Night crashed down over Smoville, swallowing up the city’s scars. Out near the edge of the Iron Market, spot fires licked at the shadows, throwing wild shapes across the barricades where Kai’s gang and what was left of the Smoville mob stood watch together. The new alliance was written in every stiff shoulder, every sideways glance—too recent to trust, too necessary to break.
Kai paced the southern line, quietly checking in with his people. Lina was propped up on a crate, bandages tight around her arm, trading a cigarette with one of the mob’s older lookouts. They nodded as Kai passed but kept their fingers near the triggers. History, it seemed, didn’t burn away with a handshake.
Zach was restless, stalking the perimeter. He hated waiting, hated the way the mobsters looked at him—half respect, half fear. The blue flicker in his eyes burned brighter than the flames.
A distant howl split the night. One of the mob jumped. “You hear that? Tell me I’m not hearing things.”
Kai nodded, jaw set. “Stay sharp. Nothing gets through.”
The hours crawled. Rumors fluttered between guards—monsters, shadows, things moving where there shouldn’t be life. The city felt alive in the worst way.
Just past midnight, Kai found Zach alone in a narrow alley, knuckles white around his club. On a stack of crates, the blue rat perched, tail twitching, eyes locked on Zach.
Zach sneered. “You again. Watching us. Judging…”
The rat’s eyes glinted, steady and cold.
Zach’s voice cracked, wild. “What are you? A curse? A ghost? Think you scare me?”
He lunged. The rat darted, but Zach moved faster, club swinging. The crates went down in a crash. The rat let out a screech—almost human—before Zach pinned it with his boot. Blue-tinged blood spattered, then the rat went limp.
Zach stood over it, chest heaving. “Not so clever now, huh?”
A scraping above. Kai jogged into the alley just as Zach glanced up.
From the rooftops, something dropped—a crow, black as oil, with a single blue eye burning in its skull. It landed on a shattered signpost, letting out a harsh caw that sounded too much like laughter.
Zach froze, sweat beading on his brow. “That’s not—no, that can’t…”
The crow cocked its head, blue eye locked on Zach. Its caw grew louder, vibrating through the alley, raising goosebumps on every neck.
Behind them, the shadows thickened. The wind shifted, carrying a chill that felt aimed straight at their hearts.
Kai stepped forward, voice taut. “Zach, back up.”
Zach didn’t move. “I killed it, Kai. That thing—I killed it.”
The crow flapped its wings, electric-blue light shimmering along the feathers. It took flight, circling above. All around, more crows gathered—dozens, maybe more—perched on wires and rooftops, each with a single blue eye.
At the mouth of the alley, Lina appeared, gun raised. “What the hell is this?”
Kai shook his head, voice low. “I don’t know. But it’s not over.”
One by one, the crows let out their call. The sound didn’t just echo—it pulsed in Kai’s bones. Out in the street, gang members and mobsters looked up, faces pale in the firelight.
The blue rat’s body was gone, leaving just a faint blue smear, already soaking into the dirt.
For the first time, Zach looked rattled, bravado slipping. “You saw it, Kai. I killed it.”
Kai kept his eyes skyward. “Maybe. Or maybe you just gave it something new to wear.” He nodded at the gathering crows. “Night’s not finished.”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Above Smoville, the blue-eyed crows watched, laughter echoing off the broken towers—judging, promising the real reckoning was still to come.
After the monsters’ retreat, Smoville was a city on edge. Gang and mob drifted through battered streets, boots crunching glass, uneasy allies holding what ground they could. People peeked from splintered doorways—some grateful, some wary. A mother pressed a trembling hand to her chest as Zach passed, whispering, “Thank you—for my boy.” An old man nodded at Kai, voice rough: “Didn’t think a gang would save us. Guess times change.”
But fear still ran the city. A crowd gathered near a burned-out market, whispering about the blue-eyed crows and what still lurked in the dark. Children clung to parents. Some townsfolk handed out bread or water, unsure if these newcomers were protectors or conquerors.
Kai paused by a shell-shocked couple, voice gentle. “Help us reinforce the barricades. Keep watch with us tonight. We can’t do it alone.”
As dusk settled, the mob and gang fanned out, tension humming. Patrols circled the perimeter, eyes darting at every flutter overhead.
John Street—
A crow swept low over the rooftops, blue eye gleaming in the dusk. It circled John Street, watching the living pieces below—kids trading marbles, mothers clutching their little ones, fighters patching wounds.
On a crumbling rooftop, Mika crouched with her knees drawn up, sword across her lap. She watched the street, heart aching with every memory: her brother’s laugh, his hand slipping from hers in the chaos. She wondered if saving lives always meant losing pieces of herself.
The crow landed nearby, feathers slick and dark as oil. Mika’s head snapped up, instincts sharp. In a flash, she grabbed its wing and pinned its body. The bird shrieked, blue eye blazing.
For a moment, the world froze. Mika stared into that blue eye and saw something old, something knowing.
She whispered, voice shaking, “What are you?”
The crow stilled, the blue eye unblinking. Then, impossibly, it spoke—a voice like wind scraping over glass: “I don’t know. Just watch and judge.”
Mika flinched but didn’t let go. “Why here? Why now?”
“Heh, heh…caw, caw, caw,” the bird croaked, beak clicking. “Choose well, Mika. Light, shadow—both ac—”
Suddenly, the crow twisted, ripping free. It shot into the sky, cawing once, twice, then vanished into the bruised clouds.
Later, as the sun slipped behind barricades and streetlights flickered alive, John and Sir Pimp gathered the survivors around a makeshift fire. Food and stories passed from hand to hand, laughter and tears mixing in the smoke. Reyes, the old cook, spun wild tales for the children, coaxing giggles and letting them forget the world for a minute.
John raised his hammer. “We fight for this—for each other. If we don’t, there’s nothing left.”
Sir Pimp nodded. “Faith isn’t about gods. It’s about standing up when the world wants you on your knees.”
A murmur swept through the crowd—fear, hope, and something close to gratitude.
From the shadows, Mika watched. Her hand still tingled with the crow’s strange energy. She flexed her fingers, unsure which side of the line she stood on. But tonight she’d saved a life. For now, that was enough.
The battle was far from finished. But tonight, they were together. And somewhere above, the watchers circled, waiting to judge what came next.
Night thickened. The embers of the fire threw long, jittery shadows up the barricade. Patrols rotated in and out, boots echoing against collapsed storefronts. John paced the east barricade, checking spikes and wire—each knot a monument to sleepless nights. He nodded at the sentries: a kid too young for war, a grandmother with a baseball bat, a wiry man gone silent since his wife vanished. Every face was a reminder: this was all they had.
Behind the barricade, the silence was taut. Somewhere, a dog barked—high, frantic. John paused, senses prickling. He pressed a finger to his lips, and the others fell still. The city held its breath. Out there, mutants waited—hungry, patient.
A heavy shuffle in the dark made John grip his hammer tighter. He crouched beside the youngest sentry—Sam, freckles standing out against pale skin. “If anything comes through, you run. Straight to Sir Pimp. Got it?” Sam nodded, jaw set.
Minutes dragged by. John’s mind wandered—not to the past, but to a future he barely dared imagine. A world without barricades, where children could sleep unafraid. He wanted to believe in that world, even as he stared into the night.
A voice, soft as a thought, drifted over his shoulder. “You think it’ll ever get better?” Reyes, arm in a sling, eyes shining in the firelight.
John didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Mika, sitting on the curb, sword across her knees, distant but present. Sir Pimp stood sentry in battered armor, kids huddled by the fire, trading stories like currency.
“It has to,” John said, finally. “Otherwise, what’s all this for?”
Reyes managed a crooked smile. “Then I’ll keep making stew. You keep swinging that hammer.”
A thin laugh rippled through the barricade. Fragile, but it held.
Down the block, Mika straightened, eyes narrowing at a flicker in the dark. She rose, silent as a shadow, slipping into the night—watchful, wary, and for the first time in a long while, not alone.
Midnight Watch
Past midnight, the ruins settled into a deeper darkness. The fire at John Street’s heart burned low, its glow barely brushing the barricades. Patrols thinned, some dozing on their feet, others huddled close, drawing warmth from stories and silent promises.
John knelt by a stack of tires, adjusting a metal sheet meant to turn claws. His hands were raw, knuckles split and dirty, but he kept working, stubborn as the city itself. Across the street, Sir Pimp leaned against a lamppost, helmet tucked under his arm, watching.
