Chapter 11 – Hollow Walls
The city loomed on the horizon like a graveyard swallowed by mist.
Broken buildings leaned against each other like dying titans. Fires smoldered in hollow buildings. Streets were flooded in places, ruptured in others—filled with overturned cars, crushed bones, and deep claw marks that made no sense by natural standards.
Andrew and Clara stood at the edge of the destruction, quiet.
"It's worse than Yaoundé," Clara murmured.
Andrew nodded once. "Much worse."
It wasn't just damage. It was emptiness. As if the city had been devoured from the inside out.
They moved fast—passing through the outer ruins, navigating collapsed bridges and underground parking lots. Clara used her wind magic to leap across gaps when needed, while Andrew's shadows scouted ahead, minions flickering silently across dark corridors.
They reached the first settlement by noon.
It was small. Crude barricades of concrete and metal. Barely thirty people. The guards flinched when they saw Andrew's cloak but didn't try to stop them. Word of powerful Players traveled fast.
No sign of his friend.
Neither in the second nor the third.
The fourth was little more than a group of scavengers living in the broken remains of a gas station. They gave info in exchange for rations. Clara gave them just enough not to starve.
Still nothing.
The sun was low when they reached the last known settlement on Andrew's map. A fortified school turned refuge, surrounded by makeshift watchtowers, guarded by uniformed Players with matching badges.
"Smells organized," Clara muttered.
"Too organized," Andrew replied.
As they approached, one of the guards at the front gate smiled too broadly.
"Welcome. Survivors, huh? Come in. You'll be safe here."
His tone was warm. His grip on the halberd wasn't.
Andrew's eyes narrowed. Clara didn't smile back.
Something was wrong.
They stepped through the gates together.
And the walls closed behind them.
—The gate shut behind them with a metallic clang that echoed too long.
Inside, the settlement looked clean. Too clean.
Tents were aligned perfectly. Soldiers patrolled in rhythmic formation. Everyone they passed smiled… but their eyes didn't match their mouths.
Forced cheer. Hollow laughter. Something beneath the surface twitched.
Andrew didn't like it.
Neither did the shadows.
He whispered, "Go."
A ripple of darkness slid out from beneath his cloak, darting into the cracks and gutters like a living smear. One of his Dark Minions vanished beneath a storage shed. Another into a sewer grate.
Clara walked beside him, back straight, but her fingers kept twitching.
"Eyes on us," she muttered under breath. "Too many."
He nodded.
They were being watched—not welcomed.
Minutes passed.
Then Seeker pulsed.
Found something.
The vision from the minion snapped into his mind like a window cracking open in his skull.
He froze mid-step.
Clara noticed instantly. "Andrew?"
He didn't answer.
His vision twisted, tunneled, tunneled deeper—
—beneath the settlement, beyond a locked metal gate hidden behind tarps and crates—
—a hallway—
—a basement chamber lit by harsh lamps and stinking of blood and mildew—
Rows of women. Shackled. Unclothed. Bruised. Some crying. Others broken.
Guards laughing.
And at the very end…
A figure slumped against the wall.
Female.
Bloodied.
Familiar.
Andrew's heart stopped.
"No…"
His best friend.
Unmoving. Barely breathing. One eye swollen shut. Skin flayed across his back. Bones broken.
They'd taken her.
They'd beaten her.
Something cracked.
His vision flickered black.
"Andrew?!" Clara stepped in front of him, her hand glowing. "What did you see?"
He raised his head.
His eyes weren't calm anymore.
They were fireless voids.
"I'm going to kill them," he said softly.
Then he vanished into the shadows—like a blade drawn from a sheath.
The world melted into black.
Not the calm, silent black of comfort.
This was a hunting dark. Alive. Screaming. Pressed in tight around his skin.
Andrew moved through the camp like a ghost with a heartbeat. No footsteps. No echo. The false smiles of the guards above couldn't follow him here.
He passed the fence.
Slipped into the warehouse.
Shadows peeled open the false wall. The locked door? Gone.
And then—he descended.
The air grew heavy. Wet. The scent of old blood and piss and sweat slammed into him.
A guard rounded the corner.
Andrew didn't speak.
A blade flashed from his cloak. The guard's head hit the wall before his body realized it was dead.
He stepped into the basement.
Light buzzed overhead.
Laughter.
A man in armor with a cigarette kicked a whimpering woman in the ribs and barked something Andrew didn't hear.
He walked behind him.
Lifted his katana—wreathed in black flames.
And split the man in half from skull to groin.
> [Darkness Flames – LV 1] activated
Corruption multiplier increased.
Blood exploded in sheets, painting the concrete.
The scream that followed was not from the man.
It was from another nearby.
Then another.
Too late.
They'd woken the wrong shadow.
Andrew didn't hold back.
He tore through the guards like paper, severing limbs, carving torsos, burning everything that screamed.
His blade howled with each kill, shadows licking up the walls, choking the lights out one by one.
He passed by cages—each one filled with victims.
His mind barely registered the gasps, the sobs, the pleading. He was a weapon now.
Until he reached the last cage.
And froze.
His best friend—Luna—was slumped in the corner. Face unrecognizable. Ribs showing. One eye gone. But alive.
"Luna…"
A whisper.
A whisper choked with a thousand knives.
His legs moved on their own, blade still dripping, and when he knelt by her, the body twitched.
A cough. Bloody. Broken.
"…A-Andrew?" The voice was raw. Unbelieving. Hopeful. "You… really came…"
That voice shattered the last part of him.
His hands trembled.
"You're safe now."
Another guard burst into the room, screaming, gun drawn.
Andrew didn't look.
A spear of shadow impaled him to the ceiling. His entrails fell before the scream finished.
---
Footsteps.
Clara entered moments later, eyes wide.
She stopped at the carnage. At the walls dripping red. The limbs. The black fire still burning.
At him, kneeling next to a battered girl, cloak soaked in gore, breathing hard.
He looked up slowly.
And for a moment…
He didn't look human.
"Don't let anyone else in," he said.
"I won't," Clara whispered.
And she turned toward the stairwell, sword drawn.
Ready to stand guard.
While Andrew finished his business.
Andrew held Luna's broken body in his arms.
The air stank of blood and fire, the last of the guards long dead. Yet the silence here was worse than the screams.
Luna's good eye opened slightly. Her lips moved.
"…Andrew…"
"I'm here." His voice cracked.
Luna's smiled—barely.
"She didn't break, you know…" Her breath hitched. "Marcie.My sister. They hurt her, again and again, but she wouldn't let them take the others. She died… screaming at them to stop."
Andrew's hands trembled.
"They all knew. Everyone here. Ate people. Watched it happen." Luna coughed blood. "They liked it…"
"…Monsters."
"Don't let them—live."
Then she went still.
No dramatic gasp.
Just a quiet exhale.
Gone.
Andrew sat frozen.
Then a sound escaped him—not a scream. Not even a sob.
Just… a broken breath.
He lowered his head.
And cried.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just silently.
Clara stood by the doorway, watching the boy she'd fought beside, shared meals with, trusted with her life—fall to pieces for the first time.
She didn't step in.
Didn't comfort him.
She just stood there, hands clenched, tears burning her eyes, and let it happen.
Because she knew—
This had to be his.
A moment passed.
Then Andrew stood.
And something shifted in the air.
Not just anger.
Not grief.
Annihilation.
He didn't speak.
Didn't ask for permission.
He stepped past Clara, blood still dripping from his sword.
She whispered, "Andrew—"
But her voice didn't reach him.
And she didn't try again.
Because part of her wanted them dead too.
---
That night…
The entire camp burned.
No survivors.
No screams loud enough to echo past the black clouds above.
Clara sat outside the gate, motionless, listening to the silence behind her. She had already freed the prisoners locked and most of them ran away without looking back, a few however chose to not continue living, their minds and bodies broken beyond repair
When Andrew finally emerged, covered in ash and gore, eyes hollow, sword dragging behind him—
She stood.
He didn't look at her.
"Let's go," was all he said.
And she followed.
Neither of them spoke again until dawn.