely older than Hikari, was curled up at her feet, shaking violently.
The soldier's face remained unreadable, his voice cold, detached.
"The bunker is full. I'm sorry."
The words landed like a death sentence.
The woman collapsed to her knees, her sobs raw and broken.
The child at her side let out a weak, helpless wail, clinging to her as if holding on could make this nightmare go away.
Hayato's chest tightened.
No.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Kenji didn't hesitate. His movements were sharp, quick, already processing the situation.
Kenji's muscles are stiff with urgency. Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, he forced his body forward.
"Come on!" he barked, already heading for the gate.
Hayato scrambled out after him, adjusting his hold on Hikari as she stirred against his chest.
His feet hit the pavement, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
They had made it to the bunker.
But were they already too late?
He moved forward until one of the soldiers stepped in his path, rifle slung low but firm across his chest.
Kenji raised his arms, his voice cutting through the shouting. "Listen to me! We've got children here! We can't just—there's nowhere else to go!"
The soldier shook his head, sweat dripping down from under his helmet. His face was pale, strained.
"I have children with me!" Kenji's voice cracked, raw with desperation. He motioned toward Hayato and Hikari, his hands shaking. His niece and nephew—his responsibility now. "Please, let us in! Just them, at least!"
The soldier—a young man, barely past his twenties—hesitated.
For the briefest moment, his steely mask wavered. His eyes flickered toward the two children—toward Hikari, clinging to Hayato's arm, her tiny body trembling, her pale face streaked with dried tears and exhaustion.
His fingers twitched.
Then, his jaw tightened.
His expression turned unreadable, like a man who had already repeated these words too many times tonight.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice rough with guilt. "We can't let anyone else in. There's no space. Orders are final."
His voice was steady but heavy, as if the weight of those words was suffocating him. Kenji's stomach twisted painfully.
His breath hitched as he stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists. "There has to be a way!" he insisted, his voice rising. "They're just kids! My niece and nephew! You can't just leave them out here!"
His heart thundered in his chest. For a wild second, he considered trying to rush the line, to force his way through—but he knew better. These soldiers were scared, cornered. One wrong move could turn a bad situation into a massacre.
Behind him, Hayato stood silent, clutching his sister, his eyes wide and full of things a child shouldn't have to carry.
Kenji looked at the closed steel doors again—impenetrable, unmoving—and felt the cruel weight of reality settle on his shoulders.
But he wasn't about to give up. Not yet.
He turned back to the soldier, locking eyes with him.
Kenji said, his voice low and dangerous. "If we can't get in... tell me where else we can go."
The soldier looked away without saying anything.
A flicker of guilt passed through his face, but his boots remained planted firmly to the ground. He refused to meet Kenji's eyes.
Kenji's entire body tensed. His nails dug into his palms.
"You don't understand!" he growled, his voice shaking with frustration. "Their father—he's a U.S. Air Force Colonel! He's out there, fighting to save people. He's probably risking his life to stop this whole damn thing from getting worse."
Kenji's breath hitched, his vision blurring with rage.
"You really think he'd want to hear that his kids were left outside to die?!"
The soldier flinched.
For a second, just a second, he wavered.
But still—he didn't move.
Kenji's heart pounded violently.
He could hear the distant wails of families behind him, begging, screaming for entry. He could hear Hikari's soft, muffled sobs against Hayato's chest.
His fingers shook, and he clenched his fists even tighter, as if sheer force alone could change the soldier's mind.
"At least let them in!" Kenji's voice cracked, desperation pouring from every syllable. "**I don't care about myself—just them! I'll stay out here if I have to, but please—**please—just let them through that door!"
A sharp whimper escaped Hikari's lips.
Hayato stood frozen.
His eyes were wide with helpless rage, his pulse pounding in his ears.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to fight.
He wanted to do **something—anything—**but he could barely breathe.
The soldier's eyes darkened.
His face hardened again—his stance, his grip on his rifle, his entire being turned to steel.
"I'm sorry."
Then—he turned away.
The massive steel door groaned loudly as the mechanical locks engaged. The gears within its reinforced walls grinded and clanked, each sound thudding like a hammer against Hayato's chest.
Kenji lunged forward.
"No!"
He grabbed onto the soldier's sleeve—but another guard shoved him back.
Kenji stumbled, nearly falling as the bunker doors continued to close.
Hayato's breath hitched violently.
The last thing he saw before the bunker sealed shut was the soldier's cold, empty stare.
Then—
BANG.
The final lock fell into place.
A mechanical voice boomed over the intercom:
"Bunker doors secured. No further entry permitted."
The bunker was shut.
They were locked out.
Left behind.
The deafening clang of the bunker's final lock rang in their ears long after the doors had shut. The world outside stood eerily still, the weight of what had just happened crushing down on them like an unbearable weight.
Kenji turned back to Hayato and Hikari, his face a storm of anger, frustration, and helplessness. His hands trembled slightly—whether from exhaustion or rage, Hayato couldn't tell.
Hayato looked up at him, his wide eyes glistening with fear. "Uncle… what do we do now?" His voice was small, wavering like a candle in the wind. He held onto Hikari's hand so tightly it was as if letting go meant losing everything.
Kenji knelt down, his firm hands gripping their shoulders. His touch was warm, steady, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness settling in Hayato's chest. His expression softened, but his sharp, battle-worn eyes flickered with an unspoken truth—he was just as scared.
But still—he smiled. It wasn't forced. It wasn't empty. It was determined.
"Listen to me," Kenji said, his voice steady, strong. "We'll find another way. We don't need this bunker. No matter what happens, I'll protect both of you. That's a promise."
His words were like an anchor, keeping them from spiraling into despair.
Hayato swallowed hard, nodding even as uncertainty gnawed at his insides.
Kenji stood, straightening his shoulders, his presence a pillar of unwavering resolve. He grabbed their small bags from the abandoned car, slinging one over each shoulder.
"Come on," he said, his voice now filled with conviction. "We're not staying here."
They walked away from the bunker without looking back.
The desperate cries of those left behind faded into the night, replaced by an unsettling silence that clung to the air like a thick fog. Every step forward felt heavier, as if they were leaving behind more than just the safety of the bunker.
The road stretched ahead, dark and unfamiliar, swallowed by the abyss of the unknown.
Hikari stumbled, her exhaustion weighing her small body down. Hayato didn't hesitate—without a word, he knelt and lifted her onto his back. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, her soft sniffles muffled against his shoulder.
His arms burned from the effort, but he didn't complain. If carrying her meant she could feel safe, even just a little, he would carry her forever.
"Where are we going, Uncle?" Hayato asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kenji glanced over his shoulder. The moonlight carved harsh shadows into his face, but his eyes remained focused, determined.
"Someplace safe," he answered, his deep voice carrying an unspoken weight. "We'll find shelter. Just stay close to me."
Hayato nodded, biting back his unease. He wanted to believe in those words. He needed to.
The faint glow of the moon guided their steps as they pressed onward, three figures against an endless stretch of darkness. Their shadows stretched long and distorted across the cracked pavement, as if even the earth itself was warning them—nothing would ever be the same again.
Above them, the stars had dimmed, their light barely piercing the thickening sky. The once-beautiful night now felt like a prelude to something terrible, like the world itself was holding its breath.
And then, Hayato saw it—far on the horizon.
A sickly orange glow.
Faint at first, but spreading, consuming. The radioactive clouds from Genesis' impact were expanding, moving unnaturally fast, a shadow creeping across the earth.
Hayato's breath hitched. It was real.
This wasn't a bad dream. It wasn't some distant disaster happening to someone else.
It was happening.
Right now.
He gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on Hikari, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.
Kenji kept walking, his posture tense, rigid. The weight on his shoulders wasn't just the bags he carried—it was the lives he now had to protect.
Hayato watched him, his uncle's broad silhouette moving forward without hesitation.
Even after everything.
Even after losing the bunker.
Even with the storm of death looming behind them.
He kept moving.
So Hayato did too.
For now, they pressed on, their small group a fragile beacon of hope against a world on the brink of collapse.
But deep in Hayato's heart, he knew—
The peace they once knew was gone.
And now, all that remained was the fight to survive.