The first Markus smelled when the door was opened was the choking smell of ash and smoke, followed immediately after by the smell of burnt flesh. It burned his throat, dry and acrid, making him instinctively gag.

  The room he had exited from had once been apart of a much larger one but that was no more. Debris covered the ground as in front of him, buildings collapsed into rubble, their skeletal remains jutting against the night sky like broken teeth. Fires burned uncontrollably, their orange glow flickering across the shattered streets.

  In the distance, gunfire cracked through the air, mingling with the sounds of inhuman screeches and distant screams. Markus’s chest tightened as he stepped out into the street, the full weight of what he was seeing crashed down on him.

  This wasn’t just a disaster anymore.

  This was the end of the world.

  The streets were covered in bodies, both human and inhuman, while the blood ran like rivers against the drains leading to the sewers. Markus was at a loss for words as he limped through the carnage, not sure where to go now.

  Bodies—both human and inhuman—were scattered across the streets, their lifeless forms resting in pools of blood that ran like rivers toward the sewers. Markus felt his chest tighten as he limped forward, every step uncertain. He had no idea where he was supposed to go. There was no safe place. Not anymore.

  Above him, the whirling sounds of helicopters passing by echoed as zoom to some unknown destination. His legs still felt weak, his body recovering from whatever had happened to him, but he had no choice but to push forward. Sticking to the shadows, Markus moved carefully through the ruins, weaving through alleys and avoiding open streets. Every step felt like walking across no man's land with the corpses watching him as he passed.

  The city was at this point a free-for-all warzone. The military was here, but they weren’t trying to control anything. They were simply eradicating everything in their path. Markus ducked behind a wrecked car, watching as dozens of soldiers in gas masks along with a few vehicles unloaded rounds into a horde of the fox-creatures. The fox creatures darted between the rubble and the bodies of their comrades, their claws flashing as they tried to close the distance. Gunfire tore through fur and flesh, blood spraying onto the pavement. But the creatures weren't alone this time.

  Small green humanoids—goblins maybe?—moved with them, shrieking high-pitched war cries, and swinging rusted blades. They wore mismatched pieces of clothing and armor, their jagged teeth gleaming in the firelight. Markus didn’t know what disturbed him more—the fact that they were crawling over mounds of corpses to get to the soldiers, or that he was seeing them at all.

  At the far end of the street though, something even bigger appeared.

  A hulking humanoid, at least 12 feet tall, stomped across the battlefield. Its scarred, stone-like flesh was wrapped in crude armor, and metal plates from what Markus assumed were once pieces of cars were bolted into its skin. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, hands large enough to crush a man’s skull instantly.

  Markus held his breath as he watched the creature grab a wrecked car with one hand. Without hesitation, it hurled it into the sky like a toy. His eyes followed the motion, his heart stopping for just a second. He watched as the car collided the end of a passing helicopter. The helicopter went down immediatly and the resulting explosion ripped through the sky, flames bursting outwards as debris rained down like falling stars.

  Markus didn’t wait to see more. He turned and kept moving.

  After what felt like an eternity of near-death encounters, Markus stumbled onto a semi-empty street. A military Humvee sat parked nearby, its engine still running. Four soldiers stood next to it, their postures rigid as they watched the sky.

  For the first time, Markus felt a flicker of hope. Maybe—just maybe—the soldiers could help him. He took a deep breath, about to step forward when a door creaked open nearby. The soldier's guns flashed up in a second as from one of the few still intact buildings, A group of survivors emerged from a building, bloodied, bruised, clutching each other for support. Their eyes widened at the sight of the military vehicle, and one of them, an old woman, nearly collapsed in relief.

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  "Thank God," she gasped, her voice thick with emotion. "The military—finally!"

  Markus watched as the soldiers stiffened at the sight of the group but he saw that they were not lowering their weapons. Instead, he a soldier press a hand to his radio, speaking in a voice so quiet, Markus couldnt hear what he was saying or what he was being told. There was a pause, a moment of silence, and then—he nodded to those around.

  Without hesitation, they pulled their triggers and opened fire.

  The survivors didn’t even have time to scream as the bullets tore through them, their bodies jerking violently before they collapsed onto the pavement. The street was silent again in a matter of seconds.

  For a brief moment, Markus’s breath was caught in his throat. His mind could not process what he had just seen. He could only watch as the soldiers stood over the fresh corpses, tilting their heads slightly as they ensured the job was done.

  One of the survivors, perhaps being shielded slightly from those who were standing in front of him, tried crawling away as a soldier stood above him. The light reflected off the soldier's black gas mask with a sinister light as, with disturbing casualness, he fired a single shot into the man's head.

  Like it was nothing.

  Like it was just routine.

  Markus stepped back. His foot hit an empty can, and the small clatter of the can rolling echoed through the silent street. In an instant, The soldier’s head snapped in his direction.

  "Hey!" one of them shouted

  Markus wasted no time as he ran in the direction he had come from. The sound of boots pounding against pavement was all he could hear as gunfire tore through the air behind him, bullets shredding the bricks beside him as he weaved through the alleys.

  His lungs burned. His legs felt like they were giving out. But he couldn’t stop. He vaulted over a pile of debris, barely dodging another spray of bullets. He turned a sharp corner—

  And hit a dead end.

  "Shit—"

  Markus spun around, chest heaving, just in time to see a soldier enter the alley, rifle raised.

  "Don’t move." the soldier shouted as His finger tightened on the trigger.

  A flash.

  The barrel lit up.

  A bullet raced toward him.

  Time slowed almost instantly. Markus watched the bullet tear through the air, spinning straight toward his heart. His body reacted before his mind could.

  His left arm jerked upward—

  And in an instant, green flames erupted from it.

  The flames roared as the flesh on Markus’s arm was burned, showing the blackened bone underneath. The bullet struck the bone and ricocheted off into the wall next to him.

  For a moment, both men were frozen in shock.

  "What the fuck?!" the soldier yelled as he tried to reload his gun, his hands fumbling the clip as he tried to jam it inside.

  Markus barely had time to process what happening. His mind reeled, his body moving on pure instinct.

  He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in moments as he threw a punch. In his mind, fuddled as it may be from exhaustion and fear, he just wanted to knock the man down to run away. The result was anything but that.

  His flame-engulfed fist met resistance for only a fraction of a second before it pierced straight through. He felt everything. He felt his hand rip through the ceramic plate in the man’s vest, the material shattering like brittle glass under the force of his blow. He felt it tear through flesh and bone, the heat of his flame-wreathed fingers cauterizing and searing as they split muscle apart like wet paper. He felt his arm burst from the man’s back, slick with his fresh, crimson blood.

  The soldier’s body tensed violently, a shuddering gasp escaping from beneath the gas mask. But even as his life drained from him, his body still moved. In his final moments, the soldier had swung a knife. The gleaming blade, slick with condensation from the cold night air, cut through the space between them, a deadly arc meant to split Markus’s throat open.

  But it never made it.

  The knife stopped just centimeters away from Markus’s neck, the tip of the blade quivering in the air, so close he could feel the cold steel. Then, the soldier’s grip went slack. The knife fell, clattering uselessly to the pavement. A final ragged breath rasped from the man’s lips, a wet, gurgling sound—then silence.

  His body collapsed, lifeless, onto the blood-streaked ground.

  Markus didn’t move.

  He stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with uneven gasps, his mind trying and failing to process what had just happened. If he had been just a second slower, if the soldier had just a little more strength left in him, Markus would have been dead.

  But instead, it was him standing, and the soldier lying in a pool of his blood.

  His gaze drifted downward, landing on his skeletal hand, still flickering with a green flame, still dripping with warm, human blood.

  He had expected to feel relief. Victory. Something.

  But there was nothing.

  Only the hollow realization that he had just killed another man.