..
"—I don't see anything."
Amy frowned. "What do you mean?"
But Lana didn't answer.
Amy followed her gaze and spotted him too. She looked back to Lana, her expression uncertain.
Lana's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind spinning. 'What are you, Damian?' she wondered quietly.
..
--
Location: Johannesburg - Terrace Road - Clothes Shop - Second Floor.
Year: 2026.
Date: April 1st.
POV: Damian Derulo.
Time: 3:05 PM
--
[A Few Minutes Ago]
--
A faint hum of slow, calming music reached my ears, muffled but steady. My eyelids fluttered open to the dim afternoon light filtering in through the dust-smeared window on my right. I was still wearing my black headphones—no wonder the rumble of the far-off thunder was nothing but a silent flicker in the clouds beyond the glass.
*Yawn~*
The yawn stretched out of me, long and unhurried, my chest expanding as my arms rose above my head in a languid stretch. My joints popped one after another, sharp little cracks that felt oddly satisfying. For a few blissful seconds, I stayed that way, my back pressed into the slightly worn but surprisingly comfortable chair I had found earlier.
The light outside was harsh—Johannesburg's afternoon sun burned the streets like a relentless forge. Heat waves shimmered faintly over the far-off rooftops, and yet, there was a low, dark swell of clouds in the distance, rolling in like some slow-breathing giant. The weather looked undecided, a little like me lately.
I dropped my gaze forward, eyes settling on the "showcase table" in front of me. Most of what had been on it earlier was gone—packed neatly into one of the duffel bags that now sat in on the table like silent sentries.
I leaned forward, reached for my old duffel bag, and slung it up in one motion. The strap landed lightly against my shoulder with a faint thud. My hand gripped it automatically, the canvas familiar under my fingers.
I straightened to my full height, rolling my shoulders back as if to shake off the last remnants of my light nap. My body responded with a few more quiet pops of bone.
Turning left, I began to make my way toward the men's clothing section. My boots made soft, measured sounds against the tiled floor, each step deliberate.
This trip wasn't for me, I reminded myself. I'd already done what I came into the city for—fixed my phone and got two more, got myself some clothes and a new duffle bag. But there was one last task before I could call it done.
'I've gotta get more clothes…' My eyes flicked briefly toward the far racks, mentally counting the clothes I'd need. 'Enough to hand over to the soldiers. They said ten percent of what I bring back stays with them. Fine.'
My lips pulled slightly at one corner in a humorless smile. The soldiers at Fort Sentinel were many things, but generous didn't seem one of them, or maybe they're just following orders. Ten percent was the tax for survival. Still, I wasn't one to argue over their rules—it wasn't worth the noise.
The air inside the store felt cooler compared to the sweltering world outside, and the faint scent of new fabric mixed with dust hit my nose. Somewhere nearby, muffled voices and occasional laughter drifted from the women's section—shopping chatter, light and oblivious. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag and moved forward, my eyes already scanning the racks for what I needed.
--
-
*Sigh~*
"How annoying," I muttered under my breath, the words slipping out in a low, half-irritated exhale. My gaze drifted left, scanning the endless rows of neatly hung shirts, jackets, and trousers for anything I could stuff into my duffel bag.
My eyes swept across the fabrics in a slow rhythm—dark denim, grey cotton, muted earth tones—while my mind wandered back to the earlier meeting with the sector manager.
There had been something in her tone. Not quite a warning, not quite reassurance—more like a subtle pressure in the air, heavy enough to linger. It left me with an itch I couldn't scratch, the gnawing certainty that something was looming on the horizon.
'I need to talk to Marcus,' I thought, my jaw tightening slightly. He'd said he wanted to leave with me, and I'd agreed without hesitation at the time. But now… my plans were shifting, and I wasn't the type to drag someone along without giving them the whole truth-or most of it. That conversation could wait a little longer, though. Right now, I needed to get the "tax" for Fort Sentinel sorted.
I adjusted my grip on the duffel strap. "Hmm… what should I take?" I muttered, letting my eyes flick along the racks again.
Then I froze mid-step.
A few meters ahead stood two familiar faces—Amy and Lana. They were side by side, caught mid-movement, as if a conversation had just been cut short. Both of them were looking directly at me.
Their outfits were different now, crisp and clean, swapped from the worn, battle-scarred clothing they'd had on earlier. The change was noticeable, the fabric fresh and well-fitted. My mind supplied the old saying automatically: Clothes make the man. Or in this case… the woman.
My gaze lingered on Amy for only a second before sliding over to Lana—and that was when my composure slipped. My eyes widened slightly without my permission.
Her earlier hoodie and baggy pants had done their job well, concealing almost everything about her frame. Now, her current outfit betrayed the truth—curves that flowed in all the right places, the kind of balanced figure sculpted not by vanity, but by natural design. She was well-proportioned, grounded, and—if I was being honest—impossible not to notice.
But that wasn't what stole my attention.
It was her hair.
Long. Black. Unmistakably hers.
It poured from beneath the brim of her cap in a straight, silky cascade, the strands catching the faintest hint of the overhead lights. My eyes followed the length down her back… and further… until the tips rested just below the curve of her hips.
'Wow'
The thought came unbidden, almost reverent. My expression barely shifted, but inside I was… starstruck. In all my life, I'd never seen hair that long outside of fiction.
I reached up almost absently and slid my headphones—still playing faint music—down from my ears to rest around my neck. The world felt just a little quieter without the soundtrack, though the pulse of my thoughts filled the space easily enough.
She still hadn't looked away.
--
[POV Change]
[Third Person]
--
Amy's gaze shifted between her sister and Damian, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Lana, on the other hand, seemed oblivious—or maybe just unconcerned. Her golden eyes shimmered faintly as they fixed on Damian, an unreadable calm in her expression-yet questioning thoughts swarm in her head.
From Amy's perspective, Damian's eyes were running over Lana more than once. From Damian's perspective… well, he wasn't exactly making a great case for himself. While Damian's eyes ran along her figure repeatedly or so she thought.
*Ahem!*
Amy cleared her throat—loudly. The sound was sharp enough to snap Lana's eyes out of their subtle gleam. Damian blinked, his focus shifting, and his brows drew together under his mask, though the expression was hidden from view.
Amy Williams "Hi, Damian."
Her tone was polite, but there was a certain weight to it, like she wasn't entirely thrilled about what she thought she'd just witnessed. She stepped forward deliberately to get a little closer for a more closer conversation, her movement casual on the surface but perfectly positioned to block Damian's view of Lana—an unintentional act.
Damian's eyes narrowed slightly at the maneuver. He took in a slow, steady breath, forcing down the flicker of irritation at the implication.
Damian Derulo 'She's treating me like I'm some kind of pervert,' he thought, completely misreading her actual intent.
"Can I help you?" His voice came out cool, measured—just enough edge to make his distance clear.
Amy hesitated, then spoke. "…I just wanted to apologize for my earlier words. It was immature and impolite of me. I'm sorry."
Damian blinked again, caught off guard. He'd been half-expecting her to accuse him outright, not… this.
"It's okay," he replied after a moment, his voice softening. "I think I went a little too far myself. Sorry." He even dipped his head in a slight bow.
Now it was Amy's turn to look surprised. She'd expected a glare, maybe a curt dismissal—anything but a calm, mutual apology.
'Wow,' she thought. 'I expected him to just walk off… maybe Hannah was right. He might not be such a bad guy after all.'
Her lips curled into a faint smile… but the warmth faltered almost immediately.
'Still… I don't like how he was looking at Lana. *Sigh~* Boys will always be boys, even the cold ones.'
She was about to speak again when footsteps approached from behind.
They both turned—Lana as well—to see Hustin and Marcus walking side by side, each of them carrying an overstuffed bag in both hands.
Marcus Hale "We're done—oh hey, Damian." Marcus spoke casually, as if the tension from earlier had never happened.
Damian Derulo "Marcus. Can I have a word?" Damian's tone was slow, deliberate.
Marcus blinked. "Uh, sure." He set both bags down beside Hustin. "BRB," he muttered to his friend before following after Damian, who was already heading for the men's clothing section.
--
The two moved at a measured pace among the racks, the muted thump of hangers sliding along metal bars breaking the silence. Damian grabbed a shirt, folded it neatly, and dropped it into the duffel bag at the center of their section. Marcus wordlessly joined in, pulling a plain black tee from a hanger.
Marcus Hale "I thought you've already grabbed clothes. What are these for?"
Damian Derulo "They're for the Fort." He folded a pair of blue jeans, pressing the creases flat.
Marcus paused for half a second before it clicked. 'The Fort… ah. The ten percent policy.' He set the black shirt into the bag.
"So," Marcus said, stepping back, "what did you want to talk about?"
Damian reached for another pair of jeans but stopped, his gaze dropping to the bag. It was full. He straightened, turning toward Marcus.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow morning." The words were plain, with no build-up—just dropped into the air.
Marcus's eyes widened. "So soon? I thought we'd be here for at least three days before moving."
Damian's tone didn't change. "Yeah, that was the plan. But plans change." He bent to zip the bag.
Marcus frowned. "Why? …Is it because of the others?" It was the only explanation that came to mind.
Damian zipped the bag fully, grabbed the handle, and stood upright. "No. I just… changed my mind. Look, it's fine if you're not ready. I just wanted to tell you, since you said you wanted to come with me."
Marcus's thoughts churned. His jaw tightened. "Is there no chance you'll change your mind?"
He had his own map, the same kind Damian possessed, but it didn't matter. With his non-combatant Facet set, he wouldn't survive the journey alone.
Damian's answer came firm, absolute "No."
He gave Marcus a short nod and walked away.
"Shit," Marcus muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair as the reality of the situation sank in.
--
-
Damian emerged from the men's clothing section, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, the fabric bulging from the weight of neatly folded shirts and jeans. His eyes swept the open space ahead and found the others gathered together — Hannah and Riko had joined the group, standing alongside Amy, Lana and Hustin.
He paused mid-step for a fraction of a second. Their collective gaze was fixed on him, an unspoken curiosity hanging in the air. Without breaking stride, he walked past them, projecting calm, deliberate confidence in each step.
Hannah Lee "Hey, Damian," Hannah's voice called out just as he passed.
He slowed, turned slightly to face her. "Where's Marcus?" she asked.
Marcus Hale "I'm here," came Marcus's voice from behind, his expression distant, almost pensive, as he emerged from the men's section.
Hustin Bright "Dude, you good? You look a little… distracted," Hustin said, raising an eyebrow as Marcus drew nearer.
Marcus forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "...Yeah, I'm good."
Nobody believed him.
"Are you leaving?" Amy asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on Damian.
"Yeah," Damian replied evenly. "I've done what I came to the city to do."
The others exchanged subtle glances. Earlier, it had seemed like Amy was seconds away from tearing into Damian, and now they were speaking like nothing had happened. The contrast was striking.
"Do you want us to give you a ride? We're just about done here too," Amy offered, glancing to the others for silent confirmation. They nodded slowly, still processing this unexpected civility.
Damian shook his head. "There's no need. I'll walk."
"You sure? Looks like it's about to rain," she said, motioning toward the nearest window.
Damian's brow furrowed. "Rain?" He followed her gaze — the sky outside was painted in heavy shades of gray, the sunlight already swallowed. "Rain… in April?" he murmured aloud.
"Yeah. Whatever happened to the Earth after… well, everything… it must have messed with the climate," Amy explained.
A sudden gust whipped through the boutique, rattling the glass panes and kicking up a swirl of dust near the windows. Everyone shielded their eyes until the air stilled again.
"When do you think it'll start?" Hustin asked casually, not expecting a real answer.
"In about three minutes," Lana said matter-of-factly. Her golden eyes shimmered faintly as she pulled her gaze away from the sky.
"Well, there's your answer," Amy said to Hustin before looking back to Damian. "Seems like you're stuck with us."
Damian's gaze lingered on Lana's eyes for a moment before he exhaled. "...Right. I'll be downstairs," he said, turning on his heel and walking away without waiting for a reply.
"Okay, when did this happen?" Hustin asked Amy, gesturing in Damian's direction.
Amy just smiled, replying in Spanish with a teasing wink "Secreta." She walked toward the spot where the girls had been sitting earlier.
The others looked to Lana, suspecting she knew what was going on.
"*Sigh~* She apologized for her words, and Damian did too," Lana explained simply.
Before they could process that, Amy's voice rang out from the girls previous sitting bench "Hannah, Riko, Lana — come grab your bags!"
Lana frowned. 'I didn't pack anything… They must've packed for me.' She followed the other girls.
Now alone, Hustin turned to Marcus immediately. "Alright, start talking."
Marcus blinked. "What?"
Hustin raised an eyebrow, arms folded — the universal don't mess with me stance.
Marcus's jaw flexed. "*Sigh~* Fine. Damian said he's leaving tomorrow morning." His tone carried weight, like the words themselves pressed on him.
Hustin's brows shot up. "Tomorrow? That's… way ahead of schedule."
"Two days to be exact," Marcus corrected.
"Did he say why?" Hustin asked, glancing toward the direction Damian had gone.
Marcus shook his head. "Played it off. Said it was nothing, but… I think there's more to it."
"...What'd you say to him?"
"I didn't push. He told me I could stay if I wanted."
Before Hustin could probe further, the girls returned, each carrying oversized handbags as they strode toward them.
"What were you two talking about?" Amy asked casually, stopping in front of them.
"Uh… just how great you all look in your new outfits," Marcus said, flashing them a grin. His gaze lingered a moment longer on Lana… and then on Hannah.
"Riiight," Amy said, clearly unconvinced. "Anyway, let's go join Damian downstairs."
Hustin stepped in. "Amy… don't you think getting too friendly with him might just agitate him?"
Amy paused thoughtfully. "Maybe. But I'm not saying we talk to him. We could just wait on the first floor until the rain passes."
Hustin considered her point, then nodded.
They started for the stairs. Hannah noticed Marcus's expression — a tangle of thoughts pulling his attention away from everything around him. He nearly collided with a clothing rack, jolting him back to the present.
"Haha, came out of nowhere," he muttered awkwardly.
Riko rolled her eyes, Hustin sighed knowingly, and they kept walking.
Hannah Lee 'Is he okay?' Hannah wondered. She'd seen that look earlier but brushed it off at the time. Now, curiosity and concern overrode her caution.
She slowed her pace until she was beside him. "Hey," she whispered softly.
Marcus flinched slightly before turning. "Y-yeah?"
"You okay? You seem… distracted," she asked, her tone gentle but probing.
Marcus forced another small smile. "I'm fine." He thought about telling her, but decided against it — considering how she reacted to the news of him leaving before, telling her there was a chance he'd be gone two days earlier didn't seem wise.
Hannah studied his face for a long moment. It was obvious he was holding something back, but she didn't press. Instead, she returned to her usual pace, letting the thought linger silently in her mind.
--
Location: Johannesburg - Terrace Road - Clothes Shop - First Floor.
POV: Third Person.
Time: 3:49 PM.
--
The first floor of the boutique was a battlefield frozen in aftermath.The floor was slightly damp—a result of Hannah's earlier attack—Shattered mannequins lay in twisted heaps, their porcelain limbs scattered across cracked tiles that were now in even worse shape after the earlier chaos. Clothing racks reduced to mere fragments, some bent or completely destroyed, others stripped bare, their metal frames biting into the floor. Torn fabrics clung to the debris like tattered flags of surrender, and the once-polished walls were now gouged, scorched, and splattered.
The air was thick with the stench of decay—sharp, metallic, and almost tangible—the unmistakable rot of the Necrogyph corpses strewn across the ground. If one looked closely, they'd see jagged cuts and hacked-off limbs, the aftermath of brutal close-quarters combat or a result of being dissected for parts. In one corner, several large sacks slumped against the wall, dark patches spreading from beneath them where a small pool of blood had gathered, the red long since dulled to a rusty brown. Other stains were scattered across the floor in erratic patterns, seemingly telling silent stories of struggle or proof of the sacks being dragged about.
Damian stood just outside the shop's ruined entrance, positioned a few feet away from the downpour. His right hand was extended into the wind, palm open, catching stray droplets of rain as they were carried inward by the shifting gusts. Beyond him, the rain came down in relentless sheets, the sound a constant low roar punctuated by the occasional howl of stronger winds. The weather seemed undecided—calm one moment, surging the next.
*Sigh~*
The breath escaped Damian slowly, a quiet exhale of momentary ease as the cool drops peppered his skin. Then another burst of wind barreled through, sharp and uninvited, peeling the hood from his head and tossing his hair in wild, weightless strands. For a brief second, he let the storm have its way before lifting his gaze toward the steel-colored horizon.
Footsteps echoed behind him. He turned his head just enough to see the others descending the mostly intact staircase, emerging one by one into the wreckage of the ground floor. Without a word, they crossed the broken tiles and headed toward a corner where someone had fashioned makeshift benches from stacked wall debris. The crude arrangement looked almost deliberate—stone blocks aligned with surprising care in an otherwise chaotic ruin.
Damian pulled his hood back up and waited a dew more minutes - soaking up the cold air before he stepped inside. His stride was measured, unhurried, until he stopped a few meters from the doorway. Against the wall nearby sat his two duffle bags, positioned beside another tidy stack of blocks—a seat of convenience, clearly his own spot.
He lowered himself onto the improvised chair, the cool hardness of the stone pressing through his clothing. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms across his chest and let his eyes drift shut.
The reprieve didn't last.
A murmur of conversation filtered through, voices overlapping, laughter cutting in at uneven intervals. His brow twitched in mild irritation. With a faint frown, he cracked one eye open, reached for the new duffle bag, and unzipped it just enough to retrieve his headphones.
Slipping them over his ears, he welcomed the artificial cocoon of quiet they provided. The noise dimmed, replaced by a soft, muted hum. His shoulders eased. Closing his eyes again, Damian allowed himself a faint smile as the wind shifted once more, sending a fresh draft of rain-cooled air sweeping into the shop. The chill brushed against his neck like an unspoken reminder that, despite the ruin, the world outside still moved on.
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To Be Continued.....