"I can't believe I am looking at a real monster."
Mayo said it the way someone says a thing they need to hear out loud just to confirm it's actually happening.
His voice was flat. His eyes were fixed on the hole in the ceiling, the jagged, torn-open gap where the roof had simply ceased to exist, and on the thing that had come through it.
It now stood twenty feet away on cracked floor tiles, saliva dripping from its jaw in long, slow strands.
It was looking at them.
Ozair hadn't moved. His gauntlet was raised, his weight forward, but for just a moment he was doing the same thing Mayo was, just looking.
"I've never," he said slowly, "seen anything like that in my entire life."
The monster's fingers pressed into the concrete floor.
Each one ended in something between a claw and a blade, and where they pushed down, the tile cracked outward in thin white lines.
Its jaw worked. The red glow in its eyes didn't flicker.
Then it jumped.
Straight at Ozair, no wind-up, no warning, just launched itself forward like something that had never learned the concept of hesitation.
Ozair grabbed Mayo's arm and they both threw themselves sideways.
The monster hit the floor where they had been standing and the impact sent a shockwave through the shelves nearby, toppling a row of canned goods with a crash that echoed through the whole empty store.
"Stay behind me," Ozair said.
Mayo didn't argue.
Ozair turned to face it, and something shifted in how he stood, not tense, but settled. Like something clicking into place.
He brought both hands to his right side, low and open, and as he moved them the floor responded.
A deep crack split the tile ahead of him, running toward the monster like a fault line, and the earth beneath the flooring pushed upward, a rising slab, ragged and heavy, and Ozair ran with it.
He jumped, came down hard, and drove both palms forward.
The earth surged.
It hit the monster full in the face with a sound like a car crash. The thing flew backward, slammed into the far wall, and dropped.
Ozair landed, breathing hard already. Sweat had broken across his forehead.
The store was quiet for a second.
"That was," Mayo started, "genuinely unbelievable—"
The monster stood up.
Slowly. It rolled its neck. The red eyes found Ozair again, and if anything they were brighter now.
Ozair wiped his face with the back of his wrist. His chest was heaving, but his eyes were steady. "You want more?"
He drove Nyro into the floor. A large section of earth cracked upward, a rough chunk the size of a car door, hovering at an angle.
He lined it up, pulled his fist back, and punched.
The chunk moved, but slower than he expected. The momentum bled out halfway, and the slab fell short, crumbling apart on the floor between them.
Ozair stared at it. His arm was shaking slightly.
Then the monster moved.
It crossed the distance in two strides, one arm swinging low. The erupted earth still jutting from the floor caught the hit instead of Ozair, but the force transferred.
Ozair took it like a wave and was thrown backward, crashing into a shelving unit. Boxes and packets collapsed around him, and something metal rang out as it hit the floor.
"Ozair!"
Mayo was already running. He got three steps before the monster turned toward him.
It looked at him the way large things look at small things, not with anger, just with assessment.
Then it moved.
Mayo backpedaled.
His heel caught something and he stumbled, going down hard on both hands, and looked up just as the monster crossed into a run, closing the gap, getting low.
Mayo did the only thing his body decided to do, which was pull both arms over his head and make himself as small as possible.
He heard it coming. He felt the air shift.
Then the floor erupted.
Right in front of him, a pillar of earth punched upward and took the monster directly under the jaw, snapping its head back, sending it sideways.
It hit the floor rolling and came to rest against the far shelves, dazed, twitching.
Mayo lowered his arms slowly and looked.
Ozair was standing. Barely, one hand braced on a shelf, blood running in a thin line from a cut above his ear.
His breathing worsened immediately.
His other hand was extended low, fingers spread, palm facing down, like he was pressing something into the ground.
He looked at the monster.
Then, slowly, he lowered both hands toward the floor.
The earth moved.
It came up around the monster piece by piece, first over its head, then around its legs, then its arms—locking each part down in thick heavy plates of rock and compacted dirt, one after another, slow and methodical, like Ozair was building something with the last reserves of whatever he had left.
The monster thrashed. It didn't matter. The earth didn't care.
When the last piece locked into place, the monster was sealed entirely, a rough stone shape in the middle of the market floor, only the dull red glow of its eyes visible through the gaps, pulsing once, then going still.
Ozair's knees buckled. He sat down hard on the floor, head dropping, chest heaving.
Nyro faded.
Mayo crossed the distance at a run and crouched beside him. "Are you okay—are you—"
"I'm fine," Ozair managed.
"You're bleeding."
"It's a scratch."
"Ozair."
"I said I'm fine." He looked up, grinning despite everything, sweat running freely down his face. "Harder than I thought. But it's done."
Mayo looked at the sealed monster across the store. At the cracked floor. At the hole still open in the ceiling above them, framing a square of pale morning sky.
Then back at Ozair.
"You just did all of that," Mayo said. "You actually just did all of that."
"Yeah." Ozair let out a breath that was half-laugh. "I'm cooked though. Look at me."
Mayo looked at him—the blood, the sweat, the dust on his jacket, the way his hair had come loose on one side. He pressed his lips together.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Like genuinely. It's a different look for you."
Ozair laughed, real and tired, and reached up to wipe his face. "Help me up."
They didn't linger.
Ozair was steady on his feet after a minute, and they moved through the store quickly, grabbing what was left on the list, not talking much, loading everything onto two of the large flatbed trolleys near the entrance.
The monster sat sealed and motionless in the center aisle.
They wheeled past it without slowing down. Neither of them mentioned it again, but neither of them put their backs to it either.
When the trolleys were full they pushed them out through the broken doors and onto the street.
The morning light had strengthened. The wild plants along the road swayed in a slow wind, their leaves catching the sun at odd angles.
The two of them pushed the loaded trolleys over cracked pavement and around patches of overgrowth, wheels rattling, not speaking much.
The quiet of the street was the comfortable kind, the kind that comes after something difficult has passed.
When Mayo's house came into view, Aryan was already standing in the doorway.
Arms folded. Still. Watching them come down the road with the expression of someone who had been watching the road for a while and wasn't going to admit it.
"You're late," Aryan said.
Ozair slowed as they got close. "Oh," he said. "Someone was worried."
"I wasn't worried," Aryan said immediately.
"You're standing in the doorway."
"I was getting air," Aryan said.
"Right."
Aryan looked away briefly, jaw tight. Then, "I wasn't concerned. That's never happening, especially for you."
"Sure," Ozair said.
"Okay, okay, calm down, you guys," Mayo said, "come on. Give me a hand with these, Aryan."
Aryan had already taken hold of one of the trolleys and was pulling it toward the door without further comment.
They brought everything inside in a few trips, stacking it in the hallway and kitchen while Mina and Elina looked up from the table.
Elina raised an eyebrow at the sheer volume of bags and boxes. "You brought enough to feed an army."
"An army?" Mayo dropped a bag by the wall. "Please. This is for me and maybe Ozair."
Ozair crossed his arms. "I carried most of it. Don't make it sound like a team effort."
"I helped—"
"'Helped' is generous—"
"Okay!" Mayo held his hands up. "I helped adequately. Final answer."
Mina shook her head, smiling. "You two better save your energy. We have more important things coming."
Toviro had been leaning against the far wall, quiet, watching them since they came in.
His eyes moved between Ozair and Mayo—not quickly, just carefully.
He looked at the cut on Ozair's head, and at the way Mayo was holding himself, the fine tension still in his shoulders.
"Why do you both look like something happened?"
Ozair blinked. He glanced at Mayo. Mayo had the expression of someone reviewing their options.
"Nothing happened," Ozair said.
"He's right," Mayo said. "We're perfectly fine."
Toviro turned to Mayo. Mayo studied the floor.
Then Toviro shifted to Ozair, who had suddenly started whistling.
A beat passed.
"I'm making breakfast," Mina said, and moved to the kitchen. The moment broke. Elina followed her.
The room exhaled.
—
Breakfast was warm and unhurried, eggs, bread, the last of the fruit, tea that Mina made strong and poured without asking who wanted it because everyone did.
They sat around the table and ate, and for a little while the only sounds were plates and spoons and the occasional comment about the food.
Then Toviro swallowed a large bite, set down his cup, and said, "Today, we handle everything that's left."
They looked at him.
"Pack clothes. Food and supplies. We'll need a vehicle." He looked around the table.
"We should have moved days ago. Every hour we wait brings the waters closer."
Aryan nodded. "Vehicle first. Without it we can't go anywhere."
"Clothes too," Elina added. "Practical ones. Not what we've been wearing."
Mina was already thinking. "And we pack what we have here—food, medical supplies, anything that travels."
"Right." Toviro looked around the table and split them without ceremony.
"Elina, Aryan, you two handle clothing. Don't take much, and don't take anything fancy. Just make sure it's durable and comfortable, and enough for all of us." He turned.
"Mom, Ozair—you guys pack the supplies. Food, drinks, and whatever's essential." He turned to Mayo.
Mayo sat up slightly. "And me?"
Toviro looked at him.
"You," he said, "don't do anything."
"What?"
Aryan turned away, holding his laugh. Ozair pressed a fist to his mouth.
"Come on," Mayo said, "that's not—"
"He's right, though," Ozair said, losing the battle with his expression entirely. "You know he's right."
"You can't do anything properly," Aryan said, and he and Ozair looked at each other and started laughing, not meanly, just honestly, the way people do when something is simply true.
Mayo sat back in his chair and made a face, eyes slightly closed, mouth flat, the expression of someone who is not angry, not even really offended, just profoundly done with the people around him and also aware they have a point.
Mina said nothing. Neither did Elina. Neither did Toviro. They just looked somewhere else, which was the loudest possible agreement.
"And I," Toviro continued, "will find us a vehicle."
Mayo looked at him. "So your job is the most important one, mine is nothing, and everyone else does the actual work."
"Correct."
"Great. Love that for me."
"Last one," Toviro said, standing, "we leave tomorrow." He looked at all of them, at the table, at the food, at the warm and ordinary room around them.
His voice was steady. "Rest while you can. It won't look like this for a while."
They sat with that for a moment.
Then chairs scraped back, cups were drained, and one by one they moved, toward their tasks, toward the afternoon, toward everything waiting for them on the other side of tomorrow.