Cooldown

Seth opened his eyes. At first, he couldn't see anything. Just a blurry fog, as if he were underwater. The only thing he could hear was a rumbling, buzzing sound.

Buzzzzz...

It was a constant, high-pitched sound coming from inside his own ears. It was as if his brain were vibrating, trying to recover from the blow. The buzzing enveloped him, filling his head.

With a gasp, he sat up frantically, placing his hand on the floor to help himself up.

But instead of the solidity of concrete, his fingers sank into something cold, thick, and wet.

"Ah...!" he shook his hand. "The beast's blood?!"

He followed the trail with his eyes. A few steps away lay a severed tentacle, black and twisted, still twitching faintly. That was where the puddle had come from.

Then he looked up beyond it, to where the bridge connecting the buildings should have been.

There was no bridge.

Only twisted pieces of metal and concrete hung in the void, and a vast, jagged hole revealed the lower floors. A cold wind rose from the abyss, whistling through the debris.

"Is it over...?"

The memory then hit him with the physical force of an explosion.

It wasn't just a thought; it was a rush of sensations that returned to his body: the blinding flash, the scorching heat on his skin, the shockwave that threw him like a rag doll, the roar of the beast being engulfed by fire and smoke.

"...AN EXPLOSION!"

His own voice, screaming in his head.

"I'm still alive..." he murmured, almost breathless. "Now I have to get out of here."

He tried to stand up, and a sharp pain shot through his right leg from his ankle to his knee. The impact of the fall. With a growl, he forced himself to endure it.

Limping, dragging his injured foot, he took a few steps across the debris-strewn rooftop. His eyes scanned the ground until they found what he was looking for: his Rem pistol, lying near where he had fallen.

He bent down, with difficulty, and picked it up. The metal was hot to the touch, almost burning. The memory came back immediately, as vivid as a recurring dream:

"This is the only thing I can do now...!"

He pressed the cartridge release button.

The empty bullet cylinder popped out with a metallic click.

He held it up to the pale daylight. It was utterly worn out.

"Empty..." he whispered, and a dry, humorless laugh escaped his throat. "Actually... I only had one bullet left."

He dropped the empty cartridge, which clattered to the floor, and put the gun back in its holster.

It was useless now.

It was just dead weight.

His gaze then searched for a reference point, something that would tell him where he was. On a nearby wall, half covered by a smoke stain, he saw a sign painted with peeling letters:

FLOOR 8—Tower B

He was in the second tower of the university.

He had survived the fall, the explosion.

But he wasn't safe.

Moving awkwardly due to the pain, he took a bandage from his emergency kit and wrapped it tightly around his ankle.

It wasn't a cure, just something to immobilize it a little so he could keep moving. Each pull of the bandage made him grit his teeth, but he didn't complain out loud.

I never thought I'd have to face that thing, he thought, as he tested his weight on his bandaged foot.

A dull pain, but manageable.

Now I have to keep moving. This is almost over... He headed for the roof exit, a half-detached metal door leading to the building's internal staircase.

He pushed it with his shoulder, making the rusty hinges creak, and went inside.

Inside, it was almost entirely dark.

The corridors of the abandoned building were plunged into darkness, broken only by rays of light filtering through the broken windows, illuminating the dust floating in the air like a swarm.

I just have to get to the roof of this building, he repeated to himself.

Just to the roof, deploy the flare, and wait.

Then this nightmare will be over.

He began to climb the stairs. Each step was an effort. His breathing was audible in the overwhelming silence, ragged and tired. Step by step, clutching the cold, dusty handrail, dragging his body to the limit.

Time lost all meaning; only the next step, the next landing, existed.

Until, halfway between the 10th and 11th floors, a sound paralyzed him.

SCRAAAATCH.

He stopped dead in his tracks and quickly hid.

It can't be... not now!

There was a slow, metallic scraping sound, like nails dragging across concrete.

It was coming from right above him.

Very carefully, he peeked his head out to look up at the intersection above.

There it was.

A hybrid. It wasn't as big as the Jorō he had faced before, but its shape was just as distorted: arms that were too long, a twisted head, a mouth full of irregular teeth.

It had its back to him, scratching the wall with one of its claws, as if it were marking something or looking for something.

It was blocking the only way up.

Seth shook his head, clenching his fists.

No, this is no time to freeze up.

I'm getting out of here, no matter what.

He watched carefully as the hybrid approached the window.

Come on... just a little more...

Seth crouched down, his leg muscles tensing despite the pain.

The distance between him and the hybrid—three, maybe four steps.

He waited, watching for the exact moment when the hybrid was close enough to the edge, off balance enough.

NOW!

He lunged.

WHAM!

His body slammed into the hybrid's back with all the strength he had left. The monster let out a surprised growl, and they both fell forward, struggling.

GRRUUUAAASHH!

The hybrid was stronger. Its claws sought Seth, its jaws snapping close to his neck. Seth could feel its hot, rotten breath on his face.

"Ag-agh!!" Seth managed to wrap one arm around the monster's neck, squeezing with all his might. With his other hand, he pushed its head to one side.

The hybrid lost its balance for a moment. That was all Seth needed.

CRASH!

With one last desperate effort, Seth spun him around and pushed him with all his weight toward the window.

The old, dirty glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

The hybrid, his arms flailing in the air, had nothing to grab onto. His body vanished into the void without a sound, and a few seconds later, a distant thud confirmed his fall.

Seth stood panting, leaning against the window frame, staring down. The cold wind whipped his face, mixed with glass dust.

"...I'm getting out of here no matter what," he muttered to himself, with a determination that came from somewhere deep, beyond fear and exhaustion.

He didn't look back. He turned and continued climbing.

The internal stairs finally led him to a heavy metal door marked with a rusty sign:

13th FLOOR. ROOF ACCESS.

It was scratched and dirty, but the letters were legible, next to the exit.

One more floor. Just one!

Each step on those last few stairs was not just a physical movement; it was a heartbeat of hope.

It brought with it the promise of survival.

Survival in this building that, even in broad daylight, hid a darkness that seemed endless.

Survival in the mission that had begun as an opportunity and had turned into a nightmare from which he could not wake up.

Survival from horrors that, in the adrenaline of the moment, his mind had not even been able to process yet.

Gasping for breath and with his body at its limit, he pushed open the heavy door to the roof.

FWOOOOSH.

A strong, clean wind hit his face, carrying away the smell of rot and dust for a second. And then, he saw the city.

Hibūra stretched out before him, immense, indifferent, shining.

From this height, the glass and steel towers of the 117th floor and above glistened in the sun.

It seemed like a different world, separated by an abyss from the 118th floor where he stood.

The view was dazzling, almost painful after so much darkness.

"I did it..." he whispered, and this time his voice came out broken, charged with an emotion he couldn't name. "I finally did it."

With trembling hands, he took the emergency flare out of his backpack. It was a thick, bright orange tube.

He found the activation ring and pulled it.

A sharp crack, then a hiss. A spark, and suddenly, a thick spiral of intense orange smoke began to pour out of the tube, rising toward the gray sky in a perfect, straight column visible for miles around.

He held it high, shaking it so the smoke would flow better.

"Now I just have to wait..." He exhaled deeply, watching the smoke rise, snaking against the wind.

It was his signal.

Someone had to see it. They had to see it.