Nick moved carefully, testing the ground before each step. A rock in his palm, he tossed it ahead every few feet—watching, listening. If there were old mechanisms, hidden traps, or things lying in wait, he would rather trigger them from a distance.

  But nothing came.

  The road stretched ahead, fractured and worn. The only signs of life were flowers blooming in unnatural colors, perched on trees twisted into bizarre shapes. The air hummed with the distant calls of birds, their songs familiar yet subtly wrong, as if they followed a different rhythm than those of his world.

  Then came the cockroaches.

  They scuttled across the ruins in droves, their bodies gleaming with metallic hues that shimmered and shifted as they moved. The moment he saw them, hunger clawed at his stomach. Not the slow, creeping kind—but an urge. Deep, unnatural.

  His fingers twitched. He almost reached for one.

  A bolt of cold shot through his spine. That wasn’t his instinct. It was something foreign pressing into him.

  His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to step back.

  Not today.

  The buildings around him were unlike anything he had seen before—a strange fusion of modern precision and medieval grandeur. Sharp geometric edges merged with elegant, sweeping arches, standing as if untouched by time. Vines curled around them, but they didn’t strangle or crack the foundations. Instead, they reinforced them. These weren’t ruins decaying into dust. They were structures repurposed by nature itself.

  The city was changing, but it wasn’t dying.

  At an intersection, something caught his eye. A dustbin—at least, that’s what it looked like at first. Then, a leaf drifted into its opening, and the bin shifted. The leaf vanished.

  Nick froze.

  The thing had eaten it.

  He observed from a distance. It didn’t react to his presence, didn’t shift toward him. Instead, it continued its silent work, clearing the ground. Whatever system had once kept this city running—it was still functioning.

  He adjusted his path. Best not to test his luck.

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  Further ahead, a metallic tram track cut through the ruin. Something about it unsettled him—it was old, yet its structure remained unbroken, unclaimed by rust. Vehicles jutted from walls like impaled insects. Had they been thrown there? Or had they once flown?

  The city stood silent, but it was watching.

  A fortress-like building loomed in the distance, its five-meter walls imposing yet aged. The main gate had been forced open long ago. He lingered at the threshold, instincts resisting.

  Then, he turned back toward the jungle. The eerie red vines, the pulsing tree trunks, the unknown creatures lurking in the undergrowth.

  He exhaled, steeling himself.

  The city was the lesser threat.

  He stepped inside.

  The first thing that greeted him was a garden, its colors unnaturally vivid, the air thick with a saccharine scent. The fragrance curled into his lungs, almost lulling, almost inviting.

  Yet, something felt wrong.

  The insects refused to enter. Small creatures sniffed at the edges of the garden, then scurried away.

  Nick plucked a dry branch and snapped it in half. A piece landed in the flowers.

  Nothing happened.

  He watched. Waited.

  Minutes passed before he finally stepped forward.

  Inside, the waiting room stood untouched by time. The walls were smooth, dense—far sturdier than anything he'd ever known. Even with no power, no hum of machines, no sign of life, the structure held firm.

  He climbed the staircase, each step deliberate.

  The first floor opened into a spacious lobby, its corridors stretching into darkened apartments.

  Doors left ajar.

  Not forced. Opened.

  By scavengers? Or something else?

  Nick chose the most ordinary-looking unit.

  The door swung wide.

  A sofa, still standing.

  A painting on the wall.

  His gaze locked onto it.

  A warrior, mounted on the back of a great bird, spear aimed toward the sky. The beast’s wings stretched outward, its rider resolute, unshaken.

  Something about it felt… human.

  He moved deeper inside. Some decorations remained, while others had rotted long ago. But the objects—

  The objects were wrong.

  A small figurine of a woman, riding an octopus through violent waves. The craftsmanship was too precise, the details unnerving.

  Fantasy? Myth? Or something else entirely?

  Shoving the thought aside, he made his way to the kitchen.

  He found what he needed—a water bottle, a sturdy pot, a sealed container. A sack, most likely made of animal hide. Durable. Lightweight. He stuffed everything inside.

  The other rooms held nothing useful.

  He stopped searching.

  Not because there was nothing left to find.

  But because the more he explored, the heavier the unknown pressed in.

  He had already stepped too deep into the unfamiliar. There was no need to push further.

  The stairs led him to the rooftop. A helipad stretched across the space, faded markings barely visible beneath layers of grime. A broken transport vehicle lay abandoned in the corner.

  He ran his hands along its structure, searching for something salvageable. The metal was stripped clean.

  Whoever had come before him had taken everything that mattered.

  Nick exhaled, pushing forward until his hands met the guarding rail. He curled his fingers around the cold metal, his gaze sweeping across the silent city.

  Everything lay still.

  Then—movement.

  His breath caught.

  In the city’s core, a massive creature—easily the size of a one-story building—bounded across rooftops.

  And it wasn’t alone.

  A pack of dog-sized rat-like creatures pursued it, their metallic scales glinting, strange appendages protruding from their backs.

  Some moved in shadows, their bodies flickering in and out of visibility.

  Nick’s pulse hammered.

  The creatures were hunting.

  But something else was hunting them.

  From the ruins, tendrils of red and green lashed out, striking at isolated stragglers. The creatures twisted and shrieked, but the tendrils were merciless.

  Nick’s breathing turned shallow.

  His fingers ached from how tightly he gripped the railing.

  This was not a world built for him.

  The things he had once stepped on without a second thought—the ants, the insects, the pests of his world—

  Here, he was them.

  His vine armor, sharpened stick, and metal pot meant nothing.

  And if he wasn’t careful,

  He would be crushed just as easily.