Ren blinked awake.
The first thing he noticed was silence.
Not the kind of quiet that comes at night, but the kind that settles after the end of everything.
He sat up, body aching, mouth dry. Dust clung to his lips. His clothes were stained grey, his flashlight shattered beside him. The ceiling above was not the metro. It was stone — ancient and cracked, held aloft by pillars sculpted with beings that had too many eyes and too few names.
This was no longer home.
They were scattered nearby. Hina coughed, curled tightly on her side. Yuto stared blankly at the ground, lips trembling. Minato sat with his hands over his ears, repeating words that didn't make sense. None of them spoke at first.
Only the sound of their breathing filled the temple.
Then Hina cried.
Not the sharp whine of a scared girl — but the low, hollow sob of someone who had seen something wrong and couldn't take it back. She called for her mother, over and over, like a prayer whispered into a grave.
Minato screamed once and slammed his fist into the ground, then just… slumped, as if something inside him had cracked open and poured out.
Yuto clutched his toy sword like it could protect him from gods.
And Ren, nine years old, felt a coldness in his belly that no warmth could fight.
They walked.
Not because they wanted to, but because to stay still was to accept death.
Past the broken altar, through cracked archways they went — four tiny figures swallowed by titanic ruins. The world they emerged into was vast and suffocating. Skies like iron. Earth like ash. Monoliths lay broken like toppled idols. Mountains in the distance floated, frozen mid-collapse, as if even gravity had been betrayed.
No birds. No sun. No wind.
Only ruins. And silence.
And the smell — thick and heavy, like burnt bones buried too long.
This place was a burial ground, and the world had forgotten the names of the dead.
They walked until their voices dried.
Minato limped from a twisted ankle. Hina walked ahead of them all now, face blank, eyes swollen. Yuto's jokes had died sometime after they passed a field of statues with mouths stretched in screaming silence.
And Ren — he led them not because he was brave, but because he was afraid of stopping. He thought if he kept going, somehow they'd wake up. Somehow, he'd see a police siren. His mom. His room. A laugh. A dream.
But all they found… was the wrongness.
They reached the ridge.
The land dipped before them like a great scar in the earth. Pillars stood like bones from a forgotten beast. And beyond, in the valley, the ground was littered with bodies — too many to count. Frozen in battle.
Twisted weapons. Shattered armor. Creatures neither divine nor human.
Some with six arms. Some with no heads. Some were so massive they dwarfed trees. Others bled gold even in death.
Ren fell to his knees.
He wanted to scream, but his throat refused. He wanted to cry, but the tears had run dry. His hands shook.
"This isn't real," Minato whispered behind him.
Yuto laughed once. A brittle sound. "This is hell, right? We died… right?"
"No," Hina said.
But even she sounded unsure.
Then the growl came.
Low. Ancient. Hungry.
A rumble beneath the bones of the land.
Ren turned, heart frozen mid-beat.
It stood there, on the ridge they'd passed minutes ago — tall as a house, limbs too long, skin dark like iron. A face carved with jagged teeth and eight burning eyes. Its chest bore an open wound that did not bleed. And behind it…
Hounds.
No. Not dogs. Not wolves.
Things with no mouths, only splitting jaws. Dozens of legs. Ribcages exposed. They sniffed the air like sharks in water.
It raised its head.
And it screamed.
"RUN!!"
Ren didn't wait.
Yuto grabbed Minato's arm and hauled him forward. Hina pulled ahead, almost stumbling.
The hounds gave chase.
The earth beneath them shook with the force of their hunger. Bones cracked beneath their claws. Every breath felt like a scream.
One of the hounds leapt — just missed Hina by inches.
Another clamped its jaws into Minato's jacket. He shrieked and fell.
Ren turned back — grabbed his arm — pulled with everything a child could muster.
The jacket tore. They ran.
They found a stone gap. A ruin with a half-fallen gate.
They dove through it just as the Asura roared and slammed into the arch behind them. Stone cracked. But the passage was too narrow. The creature howled and raged and clawed…
But could not pass.
Still, it watched them.
Eight eyes. Burning. Knowing.
They collapsed in the dust.
No one spoke.
Not for minutes. Not for hours.
Not until Ren, breath shivering, whispered:
"We're not getting out."
And none of them argued.