Chapter 2: Void Manipulation
His lungs burned from the inside. Every gulp of air felt like swallowing fire. He ran, ignoring the throbbing pain in his left leg. He glanced down mid-stride—a cut stretched along his calf, bleeding lightly. Luckily, it was shallow. It didn’t slow him down, but each step sent a jolt of pain through his body.
Behind him—he’d lost count of how many—ran the creatures that, just a minute ago, had looked like people. Their screams and guttural howls were a mix of pain and hunger. Every footstep on the concrete, every dragging shuffle of a leg, pierced his spine like another blade.
To his left loomed the silhouette of an overturned delivery truck, its cargo spilling from the open back—crushed packages of pasta, plastic bottles of drinks, one still rolling slowly across the ground. Blood trails stretched from the hood to the driver’s cabin, but no one was inside. To his right—a burning newsstand, pouring smoke and strange, animalistic shrieks into the air.
Ahead, he spotted something that looked like an unremarkable, shadowed entrance—the outline of an open door in a slightly damaged facade. A shop, likely a grocery store. The glass was cracked but intact. Plastic bags fluttered lazily in the wind, as if nothing had happened. Next to the door lay a toppled metal trash bin, spilling its contents, and above the entrance hung a fragment of a torn sign.
Behind him came a growl—wet and deep, like it was right at his neck. He turned his head and saw more figures emerging from around the building’s corner—staggering, twisted. Their numbers grew with every second.
His heart slammed in his chest. No time to think. He lunged forward, reaching the shop entrance. He jumped over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, pressing his body against it like he could hold it closed himself.
He glanced around frantically and spotted a shelf of canned goods. He grabbed the side, pulled with all his strength, and toppled it in front of the door, barricading the entrance. For a moment, silence. As if the world was holding its breath with him.
Then—impact. Loud and dull, like a fist hitting sheet metal. Another followed, stronger.
In the darkness between the shelves, a familiar, gentle scent lingered. Vegetables—onion, potato, carrot—mingled with the aroma of bread and spices. Everything smelled surprisingly normal, like this place was still following its old rhythm, completely unaware of the apocalypse outside.
Adam drew a deep breath through his nose, trying to steady his breathing. His heart still pounded, but he was slowly regaining control. He looked at the door, then the window—the makeshift barricade of canned goods looked laughably flimsy against the force those things had shown. If they figured out they could just break the glass, he was done for.
He walked a few steps deeper into the store, breathing more steadily now. Only then, as the adrenaline started to fade, did his eyes register more. Stains.