Petrichor mixed with the scent of blood in the air.
Icy droplets fell from the sky, pattering against the ground. The water mixed with the blood that had already soaked the earth, spreading crimson puddles everywhere. After more than two and a half hours of steady rain, the bodies strewn across the district were half-drowned in the puddles, floating grimly about. A few limbs here, a dozen severed heads there—human and inhuman.
Blinding light flashed through the storm clouds overhead, accompanied by the fierce rumble of thunder.
At the sound of thunder, Chloe stirred. She cracked open one eye and squinted, trying to bring her vision into focus. She was in a room lit by the dim, sterile glow of fluorescent bulbs, gloomy shadows clinging to the corners of the bare concrete floor. Her bed was placed against one of those shadowed corners, just beside a window that provided a sufficient view of the district beyond.
She pulled the curtains apart and peered out at the district. Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the outlines of bodies and limbs floating in puddles of water and blood. She also saw the outlines of half-collapsed buildings and completely collapsed ones, as well as massive shapes—creatures with multiple spindly limbs. Dead, of course, but chilling still to behold at this time of day. It was the stuff of nightmares, the kind of thing she’d seen in crappy horror films growing up.
There was someone out in the rain—someone whole and alive—sitting at the edge of a dangerously lopsided building that was missing a good chunk of its walls.
Chloe shut the curtain, then climbed out of bed. She had gone to sleep in a baggy tank top and pajama pants, both of which she had helped herself to. The district had long been evacuated, and most of what remained was anyone’s to take. Beneath her bed, she had thrown her regular clothes in a pile. She changed from her pajama pants into a well-fitting pair of denims, then contemplated whether or not to put on shoes.
On one hand, she didn’t want to get her boots wet. On the other, she wasn’t sure she wanted to move across gruesome puddles of blood, water, and flesh while completely barefoot. Eventually, she threw on her boots and fastened them firmly.
Then she slipped out of her room and into the long, narrow hallways that ran through the Chancellor’s Hall, hallways lit as sterilely as her bedroom.
No one else seemed to be awake. She heard no movement from within the hall as she walked—nothing at all except, of course, the loud snoring when she passed Chancellor Hardy’s room, whose door had been left slightly open.
A peer through the crack in the door revealed the Chancellor, bare-chested and in a pair of briefs, sprawled rather comically on his little mattress, one hand and foot dangling toward the ground. His back and chest heaved rhythmically as his snoring filled the room, doing its best to compete with the sound of rain and thunder beyond the walls.
Oddly, she found a strange pleasure in seeing the Chancellor like that. He was, after all, the man long tasked with ensuring the district’s stability and continuity, and most of the time, he had done so by being strict and intimidating. He had given her and her unit orders, always no-nonsense in doing so. Then great trouble had come to the district, a great battle had ensued, and the district had been all but lost.
That had been the first time she had seen him like this—just as stressed as the rest of them, just as plain. She almost considered him just as human. Then she reminded herself that she wasn’t human to begin with. Other than the Chancellor, none of them were.
She left his door behind, and a minute later, she had slipped out of the Chancellor’s Hall and into the rain, cold droplets pelting her skin and quickly soaking her. Her tank top clung to her body, feeling heavier now. Her blond hair dripped rainwater, strands matting to the front of her face, some getting in her eyes. She brushed them aside and made for the lopsided building.
The building was a four-minute brisk walk from the Hall, and it took her another thirty seconds to scale its side and reach the rooftop. When she did, she saw the figure she had spotted from her bedroom window.
It was a boy, clad in a white T-shirt now glued to his skin, revealing in great detail the lines of his back, the perfect broadness of his shoulders, and the defined bulges of his arms. His hair was blond, a lighter shade than hers—almost white, angelic even, despite the gloom of the night and rain. The downpour had flattened his hair, plastering strands to his face like hers, though the wind still sent other strands whipping about.
Silently, Chloe walked up to him, the rain masking her approach. When she reached him, she said nothing, simply dropped down next to him, sitting at the edge of the rooftop, her feet dangling over the side. For a regular person, the height would have been terrifying, but for her, it was mere play. A fall from this height would do little more than scrape and cut her.
As soon as she sat beside him, he shifted suddenly, startled, and turned to her. Thunder rumbled again, and lightning flashed overhead, illuminating, for a moment, Lucas’s dark blue eyes—now devoid of much of the excitement and mischief she had come to associate with them over the years.
“Chlo,” Lucas murmured. “What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same.” Chloe shrugged, her gaze focused below at the particularly harrowing sight of the remnants of decapitated monsters. “It’s not a particularly good view, is it?”
Lucas snorted. “I’m not here for the view.”
“The ambiance, then?” Chloe asked.
Lucas was quiet for a moment. Then he chuckled. After a while, he shook his head. “No, I just got tired of feeling cooped up inside the Hall.”
“Cooped up?” Chloe repeated. “We were sleeping in tents before this.”
“Tents felt like home. The Hall feels kind of like a lab. Like a prison,” Lucas answered. “Hard to sleep in there, especially considering—”
His voice trailed off. He shook his head again. “Doesn’t matter.” He turned to her and smiled faintly, his eyes twinkling for a moment, like they used to. “What are you doing up?”
Chloe shrugged. “Think my body’s getting annoyed by the amount of sleep that’s been forced onto it these past three weeks. Heard the thunder and woke up immediately, half-expecting there’d be some fight to charge into.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Lucas nodded.
“What do you think about it?”
“About what?”
“This place is pretty much running on backup power now—not enough to keep the fences going. It’s literally No Man’s Land, and yet there have been no Servants, no nighthounds, no angry gods in the past three weeks. Weird, isn’t it? What’s happened to them? Why aren’t they coming after her anymore?”
Chloe shuddered as she pondered it, though that might have been more to do with the chill of the rain. She stared at the remnants of Servants floating in the water—the diseased, flesh-eating, zombified morons who had attacked the district three weeks ago, along with nighthounds and angry gods, fifteen-foot monsters.
In the three weeks since the battle, not a single Servant sighting had been reported near the district. Not a nighthound. Not an angry god. Nothing.
It was particularly odd because Chloe knew for certain that swarms of these monsters were still out there. If they weren’t coming within the vicinity of the district, it had to be because they had orders not to—from the alien invaders who had unleashed them upon the world.
But why?
What were The Others planning this time?
“Things go quiet this long, it’s rarely ever a good sign,” Lucas said quietly. “And why haven’t we heard back from the Capital yet? We’re supposed to stand by and await redeployment orders. It’s been three weeks. Where are the orders?”
“Capital’s a bureaucracy.” Chloe shrugged. “It takes them all the time in the world to make even the simplest decisions. And there’s nothing remotely simple about what we’ve told them. They’re deciding what to do with us—with her.”
Lucas stiffened at the mention of her. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched. He said nothing, and so Chloe, too, chose to say nothing. At least for now.
Once five minutes had passed, she cleared her throat. The rain had only gotten heavier, roaring now as cold drops poured from the sky, the rumbling of thunder growing more frequent.
“Rain’s not letting up,” she said, rising to her feet. “We should head back inside.”
“Why, scared we’ll catch a cold?”
“I don’t think we’re even capable of getting colds,” Chloe snorted. “One of the extremely few benefits of what we are, I suppose. Best to head back before Jon wakes up and loses his shit thinking we’ve been kidnapped.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Lucas said, rising to his feet as well, water dripping from him. “Though it would be fun to see Jon panic.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Lightning took out the power supply during the downpour. Chloe woke later in the morning to sunlight filtering into her room through the curtain, accompanied by the sound of Hardy barking at Cole and Glenn about restoring the power.
“It’s completely fried,” Glenn was explaining to the Chancellor, his thick Southern accent making him easy to identify. “I can try to work some magic, but I can’t make any promises. It’s gonna be lights out for quite some time.”
Hardy grunted. “Go on then. Try your magic, and I’ll try again to reach those blockheads in the Capital. Can’t just sit ‘round here waiting for them to try killin’ us again.”
Her focus shifted from their distant conversation to the sound of footsteps—gentle and rhythmic—growing louder by the second. Someone was approaching her door.
A knock.
“Chlo?” came Jon’s voice from the other side. “You up?”
“One sec!”
Chloe was at the door in exactly a second, covering the distance from her bed in a blur. As she unlocked it, she slipped on a blue denim jacket.
She pulled it open and looked up at her stepbrother’s face.
Jon’s features were smoother than usual, missing the usual lines of worry, stress, and burden. These past three weeks out of action had been somewhat of a well-deserved vacation for him. He had cut his black hair short into a buzz cut, and his eyebrows looked sharper, more angled, giving his face a different edge. His gray eyes, typically stormy or brooding, looked a little lighter now.
He was pulling on a baggy white tee when Chloe opened the door, his muscles flexing slightly as he did. He finished with the shirt, then reached for a brown leather jacket. As he slipped it on, he glanced at her, frowned slightly, then tipped his face forward past the threshold of the door and sniffed at the air.
“You went out last night?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Smells like rain in here.”
She told him about Lucas as they made their way out of the Hall, recounting their conversation in the rain.
“A little worried about him,” Jon said as they stepped outside. The puddles had greatly reduced in depth now that the rain had subsided, but the air reeked worse than before, heavy with the stench of Servant and hound remains.
Men were scooping Servant remains into wheelbarrows, their expressions twisted with disgust.
“But he’s not wrong,” Jon continued as they started in the direction of the Grove. “It’s been too long without any signs of the Servants. No movement from the Others. And Jin’s been incredibly quiet these past few days—like even she doesn’t know what comes next. Like she’s scared.”
“She’s got a million reasons to be scared,” Chloe said. “More than just the Others. If we get called to another district, they won’t exactly welcome the princess of the alien civilization that’s turned our world into a rotting wasteland.”
“Hardy’ll vouch for her.” Jon sounded uncertain even as he said it. “She should be fine.”
“Even you don’t believe that.”
“I don’t, no.” Jon shook his head. “But let’s face it—she’s strong. Stronger than the Pandorans. Regardless of how hostile her welcome is, there’s very little anyone can do to hurt her. So again, she should be fine.”
“Should?”
“District 1’s a different story,” Jon said.
“You think we’ll be going there? To the Capital?”
“I think if they planned to redeploy us to another district, they would’ve done it by now. We were all there when Hardy first briefed the Capital on everything that happened—everything we learned. They’re not just going to let us wander around with someone like Jin in tow. They’ll want to see for themselves. Assess the threat she poses.
“Something tells me that’s why we haven’t heard from them. They’re preparing.”
“For us?”
“For her,” Jon said, lowering his voice as they neared the Grove—the small park where they had taken to having all their meals together.
Lucas and Aiden were already there, seated at one table, blood bags in front of them. At the other tables, the remaining district guards—those who had survived the battle—looked rather lean and miserable, steaming bowls of unimpressive-looking soup in front of them.
And then, at a table by herself, was Jin, black hair falling loosely around her face. She wore a gray tank top, leaving the tattoo on her hand exposed. On her table sat a plate of smoked meat—though it looked more charred than smoked. Jin was studying the plate with a quizzical, almost puzzled expression.
Chloe and Jon stopped at a cooler, grabbed blood bags, then joined Jin at her table.
Her expression shifted slightly as they sat—relief flickering across her face before returning to bafflement as she stared at the food in front of her.
“What is this?” Jin asked, lifting the plate and tilting her head to examine it from a different angle.
“Meat,” Jon answered, almost revolted. Chloe thought she could hear his stomach churn—and not in a good way.
One of the downsides of what they were: an aversion to cooked meat. Cooked anything, really. Anything that wasn’t blood triggered nausea, leaving them sick for hours if they ate too much.
Chocolate and sweets were the only exception. They still dulled their appetites but didn’t make them violently ill.
“What kind of meat?” Jin asked. “Nighthound?”
“No, should be lamb.” Jon shrugged. “Would you please eat that already?”
“It’s scorched,” Jin said, setting the plate down and crossing her arms. She pouted. “Such a meal is beneath me. Not fitting at all for someone of my royal station.”
Jon blinked. “Y-you’re joking, right?”
“Would you eat this?” Jin pushed the plate toward him.
Jon recoiled, shoving it back. “No. And you know why.”
“We all have our dietary restrictions,” Jin said. “You cannot eat meat. I cannot eat filth.”
She stood, picked up the plate, and made her way to one of the other tables—the one where the district guards sat.
Despite their clear discomfort at Jin’s presence, one of them still accepted the food from her.
That alone was enough indication of how dire things had gotten.
The evacuation before the battle meant all the cooks had left. Meals now came from Cole and Glenn, neither of whom knew their way around a kitchen. Chloe could only imagine how awful the soup must have been if someone preferred charred lamb over it—even if it came from Jin.
Jin returned to their table. “Your people have shockingly low standards,” she said. “Any word from your leaders? Any orders?”
“None yet.” Jon shook his head.
“Do you trust them?” Jin asked.
Jon frowned. “Sorry?”
“These leaders of yours. The Council. Surely, you must know some of them? Do you trust them? Their judgment? Do you trust that they will do the right thing?”
“Are you asking if we think they’ll try to kill you?” Chloe raised an eyebrow.
“I have heard that the ones there like you are a lot stronger than you,” Jin admitted, looking, for a moment, genuinely concerned. “I do not trust that my fate will be as secure with them as it is with you.”
“They’ll do what they think is right,” Jon answered.
“And if that means forfeiting my life?”
“Won’t happen,” Chloe said. “They’re politicians. They’ll listen. You have knowledge we don’t—knowledge that’s priceless. That makes you useful. But they’ll want you monitored.”
“I am not a child.” Jin pouted.
After breakfast, Jon, Chloe, Lucas, Aiden, and Jin set out on their usual patrols, scanning the district’s immediate vicinity for any signs of trouble. They checked the road leading up to the district and the surrounding woods. Other than a few starving stragglers and a couple of infected deer, there was nothing.
“Ravan will be dead by now,” Jin said after their patrol, referring to the crazed alien scientist responsible for the angry gods and hellhounds that had plagued them before. “No doubt my father would have been enraged by his failures. One failure, he might forgive. A second, he would see as incompetence—perhaps even disloyalty. And neither is something he would tolerate.”
“So if the crazy scientist’s dead, that’s it?” Aiden asked. “Not much left for us to worry about?”
Jin snorted. “Ravan is not the only man of brilliance in my father’s employ. Others will have filled the hole his absence left, no doubt devising plans of their own as we speak. Perhaps that is why trouble has yet to seek us out. But I am not so sure we should be wishing for it to do so.
“When my father attacks again, there is no doubt it will be with a force far more overwhelming than anything Ravan could conjure.”
Back at the district, they split off to their respective tasks.
Jon went straight to the hall to speak with Hardy, hoping for any news from the Capital. Lucas disappeared without a word, but Chloe had a good guess where he was headed—Spike’s grave, which he had visited all too frequently these past three weeks.
Aiden, Chloe, and Jin joined those involved in the district cleanup—though only Aiden and Chloe actually helped, while Jin stood off to the side, berating them for their clumsiness and how they were only making bigger messes.
“I know this is supposed to be for the greater good,” Aiden muttered, hefting three hellhound corpses into a wheelbarrow, “but I swear, if she doesn’t shut up, I’ll haul her over to her father myself.”
Chloe snorted, then glanced over her shoulder at Jin, who now stood atop a pile of rubble, arms folded, staring down at them with narrowed eyes.
She was clearly trying to look royal. Intimidating, maybe. Like they belonged beneath her.
But to Chloe, she just looked lonely. And afraid.
Cleanup went uninterrupted for another two hours, and might have lasted even longer—if not for the sound.
As soon as Chloe picked up on it, the hairs on her arms stood on end. She straightened at once, face darkening as she lowered her mud-and-blood-stained shovel slightly.
Her ears twitched.
She turned toward the horizon, eyes narrowing with focus.
Jin leaped down from the rubble pile, grabbed a shovel, and snapped it in half, keeping the more lethal end in hand.
The sound grew louder—nearer. The unmistakable hum and whine of an engine.
Then the sharp, rhythmic thwop-thwop of rotor blades slicing through the air.
A few seconds later, dark shapes appeared on the horizon. Six of them.
At the same time, Chloe picked up on another sound—not from the choppers now visible in the sky, but from behind her. The crunch of tires against earth.
She spun just in time to see armored trucks rolling into the district, the letters N.A. painted in gold across their sides and hoods.
The National Army.
The trucks cordoned off the district entrance. A few drove further in, surrounding them.
Jin shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting left to right. Her grip on her makeshift spear tightened. She was ready to let loose at any moment.
The choppers were directly overhead now, their blades and engines deafening. Chloe winced, attempting to dull the noise.
Then they touched down.
The moment they did, soldiers spilled from the trucks—men and women clad in camo and tactical gear, battle helmets secured, wielding dangerous-looking rifles that pulsed with light.
More emerged from the choppers, but among them were three figures who stood apart. Their tactical gear was different—black, instead of camo. No helmets. No rifles.
They had the sharp, dangerous eyes of people who had never known fear.
On their sleeves, each bore an emblem. A badge. Not of the Army. Of a sponsor.
Chloe read House Lincoln off the emblem of one of them—a tall, thin, freckled boy with middle-parted brown hair, a few strands falling over his striking blue eyes.
His jaw was sharp, almost sculpted, and clenched with an air of seriousness. His lips pressed tightly together.
He marched straight toward them.
Chloe caught a tattoo on the side of his neck, though she couldn’t make out the details.
Then he stopped in front of her.
His cold gaze locked onto hers, filled with indifference.
His lips parted, and his voice was just as cold.
“Where’s your Chancellor?”
Hardy arrived then, with Jon and Aiden—and Lucas, who was shooting distrustful glances at the soldiers who had surrounded them.
Hardy stepped up to the brown-haired Pandoran and extended a handshake. “Chancellor William James Hardy, Seventh District,” he greeted.
The boy, though unimpressed—and perhaps even annoyed—accepted the handshake. “Andre Nicholson,” he said. “First District.”
He cast a scanning glance around, his eyes lingering on Jin a little too long. His expression darkened.
Chloe shifted, stepping directly in front of Jin. A silent act of defiance.
Andre’s gaze flicked to her.
Something in his expression changed, like he was faintly amused by the gesture.
Then he returned his attention to Hardy.
“We have orders to take you to the Capital,” Andre said. “You and anyone else left here will ride with the ground convoy.” He gestured toward the trucks.
Then he lifted a finger and pointed past Chloe.
Straight at Jin.
“She comes with us in the choppers.”
Who is your favorite character?
