The celebration that night was brief but meaningful. It was late, and the settlement understood the necessity of rationing time and energy, even in victory. Yet, acknowledging their survival had become a ritual—each triumph over the demons marked another day they had endured.

  Dawn broke over the settlement, casting elongated shadows over the battlefield outside the walls. The morning light, though a reprieve from the horrors of the night, did little to mask the carnage left behind. The air remained thick with the acrid stench of blood and charred flesh. Rowan and Garrick stood at the perimeter, overseeing the cleanup efforts. A team of students and young recruits—most in their late teens—had been assigned the task, their grim expressions betraying their distaste for the duty.

  A sharp intake of breath was followed by a gag. "God, this is disgusting," one of the youngest recruits muttered as he gripped a metal hook, dragging a corpse toward one of the waiting trailers. "I swear, some of them don’t even look real. Look at this one—it’s all melted."

  He gestured toward a charred husk near the center of the field. Its body was twisted, flesh blackened and seared beyond recognition. The ground beneath it was scorched, cracked from the residual heat that had burned deep into the earth. The scent was unbearable—burned meat laced with sulfur, thick enough to make even the more experienced recruits recoil.

  "That one was Rowan’s," another recruit remarked, heaving a separate corpse onto the trailer. "You can tell which ones got stabbed. The ones shot? Just holes, clean wounds, easy to move. But the ones she took out?" He gestured toward the smoldering remains. "Those ones don’t even look like they were ever human."

  The younger recruit grimaced. "How do these things even exist? Like… what even are they?"

  A few of the others scoffed, shaking their heads. "Did you seriously not pay attention in history studies?" one of the older recruits mocked. "What, did you sleep through every class?"

  "I paid attention," the younger recruit defended himself. "But it still doesn’t make sense."

  None of them had an answer.

  After a brief silence, Rowan spoke.

  "Do any of you know what the Rapture was?" Her voice was steady, authoritative. The recruits’ heads turned toward her, but no one answered. Their silence was an answer in itself.

  Finally, the young recruit who had been mocked spoke up. "It’s what started all this. Forty-seven years ago, the day Infernastrand and the demons came."

  Rowan nodded. "That’s part of it. But do you know why it’s called the Rapture?"

  He hesitated. "I don’t."

  "The Rapture was originally a religious concept in Christianity. It was believed that, before the world faced its final tribulations, the faithful would be taken—lifted into heaven—while those left behind would face judgment and suffering. It was a promise, a doctrine of hope that, for some, ensured they wouldn’t have to endure the horrors of the end times."

  She adjusted her stance, her voice even. "It was an idea meant to provide comfort, a reassurance that righteousness would be rewarded. But, as you can see, when the real Rapture happened, it wasn’t the faithful who were taken—it was the damned who were unleashed. Demons rose, and humanity was left to fend for itself. The faith that had once given people solace fractured overnight. Some saw it as divine punishment. Others saw it as proof that their beliefs had been wrong all along. And for many, it meant the death of religion altogether."

  Rowan drummed her fingers lightly against the hilt of her sword. "I was born early enough after the Rapture to hear firsthand accounts of the day it happened. The Earth split open. Actual demons, not the ones we fight, crawled out. Some claim to have seen a figure leading them, but those are rare and inconsistent accounts."

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  Garrick, who had been silent until now, exhaled heavily. "There was no slow build-up, no patient zero. It all happened in a single day. The world fell in a single day." His voice was firm, matter-of-fact. "One moment, everything was normal. The next, you were fighting for your life."

  A hush settled over the recruits. A brief silence, a moment of mourning for a world they had never known.

  Rowan broke it. "And now we have these," she gestured toward the grotesque bodies strewn across the ground. "Grunts, Morpheds, and Sins."

  "Sins?" a recruit echoed, tossing a grunt’s corpse onto the trailer.

  Rowan nodded. "What you’re hauling right now are Grunts—humans turned into mindless demons, stripped of identity, driven purely by instinct. They’re the most common and, ironically, the easiest to predict. Then there are Morpheds." She motioned toward the Tunneler’s remains, its mutated drills still embedded in the ground.

  "Morpheds are rare. Sometimes, a Grunt mutates into something more. Their bodies change in unnatural ways, gaining abilities beyond simple strength. Some, like the Tunneler, develop specialized traits. Others harness Infernastrand in ways similar to how I manipulate heat." She lifted her left hand slightly, allowing waves of heat to ripple from her fingertips before pulling it back under control. "Most fail to master their abilities. The ones who do? They’re problems."

  She let the heat fade before continuing. "And then there are Sin Demons—the strongest of them all. Fighting one is a gamble, even for me. We’re lucky none have ever stumbled upon this place, because if they did, I don’t think we’d recover."

  The recruits exchanged uneasy glances.

  "Sin Demons aren’t random mutations. They transform based on a defining sin from their human life—Wrath, Greed, Lust, Sloth, and so on. If someone committed an extreme amount of a particular sin before being infected, they don’t just turn into a demon. They become that sin."

  "How do you know?" one of the recruits asked.

  Garrick chuckled dryly. "CEOs became Greed demons."

  The recruit blinked. "CEOs?"

  The weight of the question hit Garrick like a gut punch. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "CEOs were the ones who ran the world before it fell. They hoarded wealth, crushed people under them, and called it business. If anyone deserved to become Greed demons, it was them."

  Rowan smirked. "That makes you sound old."

  "I am old," Garrick muttered.

  The recruits chuckled, but it was brief.

  "Sin Demons may be powerful, but they’re still mindless," Rowan continued. "They don’t plan. They don’t strategize. They act purely on instinct. The danger isn’t in their intelligence—it’s in their sheer strength."

  She glanced toward the wasteland beyond the settlement walls, her gaze distant. "Normally, I can sense what’s coming. My arm warns me—it tingles. The stronger the feeling, the greater the threat. But sometimes, a horde is big enough to mask something stronger. Like last night."

  The recruits shifted uncomfortably, a few eyeing Rowan’s corrupted arm before returning to their work.

  "Are you religious, Rowan?" one of them asked after a moment.

  "Nope," she said bluntly. "I refuse to believe in a god that would let this happen."

  She exhaled. "Anyway, that’s the Rapture. Consider it an extra lesson." She turned, scanning the group. "Knowledge is power. We aren’t just survivors. We are the last keepers of history. If we forget where we came from, we lose everything."

  With that, she watched as the final corpses were loaded. "Take them inside," she ordered Garrick. "No point in making them stand around here any longer."

  As the recruits entered the settlement, one of the youngest hesitated, turning just in time to see Rowan grip the heavy chains attached to the corpse-laden trailers. Her muscles flexed beneath her torn jacket, the definition in her arms evident despite the fabric. Her legs, bare beneath the hem of her black shorts, tensed with each movement, the strap wrapped tightly around her thick left thigh pressing into the muscle as she shifted. The leather holster attached to it—securing her sword to her belt—rose and fell with her steady steps. Though her body carried the unmistakable strength of a warrior, her form retained a distinctly feminine grace. With a slow breath, she hefted the chains over her shoulder and began to walk, pulling the immense weight behind her with an effortless, steady stride.

  The recruit stood there, awestruck, watching her disappear into the wasteland. The gates shut behind him, but the image of her inhuman strength burned itself into his mind.