The rooftop pathway had seemed like a good idea ten minutes ago.
Now, as Nana's boot caught on a loose piece of sheet metal and her body pitched forward into open air, she realized that "good idea" and "survival strategy" were two very different things in Avalon.
She hit the ground hard, her shoulder taking most of the impact. Pain exploded through her body, stars bursting across her vision as the air was driven from her lungs.
Her backpack twisted beneath her, the straps digging into her shoulders as momentum carried her forward into a rolling tumble.
When she finally stopped, dizzy and disoriented, the first thing she registered was noise.
Shouting. Cursing. The clash of metal on metal and fists on flesh.
She'd landed directly in the middle of a gang fight.
"MINE!"
"FUCK YOU, WE SAW IT FIRST!"
Two groups—maybe eight people total, all of them sporting the gaunt, desperate look of survivors who'd gone too long without food—were tearing into each other over what looked like a single loaf of bread.
A loaf of bread that had probably been stale before Avalon even existed, but down here it might as well have been made of gold.
Nana tried to scramble to her feet, but hands were already grabbing at her, at her backpack, at anything they could reach.
"SHE'S GOT SUPPLIES!"
"GET THE PACK!"
Rough fingers yanked at the straps. Someone grabbed her hair. Another hand reached for her weapons.
"BACK OFF!" Nana snarled, twisting violently. Her elbow connected with someone's face, felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage.
But there were too many of them, all driven by hunger and desperation that made them fearless.
They tore at her backpack like animals, ripping at the canvas, pulling at zippers, trying to get to the food and water inside. Someone grabbed the strap across her chest and yanked hard enough that Nana felt something give.
Then a sound cut through the chaos—sharp and final.
THUNK.
The man reaching for Nana's backpack dropped, a crossbow bolt protruding from his forehead. His eyes went wide with surprise before rolling back, his body collapsing in a heap.
Zayne landed in the middle of the fight like a thunderstorm given form. His crossbow was already loaded with another bolt, his movements precise and lethal as he put himself between Nana and the converging gang members.
"BACK OFF!" His voice was ice and razors.
But they were too far gone. Too hungry. Too desperate. The sight of Nana's supplies had driven them into a feeding frenzy, and one dead man wasn't going to stop them.
They surged forward as one.
Zayne's crossbow sang again. Another body dropped. But then they were on him, and he had to drop the bow in favor of his twin blades.
The weapons appeared in his hands like extensions of his will, moving in precise arcs that spoke of muscle memory older than his current life.managed to get to her feet, her iron pipe already in hand. She swung hard, felt the impact reverberate up her arms as metal connected with skull. The man went down hard.
But more were coming. And not just gang members.
The smell of blood had attracted attention.
Wrong attention.
A hybrid shrieked from somewhere above—bird-headed, with wings that looked like they'd been grafted onto a human torso in some mad god's laboratory. It dove toward the melee, talons extended, seeing easy prey in the chaos.
"ZAYNE, ABOVE!" Nana screamed.
He looked up just as the creature struck. Zayne tried to dodge, but he was hemmed in by gang members on all sides. The hybrid's claws raked across his chest, tearing through fabric and flesh like they made of paper.
Blood bloomed across Zayne's shirt—not a trickle, but a fountain. Dark red spreading like spilled ink, soaking through the fabric in seconds.
His face went white. His knees buckled.
"NO!" The word tore from Nana's throat, raw and primal.
She saw him fall. Saw him hit the ground hard, one hand pressing uselessly against the wounds in his chest as blood pulsed between his fingers. His hazel eyes found hers across the chaos, and in them she saw pain and fear and something else—resignation.
He was trying to tell her something. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't hear over the din of fighting.
Run. Leave me. Save yourself.
Like hell.
Nana vision tunneled. The world reduced to two things:
Zayne bleeding on the ground, and the bird-headed hybrid that had done this to him.
The creature was already circling for another attack, drawn by the fresh blood. Its twisted face showed something like satisfaction, its beak opening to release a victorious shriek.
That shriek died in its throat as Nana's aether core ignited.
Blue energy exploded around her like a supernova, raw and furious and completely uncontrolled. She'd been careful before, rationing her power, knowing she couldn't recharge in Avalon the way she could in the real world.
She didn't care anymore.
Someone had hurt Zayne. Had made him bleed. Had brought him down.And she was going to make every single one of them pay.
An axe lay on the ground near a fallen gang member—heavy, brutal, covered in rust and old blood. Nana grabbed it, the weight feeling right in her hands, and turned toward the hybrid.
"COME ON!" she roared, her voice enhanced by the aether core until it echoed off buildings. "COME ON!"
The hybrid came.
Nana met it mid-dive, the axe swinging in a brutal arc that caught the creature in its torso. The impact nearly tore the weapon from her hands, but she held on, twisted, brought it around for another strike.
The hybrid screamed—a sound that was almost human—before Nana's third swing separated its head from its body.
Black mist began rising immediately, marking permanent death.she wasn't done.
More hybrids were coming, drawn by the blood and noise and the promise of easy kills. Demons too, their red eyes glowing in the shadows between buildings.
Even a few gang members who'd decided that fighting this small, furious woman was better than starving.
They all made the same mistake: they thought she would run.
Nana didn't run.
She planted her feet and swung that axe like she was clearing a forest. Like every hybrid and demon and human who got in her way was a tree that needed to fall. Her aether core blazed around her, enhancing her speed and strength until she was moving faster than should have been possible.
A demon lunged. She ducked under its claws and brought the axe up through its jaw.
Black mist.
A hybird tried to grab her from behind. She spun, the axe head catching it in the ribs hard enough to hear bones crack. Black mist.
A gang member raised a machete. She kicked him in the knee, felt it give, then finished him with a strike that she tried very hard not to think about. White mist.
She didn't blink. Didn't hesitate. Didn't think about anything except the next target, the next swing, the next kill.
Behind her, Zayne watched through fading vision, his hand still pressed uselessly against his chest. He'd seen Nana fight before—had watched her take down creatures with skill and precision that spoke of professional training.
This wasn't that.
This was rage given form.
This was a hunter who'd lost too much and would burn the world down before losing anything else.
This was terrifying and beautiful and so far beyond what any normal human should be capable of that Zayne felt his understanding of reality shift.
The blue energy around her pulsed and flickered. Her movements were getting slower, less coordinated. The aether core was depleting, pushed past safe limits by the sheer fury of her assault.
A hybrid caught her with its wing, sending her sprawling. Another demon tried to capitalize, lunging for her exposed back.
Nana rolled, came up swinging, and took the demon's leg off at the knee.
But she was breathing hard now. Sweat and blood—not all of it hers—covered her body. The axe felt heavier with each swing.
When the last hybrid fell, dissolving into black mist, Nana stood in the center of a circle of death. Bodies everywhere—human and monster alike. The ground was slick with blood, littered with weapons and torn clothing and the fading wisps of black and white mist.
She swayed on her feet, the axe slipping from nerveless fingers to clatter on the ground. The blue glow of her aether core sputtered and died, leaving her just a small, exhausted woman surrounded by carnage.
Then she remembered.
"ZAYNE!"
She ran—or tried to. Her legs barely supported her weight, turning what should have been a sprint into a stumbling lurch.
But she made it to him, dropping to her knees beside his too-still form.
His face was pale. Deathly pale. The kind of pale that spoke of too much blood loss, too fast. His shirt was completely soaked now, the fabric clinging to his chest in a way that made her stomach turn.
"Zayne?" Her hands hovered over him, afraid to touch, afraid to hurt him worse. "Zayne, please. Open your eyes."
His eyelids fluttered. Those hazel eyes—forest in morning light—focused on her with visible effort.
"Miss... Hunter," he managed, and even those two words seemed to cost him. "You... should have... run..."
"Shut up." Nana's hands were shaking as she pressed them over his chest, trying to staunch the bleeding. But there was so much blood. Too much. It pulsed between her fingers with each beat of his heart, warm and slick and terrifying. "Just shut up and stay with me."
She had to stop the bleeding. Had to stabilize him. But how? She wasn't a doctor. Didn't have medical training beyond basic hunter first aid, and this was so far beyond basic it wasn't even funny.
The wound was deep—she could see that much through the torn fabric and flesh. Multiple lacerations from the hybrid's talons, cutting across his chest in parallel lines that wept blood in steady streams.
He needed stitches. Needed proper medical care. Needed things she didn't have and couldn't provide in the middle of this hellscape.
Except...
Nana's mind raced, grasping at memories from her first time in Avalon. Mina had taught her some field medicine. How to close wounds with whatever was available. How to sterilize needles with fire. How to tie sutures that would hold even without proper thread.
She could do this. She had to do this.
"Stay with me," she said again, her voice firmer now.
"I'm going to fix this. I'm going to—"
"Nana..." Zayne's hand found hers, his grip weak but insistent. "The... backpack..."
She looked around and felt her heart sink. Their backpack—their precious supplies—had been torn apart during the fight. Cans were scattered across the ground, some dented, some opened and spilling their contents. Water bottles were cracked or missing entirely. The food they'd risked everything to steal was mostly gone, trampled or taken by gang members who'd fled when the real fighting started.
Her phone was shattered. Her camera was... she couldn't even see it. Probably smashed or stolen.
Everything they'd fought for.
Gone.
"Doesn't matter," Nana said, and meant it. "None of that matters. You matter. Staying alive matters."
She started gathering what she could—a mostly-intact water bottle, a strip of relatively clean cloth torn from a fallen gang member's shirt, a lighter that someone had dropped. Not much, but it would have to be enough.
When she turned back to Zayne, his eyes were closed.
"No, no, no." She shook him gently, panic rising. "ZAYNE! Open your eyes!"
His eyelids fluttered. Barely. So barely she almost missed it.
He was exhausted. So extremely exhausted. Between the poison gas from yesterday, the fight just now, and the blood loss, his body was shutting down. Going into shock or sleep or something worse.
"Zayne please." Tears were streaming down her face now, hot and angry and terrified.
"I need you to stay awake. I need you to—"
His hand twitched in hers. One final squeeze, so weak she almost didn't feel it.
Then his eyes closed completely, and his body went limp.
"ZAYNE!"
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.