Chapter 3: The Roof
The door shuddered.
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up—pure reflex, pure panic—because Cherry was still on the bed, posed like a sleeping woman, still too perfect in a way that made his heart thump just that little bit harder.
The door took another hit. The doorframe groaned.
Bright rushed the flat in brutal, stuttering steps, mind racing through what mattered: Power. Charging, for her as she will definitely need it. Tools, in case she needs repairing. A thin blanket. A bottle of water. The knife, still covered in ichor.
Another impact. The chain snapped tight with a metallic crack.
He was out of time.
His phone was on the table. He snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket without checking the screen and then scooped her up.
Cherry cradled against his chest, the backpack slung over one shoulder threatening to pull him sideways.
There was a crack as wood split near the hinges. He reached the window and shoved it open with his elbow. The fire escape ladder was right there, bolted to the brick, rusted but intact. Cold air hit his face. The city smelled like smoke and ash.
His fingers touched the first rung.
The door exploded.
Bright didn't look back. He swung himself out onto the ladder, Cherry's weight nearly tipping him backward into open air. His foot found the rung. Then the next.
Behind him, creatures poured through the doorway.
Not one. Not two.
Six.
They moved like a swarm, chittering and clicking, their segmented bodies scraping against the doorframe as they funnelled into his flat. The first one reached the window in seconds.
Bright climbed painfully slow. He only had one hand to grab the rungs, the other was clutching Cherry close
Cherry's head lolled against his shoulder. Her arms hung limp. Every step up made her weight shift, made his grip falter. The backpack dug into his spine. His ribs screamed where the first creature had clawed him.
Up.
The ladder groaned under them.
He looked down. Bad idea.
The creatures poured out of the window below him—six, eight, ten—spilling onto the ladder like water. But they couldn't climb. Their hooked limbs scraped uselessly against the metal rungs, their segmented bodies too rigid, too heavy. They clung to the brick around the window, screeching, reaching upward with those horrible claws, but they couldn't follow.
More were coming.
Bright could see them through other windows now. Dozens of them, flooding through the building, drawn by something they couldn't resist. They piled out onto the fire escape, onto window ledges, clinging to the brick—but none of them could climb higher than the third floor.
They shrieked at him. A chorus of metal-tearing sounds that echoed off the buildings.
Bright kept climbing.
One rung.
Another.
His arms were shaking. Cherry's weight was impossible. Forty-something pounds of dead weight, her body limp and unresponsive, her head bouncing against his shoulder with every step. The backpack kept sliding, threatening to pull him off balance.
His boot slipped.
He caught himself, his fingers screaming, the rung cutting into his palms. Cherry's hand dangled loose, brushing his thigh. He adjusted his grip and kept moving.
The creatures below whipped into a frenzy. They couldn't reach him, but they wouldn't stop trying. They climbed over each other, a writhing mass of chitin and claws, their clicking synchronized into a single, maddening rhythm.
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Bright looked up.
Three more floors.
His hands were bleeding. The rust on the rungs was cutting into his skin. His ribs felt like they were grinding against each other with every breath.
He climbed.
-1HP
Another rung.
-1HP
Another.
-1HP
His vision blurred. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Cherry's weight pulled at his shoulders, at his spine, at every muscle in his body. He wanted to stop. Wanted to rest. Wanted to put her down for just one second.
He didn't. He refused.
The creatures' shrieks grew louder. More desperate. Like they were starving.
Bright's foot slipped again.
This time he dropped six inches before catching himself. The jolt sent pain lancing through his ribs. Cherry's head snapped back, then forward, her chin cracking against his collarbone.
"Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry—"
He kept climbing.
Two more floors.
His hands were numb now. He couldn't feel the rungs anymore. Just pressure. Just pain.
One more floor.
The ladder groaned under them. The bolts holding it to the brick were old, rusted, barely holding. Every step made the whole structure shudder.
Bright didn't stop.
He reached the top rung.
The roof was right there. A low parapet, gravel and tar paper beyond it. He hooked one arm over the edge, Cherry's weight threatening to drag him back, and hauled them both up.
His shoulder screamed.
He got one knee over. Then the other. He rolled onto the roof, Cherry clutched against his chest, and lay there gasping.
Below him, the creatures shrieked.
Bright forced himself to sit up.
His hands were bleeding. His ribs felt broken. His shoulder was on fire.
But they were alive.
He looked around.
The roof stretched out in front of him—gravel and tar paper, old satellite dishes, a rusted air conditioning unit. Beyond that, the edge. And beyond that—
London was burning.
Not metaphorically.
Actual fires. Dozens of them. Orange light flickered across the skyline, columns of black smoke rising into the night. He could see flames pouring from windows in the tower block across the street. Glass shattered. People screamed.
Something moved between the buildings.
Bright squinted.
It was big. Bigger than the creatures that had chased him. It clung to the side of an office building like a spider, its limbs—too many limbs—reaching through shattered windows, pulling something out. A person. The thing's head split open and the screaming stopped.
Bright looked away.
There were more of them. Shapes moving through the streets below, some small, some massive, some that moved like nothing he'd ever seen. The streetlights were out. The only light came from fires and the strange, flickering glows illuminating the sky.
They pulsed in irregular patterns—green, blue, violet—casting the city in colours that didn't belong. They appeared to be explosions but some moved. Too fast to be drones. Too erratic to be vehicles. One streaked across his vision and disappeared behind a building. Helicopters buzzed in the sky, casting out searchlights. Another hovered above the Thames.
A commercial airliner passed overhead.
Extremely low.
Its engines screamed.
Something was on it.
Bright watched as a shape—black, writhing, too large—tore through the fuselage. The plane listed sideways. One of its wings crumpled. It dropped, spiralling, and disappeared behind the skyline.
He didn't hear the impact.
Just saw the fireball bloom into the sky a few seconds later.
Gunfire echoed from somewhere to the east. Automatic weapons. Sustained bursts. A siren wailed, then cut off mid-note.
The grid was failing. Bright could see it happening in real-time. Entire blocks went dark, one after another, like dominoes. The few lights that remained flickered and died. The city was being swallowed by shadow.
He sat there, Cherry in his arms, and watched the end of the world.
His chest hurt. His hands hurt. Everything hurt.
But none of it mattered.
He looked down at Cherry. Her face was serene, unbothered. The battery indicator on her back glowed faintly in the dark.
59.43% - 28.5 hours remaining.
Bright exhaled slowly.
"Fucking hell," he mutt10red. "This is no place for us, Cherry."
He stood, legs shaking, and adjusted his grip on her. The backpack dug into his shoulders. His ribs screamed in protest. He ignored them.
"We should head home."
He turned toward the penthouse at the far end of the roof—a glass-and-steel structure that probably cost more than he'd earn in ten lifetimes. The door was sleek and modern, with a keypad lock glowing faintly in the dark.
He stopped a few feet from the door.
That feeling again. The one that had started after he'd selected the skill.
Danger Sense.
He didn't know what it felt like yet. Didn't have a word for it. But standing there, staring at the door, he felt... nothing.
No prickle at the back of his neck. No tightness in his chest. Just a quiet, neutral absence of threat.
The door was safe.
Or at least, safer than staying out on the roof.
Bright stepped forward and tried the handle.
Locked.
He set Cherry down gently, propping her against the glass, and pulled the knife from his belt. The blade was chipped, the handle sticky with blood.
He wedged it into the doorframe and pried.
The lock was electronic, but the frame was just metal and glass.
It took three tries, but the door popped open with a metallic crack.
The alarm started immediately.
A shrill, piercing wail cut through the night, bouncing off glass and steel, loud enough to make his ears ring. It didn't stop. Didn't pause. Just kept screaming into the apocalyptic silence.
Bright froze, Cherry in his arms.
The sound was deafening. Relentless.
But it meant something.
Power.
The penthouse still had power.
He stood there, the alarm blaring around him, the city burning below, monsters tearing everything apart, and all he could care about was that somewhere in this building the power might still running.
Time: 10:01 PM
Level: 2 | XP: 75/300
HP: 87/105 | MP: 55/55
Stats: STR 13 | AGI 15 | CON 11 | INT 16 | WIS 9 | CHA 18
Skills: Danger Sense (Passive)
Equipment:
Kitchen Knife (3–5, Poor)
Inventory:
Mana Crystal (Inferior) x3
Rucksack (tools, charger, phone, water, blanket)
Status: Dormant (Nascent)
Core Stability: 12.3%
Battery Remaining: 59.43% (~28.5h)
Capabilities: Awareness only
