Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains depictions of violence, blood, graphic injury, and psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.
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Micquel's POV
When I opened the door, I was instantly blinded by the light.
It was so intense, I had to shut my eyes.
But once I adjusted, it only took a few moments to recover.
As my vision cleared, I could tell it was still early—but judging by the sun's position, it was already 10 a.m.
I stepped outside and scanned the surroundings.
It was bright… but the heat hung heavily in the air, like a blanket that didn't want to be shaken off.
I was in a village—a dead one.
The kind of silence that presses down on your chest.
Chilling.
A part of me wanted to retreat and go back inside. My body itched to turn around, to curl into the shadows and pretend this place didn't exist. But no—I'd already made up my mind. I had to press forward.
I walked slowly, my footsteps barely making a sound on the cracked pavement. Once I passed through the yard, I turned to glance back at the house I came from.
It was simple, but undeniably massive—a three-story home with a lawn that stretched far beyond normal.
Every half kilometer, there was another house. Same size. Same eerie stillness.
Who lived here before? Were they rich? Were they even real?
Oddly, none of the houses had gates. No fences. No security. Nothing separating one from another.
It was hot, so I pulled up the hood of my jacket, shielding my face from the sun.
Then the smell hit me.
It wasn't just heat.
It was death.
I froze. My stomach turned.
The stench was overwhelming—a nauseating mix of rot and rust, like blood and flesh left to fester for days in the sun. It clung to my skin, soaked into my jacket, slid down my throat.
I reached for the handkerchief in my pocket and tied it around my mouth and nose, trying not to gag.
What the hell happened here?
The village was too clean to be a battlefield. No broken glass. No smoke. No scattered belongings.
But that smell...
Something had died here.
No—many things.
And recently.
I was still tying the cloth when suddenly.
Bang!
A gunshot. Sharp. Sudden.
I flinched and spun around. Nothing.
The street remained empty.
Quiet.
But the echo told me it was real.
It was far—but close enough to be heard clearly.
I scanned the horizon.
And then—
Bang!
Another shot.
I gritted my teeth. Despite the fear building inside me, my legs started moving—almost on their own. Toward the sound.
I didn't run. I didn't crawl. I walked—each step heavier than the last.
The gunfire became my compass.
Closer. Louder.
After maybe a kilometer, I reached a clearing near what looked like a community center.
That's when I saw them.
People.
Lots of them.
Some stood. Some crouched behind abandoned cars. Others… weren't moving at all.
White. Red. Yellow.
The white ones moved like hunters.
The red… held their ground, tense, surrounded.
And the yellow—scattered across the ground like discarded dolls.
Motionless.
I ducked behind a tree, heart pounding.
What the fuck is this?
I peeked out.
One of the whites shouted, "Tell me where your leader is!"
Female voice. Confident. Cold.
From the other side, a red-clad man stood tall. "We don't have a leader," he said, voice low, firm.
That voice…
It felt familiar.
Then others spoke—more voices I almost recognized, like ghosts from a past I couldn't place yet.
The white-clad woman raised her gun.
"Then I'll just kill you all—useless group."
Her voice was soaked in bloodlust.
She was going to do it.
She meant it.
I moved on instinct.
My fingers gripped the dagger on my belt.
I narrowed my eyes. Aimed.
And threw.
Thud.
Direct hit.
Her hand snapped back as the dagger struck, and the gun clattered to the ground.
The look on her face twisted from power to pain.
A spark of satisfaction bloomed in my chest.
That was for threatening my team—even if I wasn't sure they were mine yet.
All eyes turned to me.
The whites.
The reds.
Even some of the bodies on the ground flinched.
I walked forward slowly, hand on the hilt of my katana. The other gripped my handgun.
Then, like a chain reaction, the whites lifted their weapons and fired.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I moved.
The katana came up. Fast.
I felt the recoil in my arms with each deflection—metal against metal, heat against heat.
Sparks flew. The sound was deafening.
But I didn't stop.
I moved like I wasn't thinking anymore.
My body knew what to do.
They didn't expect me to get so close, so fast.
And by the time I was in range—
Slash. Twist. Crack.
I struck their weapons. Not their bodies. Blade against barrel. Grip against guard.
I disarmed them—one by one.
Then came silence.
Everyone stood still. No more bullets. No more yelling.
Just me.
And them.
They stared at me like I wasn't real.
And for a moment… I felt like I wasn't.
Then my eyes landed on one of the attackers.
Anna.
My friend.
Close. Trusted.
She was reaching for something behind her.
A blade.
I knew her well.
Too well.
She was prideful. She didn't take threats lightly.
I raised my katana and pointed it at her neck.
"Go for that blade and I'll kill you," I said.
My voice didn't shake.
But something inside me cracked.
She froze. But only for a second.
Then kept reaching.
Damn it, Anna.
Bang!
I shot her arm. She screamed and dropped the weapon.
She clutched her arm, eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief.
"Hardheaded as ever," I muttered.
Then they charged me.
The remaining whites. Rushing in desperation.
I didn't back down.
I fought—swift, efficient. Using the flat of my blade, my fists, my feet. Not to kill.
But to finish it.
And I did.
One by one, they dropped.
Groaning. Unconscious. Broken.
And I was left standing in the middle of the chaos.
I breathed hard, the weight of everything finally settling in.
I had no choice.
If I hadn't fought back… we'd be the ones lying on the ground.
I turned to face the ones in red.
The ones who hadn't moved since I arrived.
They stared at me, wide-eyed.
And somehow, deep in my chest, I knew.
This is my team.
Red.
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