"Vir…"
His voice cooed my name like sweet sugar for my soul. His smile melted my heart, leaving me utterly defenceless. His unruly, black hair had been partially tamed, no doubt taking much effort to achieve.
"Eardh to Vir", he said whilst giggling.
It was at this moment that I realised I was staring, jaw half agape, at him. "S-sorry" I stuttered, averting my eyes. I could feel my face going red with embarrassment.
I tried to look at him again normally, but his cheeky grin, and teasing eyes, made it impossible to look at him directly.
I can't believe I embarrassed myself so thoroughly on our first date…
I want to crawl up in a ball and pretend I don't exist.
"Shall we go inside", he spoke, offering his hand to me and gesturing to the cafe we planned to visit. Taking his hands, I feel the warmth of his body rush through me. It surged through my right arm, burst through my shoulder and dived straight into my heart. I could feel my heartbeat quickening by leaps and bounds.
His hands are larger than mine by no small margin. I am small, spindly and by no means attractive. I am not unconfident, but I also don't believe I'm top shit. I am a good foot and a half shorter than him. The perfect height where I could just bury my face into his broad, strong chest.
I notice his hand, wrapped around mine, are slightly sweaty. I couldn't help but smile a little at that. He always looks calm, in control, and confident when he acts. He doesn't second guess himself over anything. Knowing that he's even a little nervous about our first date makes me happy.
We cross the street towards the cafe. He walks slowly, making sure not to pull me along due to my short legs. Or maybe his legs are just really long.
Entering the café, we take a seat towards the back, in the corner. The café has a traditional look, with lacquered wood tables, high beams and lamplight. The register is clean and tidy, sustaining from tempting offers of sweets and savories. The atmosphere is quiet and still, only a few customers to be seen. Each either talking quietly to one another or reading quietly to themselves. Books of varying colour, width, height, and age mix a cacophony of stories along the walls.
I like to read. Not fervently. But still somewhat frequently. And I like this place because of that. I was the one that mentioned this café to him, and then he suggested going together.
Sitting across from each other, we chat and flirt and tease like ordinary young adults.
Without a care in the world for what else lay out there. Only we existed.
Without a care for troubles. Only we mattered.
Without a care for anything but each other.
After we ate and enjoyed our coffee, Mark offered to walk me home, instead of catching the bus like I did to get here.
It isn't a short walk, but I was in favour. It meant more time with him.
As we walked, I kept stealing glances at his handsome face.
*****
The alarms blare like banshees, joined by the shrill blast of war trumpets echoing through the stone halls.
All around me chaos reigns as surging soldiers scamper to the walls, grasping at rifles, blades, grenades—anything that might buy them another hour of life.
Scrap metal, leather is strapped to the bodies of pale faced fools who'll be pushed to the frontline. The oldest among us with them. In a war like this the young and the old are liabilities. One of them must die so the rest of us might survive.
The clash of metal, the bark of orders, and the screams of the wounded blend into a brutal symphony of survival. Some are sobbing, others shouting prayers, and a few already bleeding from skirmishes on the walls.
Soldiers are crying. Men in tears as they await their inevitable deaths. Women embraced in the arms of friends and partners, praying that they survive.
Weaklings weep. They won't die first but they will die second.
The halls are a battlefield themselves. Good gear is a fight worth dying for. A young recruit is pushed to the ground by the endless bodies. I ignore him as he's trampled underfoot, his cries lost in the chaos.
Mercy is a weakness here. Every beating heart is a mouth to feed. Good gear is a fight worth dying for. Food is worth killing for.
This is hell.
Even I, who's known as an elite blood hardened sniper, can feel to fraying edges of my sanity. My grip on reality is a threadbare string, stretched taut over a pit of despair.
The heat is unbearable, desert sun above, body heat below, but still I shiver. Death is close. I can feel his breath on my neck.
I never believed in gods. But now, with the world in ruins and monsters clawing at our gates, I believe in one: the Reaper. If any deity walks among us, it's the one harvesting souls by the thousands.
I figure if any god exists to witness this hell it would be the one with the most to gain from it.
The call to arms is relentless. The battle has already begun. The thunderclaps of ballista turrets and heavy machine guns leave me deaf.
Voices and cries are drowned out as if the air is water. Smoke and dust fill the halls, leaving no room to breathe.
Scrambling through the tide of bodies I reach for the ladders. Like a squirrel up a tree I fly up the walls to my nest.
As a sniper, my nest is perched high in the battle ramparts. The stone is cracked, scorched, and slick with blood. The wall trembles under the assault, but I steady my rifle. My scope scans the battlefield—dark creatures swarm the dunes, their grotesque forms illuminated by muzzle flashes and firelight.
I fire. One down. Reload. Fire again. Another falls.
The walls slow their advance but never stop them. They climb like panthers about to pounce.
Atop the walls our defenders clash with the enemy in brutal melee. Desperately protecting the artillery which fire endlessly into the dark distance.
Blades meet claws. Flesh tears. Blood sprays. The screams are endless. A flamethrower ignites a cluster of beasts, their shrieks piercing the night. A mortar lands nearby, sending bodies flying - friend and foe alike.
That damaged the wall. Which fucking idiot damaged the wall. They'll be killed for it.
We are the remnants. Survivors of the Fall. The fall being the day dark creatures descended upon us.
10 000 souls are behind these walls, 8 000 are fighting. That being said, most are conscripts - farmers, teachers, engineers. Now they are warriors by necessity. I was one of them.
Our battle ground is an old castle named Brund Morrows. Its stone wall protects us, and its castle houses us. It's incredibly cramped inside, and basic amenities are scarce, but at least we aren't out there.
There are 8 known surviving settlements within proximity of us. Occasionally, brave souls will travel between them to act as messengers, as the old comms methods are all down.
Plans for a bastion city exist, but they're dreams. Every day brings new attacks. Every hour, more dead. Our problems are endless: starvation, disease, dwindling ammo, no fuel, no power, no medics, no rest. The dead pile up faster than we can bury them. The wounded scream for help that won't come.
*****
"Eardh to Vir", he said whilst giggling.
His sweet nectarine voice sends chills down my spine. His eyes are curled into a mischievous grin as he goads me into looking at him.
I can't though. He's too damn handsome.
We talked endlessly as we walked. Mostly about useless stuff. And all the while I couldn't stop my face from burning every time I looked at him.
Eventually we got back to my place.
I considered inviting him inside at the door but before I could say anything…
"Not yet", he said whilst grinning like a mischievous demon.
My face exploded with embarrassment. I swear this man is doing it on purpose. With a mumble of a farewell I closed the door, unable to look him in the eyes before doing so.
*****
The wind bites at my cheeks as I lie in my sniper's nest, high atop the battered ramparts of Brund Morrows. The desert sun is merciless, but I barely feel it. My scope scans the horizon, selecting its next target. Priority kills are my job.
With dwindling numbers, the best killers begin to shine. They don't need to be coddled. They can handle their own.
With the Fall came a lot of change. The biggest of which being the presence of mana.
These days, everything as we once knew it fails us now that we need it more than ever. Even the physical laws that we understood and took advantage of have abandoned us.
Such as the flow of electricity. For some reason, electron flow acts differently now than it did before. Before, voltage and current were used to power devices such as light bulbs. But now, a third component affects the flow and power output.
Mana.
Reasons unknown to us, at the same time of the fall, the once fantastical idea of magic and mana became reality.
That's why these true soldiers don't need help. They're not just killers. They're killers of the superhuman variety.
My job is to kill or deliberate creatures that we don't normally see. That's because unknown entities are the most dangerous here.
I breathe. I steady my aim. I fire.
One shot. One kill.