Everyone knows why this place is empty. It's not just the ruins or the shame of a lost war. It's the monsters, biological leftovers from some failed experiment, hybrid beasts bred in labs, unleashed in battle, and now too stubborn to die.
As if on cue, something snarls behind the broken walls. A group of Spiky-spines White Fangs lurch into view, mutts from a science-fiction nightmare.
Part wolf, part something worse, they stand as tall as Irvine himself, some even bigger, each with spiny ridges across their backs and mouths overflowing with far too many teeth.
Their eyes gleam with hunger. And they're circling, slowly approaching from all directions.
"I really hate this shitty world," Irvine grunts, his eyes drifting aimlessly as his shoulders slump, like a man bracing for whatever hits next.
So much for a peaceful, low-effort exit. Now he's the main course at a dinner party hosted by mutant dogs.
With no way out and no reason left to fight, he sinks to his knees. His arms dangle at his sides, shoulders slack, his voice as lifeless as the ruins around him.
"What are you waiting for? Come on. Eat me."
But before the beasts can oblige, a voice rings out in his head. It's loud, commanding, and completely unexpected.
<< You can't just decide that! >>
It sounds like it's shouting directly into his brain, like a pissed-off priest mixed with a motivational speaker.
<< I know your life stinks and this world's gone to crap. But this isn't just about you! >>
Irvine flinches, glancing around in alarm.
The beasts still prowl toward him, jaws gleaming with saliva, oblivious to anything but the hunt. Yet the sudden voice, so close, so real, sends a strange current through his body, momentarily overriding his fear and making him forget the fangs closing in.
"Who… who said that?"
<< Don't even think about checking out again while I'm around! That kind of act is among the top sins God despises. You'll be tortured in the afterlife! >>
Irvine's eyes narrow.
"Afterlife? Wait… are you the Angel of Death?"
The voice pauses. Just long enough to feel like it's thinking.
<< …Yes. I am the Angel of Death. >>
"…Seriously?"
<< It's not your time yet. You still have a role to play. Think about your family. Your mother. Your cute little sister. If you die now, who's going to protect them in this hellhole of a world? >>
Irvine blinks.
Honestly, this isn't what he pictured Death would sound like. Less divine trumpet, more angry life coach.
But… weirdly enough, something inside him steadies, and his heart slows. The words hit somewhere deeper than reason.
"I… I can't die here…"
One of the White Fangs growls and lunges.
No time to reflect.
So he runs.
Skids to a stop, turn, and runs.
He glances over his shoulder, stumbles, and runs again.
"Shit! What do I do now?!"
<< Just keep running until you find someone! >>
"You're still with me?"
<< Of course! >>
"Then YOU'RE that someone! So do something!"
<< I'd love to help, but I'm a bit… tied up at the moment. >>
"Angel of Death, my ass! Can't you just zap them or something?!"
Irvine scrambles into the ruins of a collapsed brothel, diving under a fractured beam and crouching behind the half-hinged door of what used to be someone's fantasy suite.
"Please," he whispers, clutching something near his chest. "Just take their souls. Send them off to the next world."
<< Can't do that! By the way… what exactly is that in your hands? >>
Irvine looks down.
And turns pale.
He's been clutching an old, grimy dildo, one of the many sad, sad relics of this forgotten district. Not incense, not a weapon, just... regret in rubber form.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He throws it away in horror and immediately drops into a full prostration.
"Forgive my rudeness, Angel of Death! Please, just… just smite them! I beg you!"
<< That's not how it works! >>
"Not how it works?"
<< Something needs to kill them first. Then I collect the souls. Or God gives me direct orders. Until then, I don't get involved. It's the protocol. >>
"Then what am I supposed to do?!"
<< Not prostrate to me, for starters. That's heresy. >>
A window suddenly shatters behind him. One of the White Fangs lands inside the room, claws raking across the floor. Its breath is rank. Its teeth drip with anticipation.
More follow, one by one, slipping through the dark like death itself. Without thinking much, Irvine bolts again, smashing through the opposite door and leaping down a half-collapsed hallway.
"This is bullshit! I thought Angels of Death were supposed to be cool!"
<< Excuse me! I could tear this world in half with a flick of my wing. But I'm a loyal servant of God. I don't act outside my command. That's the difference between chaos and divinity. >>
"God?!" Irvine pants, feet slipping on rubble as he runs. "You're seriously bringing God into this? God is just a myth, the most stupid one human ever think about."
<< Nope! God does exist. Look around you. There are so many signs of… >>
"Bullshit! Where was He when my life went to hell?! I begged Him! Over and over! If he does exist, why would he create this shitty world to live?"
<< Watch your tongue, boy! You don't understand His wisdom! You're too young to question it! >>
Irvine turns sharply into another ruined brothel, hoping for a place to hide. But something leaps out of the shadows, and he can't do anything but welcome it with an open arms.
Sadly, it isn't a desperate woman seeking rescue. It's a beast, claws first, snarling.
"Grrr!!!"
A White Fang tackles him to the floor, claws pinning his shoulders. Its breath scalds his face as its jaws sink into his right shoulder.
"AAARRRGHHH!!"
Irvine screams, raw, ragged, all pain and terror.
<< Consider this a warning from God. >>
Driven by pain and fury, he seizes the beast's head with one hand and pounds with the other one, over and over, each blow fueled by blood, tears, and blind desperation.
"Enough talk about your goddamn God!"
He roars, voice cracking under the weight of rage.
"If I can't even cry out… can't even question…. then what the hell does God matter to me?!"
Unfortunately, his retaliation proves about as effective as trying to keep a wet string erected. The beast doesn't even flinch.
Just the sound of it gnawing at his shoulder is enough to scramble his brain into something resembling smoothie pulp. It shakes its massive head once, and that's all it takes. A clean chunk of flesh tears away with a wet snap.
Zrssh!!!
"Ackh…"
The boy lets out a short, pitiful groan.
The pain is too much, far too much his thoughts scatter like startled birds. His brain makes an executive decision: too much trauma for one day, better to check out early and let death handle the paperwork.
…
…. …
But oblivion doesn't last.
A sharp jolt suddenly runs through the beast.
Deg!
It senses something else now, something it can't see, but instinctively fears.
"Grrr!"
"Grrrrrr!!!!"
Its head jerks up, ears twitching, nostrils flaring wide. Something in the air has changed. The scent has shifted, and the pressure has deepened.
A flicker of white light pulses behind Irvine's eyes. Whatever's inside the boy… it isn't just human anymore.
Something ancient has arrived.
And the beast knows it isn't the predator anymore.