Not long after the grotesque creatures spilled from the meteor, the ground at the city's center began to tremble violently once more, as if something even more horrific was poised to erupt from the earth.
Old cracks widened, the pavement exploded in chunks, dragging cars and debris into the chasms below. Then, from the blackened depths, something emerged.
At first, it was a single root-like tendril, massive as a tree trunk, piercing through the street. Within seconds, it surged upward, stretching dozens, then hundreds of meters into the sky—taller than any building that once stood here. Its form was a twisted mass of vegetation straight from a nightmare, its outer layer a grotesque blend of rotting bark and raw, pulsating flesh, veined with faintly throbbing ridges as if it were breathing.
From its central trunk, thousands of canopy-like branches, vast as sails, spread across the city's skyline. Each branch sprouted vines, hundreds of meters long, slithering downward like predatory tentacles. Wherever they touched, life vanished.
One vine ensnared a fleeing human, coiling tightly before yanking them into the air. The victim didn't die immediately but was encased in a translucent, organic membrane, like a giant cocoon. Inside, their body dissolved, contorted. They could no longer scream, only silent wails echoing through the membrane.
These cocoons hung from the branches, clustered like ripened fruit. When the time came, the cocoons quivered, cracked, and from within, a new creature was "born."
It bore no resemblance to humanity. Some towered as tall as three-story buildings, others skittered like insects, and some sprouted wings, but all shared a savage, emotionless hunger, their bodies embedded with fragments of the same organic material as the tree that birthed them. Their eyes glowed faintly in the mist, devoid of consciousness, driven solely by the instinct to hunt.
The tree—if it could still be called that—was more than a living entity. It was a biological factory, a colossal incubator birthing an army from the very humans who once inhabited this city. It didn't move, but it spread. Its canopy grew, covering more of the sky, dimming daylight into a surreal, crimson glow, like a dying sunset.
No one knew where it came from or what it thought. But it was clear this was no mere natural disaster—it was part of a vast, living system beyond human comprehension.
The most terrifying truth was that it was learning. The creatures it birthed grew more dangerous with each generation, more varied, even showing signs of rudimentary coordination and organization. Every human captured wasn't just a death—it was a step in the tree's evolution.
And it showed no signs of stopping.
It kept growing.
It was still… hungry.
…
In another ruined part of the city, not far away, Nozomi and Shion were hurrying to escape the area as fast as possible. Initially, they had planned to scavenge useful items along the way, but after the explosion and the appearance of the colossal tree, they abandoned that idea entirely.
Now, their only goal was to flee, to get as far from this place as they could. Fortunately, Nozomi had picked up a rescue axe for self-defense earlier, while Shion carried a small knife hidden on her and a baseball bat.
"Nozomi, can we find somewhere to rest?" Shion's voice came from behind, hoarse and strained, as if she might lose it at any moment.
Nozomi realized the gravity of their situation. They had been on the move for hours since the disaster struck, pushed to their physical and emotional limits. They desperately needed a place to rest, at least for the night, as moving through the darkness felt far too dangerous.
Scanning their surroundings, Nozomi spotted a partially collapsed house that hadn't entirely crumbled. They slipped inside. Immediately, Nozomi searched for anything usable, then barricaded the entrance and windows with debris, unsure if dangerous creatures might be lurking nearby.
Once everything was secured, Nozomi let out a heavy sigh and slumped to the ground. She was as exhausted and hungry as Shion.
"Shion, food is limited, so let's hold off on eating for now. Take a sip of water and try to sleep," Nozomi said, handing over a water bottle.
"Got it," Shion replied, carefully sipping just enough before passing it back. They shared everything, rationing their meager supplies.
"Oh, your wounds. They're not severe, but they still need treatment!" Nozomi said. She quickly pulled out the medical supplies they'd gathered and grabbed Shion's arm, tending to the scratches swiftly, giving her no chance to protest.
"…Thanks," Shion said with a weak smile.
Nozomi nodded, saying nothing more. She pulled an old, scratched phone from her jacket pocket. The screen was worn but still functional. Miraculously, a faint signal and spotty data connection allowed her to check what was happening outside.
Nozomi searched for news about the world beyond, but the results were grim. It wasn't just their area—the disaster had struck globally. A few simple searches pulled up hundreds of images, videos, and frantic reports: death, panic, cities in ruins, and creatures undocumented by any scientific record.
Shion scooted closer, peering at the screen. The two sat in silence, the phone's faint glow the only light in the dark room. The atmosphere grew heavy and suffocating as they both realized: the world outside might be beyond saving.
Suddenly—
Thud…!
A faint sound came from somewhere outside.
Nozomi immediately turned off the phone, pressing a finger to her lips to signal Shion to stay quiet. She crept toward a small gap where a window once was, cautiously lifting the cloth covering to peek outside.
Her eyes tensed.
A creature stood just outside the house.
It was unnaturally tall and slender, twice the height of a human, its elongated body stretched as if pulled taut. Its skin was glossy and pitch-black, like wet charcoal, each step producing a soft clack like fingernails tapping stone. It had no face, but its head bore a spiral of wilted, petal-like layers opening into a deep, hollow void, within which a faint, glinting light pulsed like an eye searching for prey.
Its arms dangled nearly to the ground, tipped with curved, hook-like claws. Most unsettling was the writhing mass of organic tissue on its back, pulsing as if something inside was preparing to burst free.
It hadn't noticed their hiding spot… but it was searching. The creature crouched, pressing its hands to the ground, crawling on all fours. The "eye" on its head swiveled left and right, as if sniffing the air.
Nozomi held her breath. Her hand slowly slid to the rescue axe, her eyes never leaving the creature for a second.
It circled the area, then… began moving directly toward the house.
Slowly. So slowly.
Each step pressed heavily on Nozomi and Shion's chests. Without a word, they both knew: if that thing found them, this house would become their tomb.
Nozomi turned back, crawling low to the ground, silent but urgent, until she reached Shion. Leaning close, she whispered into her friend's ear, her voice barely audible but laced with absolute caution:
"There's a creature outside… it's huge… it's looking for something, and it's coming this way."
Shion froze.
No further explanation was needed. They immediately retreated deeper into the house, squeezing into a dark corner behind a pile of rubble—broken bricks, splintered beams, and rusted metal. The space was cramped and dim, forcing them to huddle close, pressed against each other to avoid making a sound.
CRASH!
A loud impact jolted them both.
The front wall of the house suddenly caved in, as if something had rammed it. Bricks and mortar crashed onto the concrete floor, dust billowing everywhere. The sharp clatter of debris hitting walls and the groaning ceiling threatened to collapse.
The creature had entered.
Nozomi didn't need to see it to feel its presence. The oppressive weight it carried was nearly suffocating.
Shion, pressed close beside her, trembled faintly. She glanced up, peering through a tiny gap between two rotted planks, and caught sight of the creature's full form in the darkness. It was there, less than a meter away. Its long claws grazed the floor, producing rhythmic, chilling clicks.
Shion quickly looked away, clamping a hand over her mouth, but her trembling fingers betrayed her struggle to stay calm. Her breathing was sharp, uneven. A moment later, her shoulders twitched, as if she were on the verge of sobbing.
Instantly, Nozomi wrapped her arms around Shion, pulling her close.
"Shh…" Nozomi whispered, almost inaudibly, one hand gently pressing against Shion's back to comfort her, the other gripping Shion's small knife, ready to defend them if the worst came to pass.
In Nozomi's chest, her heart pounded wildly. Each beat echoed in her ears, as if the creature could hear it if it listened closely enough.
She didn't know if they'd survive the night.
But in that moment, as Shion trembled in her arms, Nozomi knew one thing for certain: even if it cost her life, she wouldn't let that creature touch Shion.