I’ll Level Up So My Friends Don’t Die

The girl ran.

Barefoot, face smeared with soot, dress torn down one side. Just a kid — maybe seven, maybe eight — darting through the wreckage like the world wasn't crumbling around her. She looked back once, eyes wide with panic, before disappearing into smoke.

My legs moved before my brain did. I pushed through the wreckage, shoulder-checking a burning doorframe out of the way. Flames licked the street to my left, and a collapsed bus to the right shuddered like something inside it was still alive. I didn't care.

"Hey! Stop!" I shouted, already coughing. "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

She didn't stop.

I ran harder.

A hound phased through a wall to my right, teeth first, and I barely had time to react — spun with my pipe and cracked its skull mid-leap. It screeched, de-materialized, and vanished into the floor like smoke.

The girl screamed.

I chased the sound, leapt over a cracked divider, and caught sight of her again — this time stumbling as her foot caught on a loose wire. She fell hard, scraped her hands, tried to scramble back to her feet. I got to her before anything else did.

"It's okay," I said, dropping to a knee beside her. "I've got you."

She flinched, eyes darting over my uniform, the weapon, the blood. I wasn't much of a comfort, I knew. But I offered my hand.

She took it.

We ran.

Together, we weaved through broken streets and collapsed cars. I pulled her behind me, one arm shielding her every time an explosion rang out nearby or something unexplainable tore through a nearby building. My body ached. My wounds from earlier screamed. But I didn't stop.

She was crying, but quiet about it. Brave. That kind of bravery that kids shouldn't need to have.

"You got a name?" I asked as we ducked under a fallen archway.

She hesitated. Then: "Mari."

I nodded, forcing a breath through gritted teeth. "Alright, Mari. Stick with me. We're getting out of this."

I didn't know if it was true. But I said it like it was.

We ducked into what was left of a corner store — the kind that used to sell snacks and cheap drinks, now just a ruin of bent shelves and cracked tiles. Half the ceiling was gone, letting in slashes of red sky. The other half looked like it might fall if the wind pushed too hard.

But it was shelter. For now.

I eased Mari down behind a fallen checkout counter, then turned to the shattered doorway. I grabbed what rubble I could find — a twisted signpost, broken concrete, an old display rack — and dragged it in front of the opening. It wouldn't stop a monster, not really, but it might make one hesitate. Buy us a second.

My hands were shaking.

I sat down across from her, back against the counter, pipe still in my lap. Blood soaked through my shirt from where I'd taken a hit earlier. My shoulder throbbed. My leg was stiff. But I was alive. So was she.

Mari watched me with wide eyes. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Dirt streaked her face. She hadn't said anything since we got inside.

Then softly, barely above a whisper: "Are you a hero?"

I didn't answer.

What was I supposed to say?

I wasn't a hero. I was a thief. I was a reject. I was the kind of person who ran from fights, not into them. Or at least, I used to be.

Instead, I reached into the supply pouch they'd given us before the drop and pulled out a sealed water pack. Tore it open with my teeth and handed it to her.

She took it with both hands like it was gold. Drank slow. Careful.

"Thank you," she said.

I nodded.

She looked up at me, eyes brighter now — hopeful, somehow — and said, "You saved me."

I didn't say anything.

I just leaned my head back against the counter, staring at the hole in the ceiling, trying to pretend my ribs didn't feel like they were grinding together.

Trying not to think about how long this silence would last.

The silence didn't last.

It never does.

CRASH.

The wall behind us exploded inward, plaster and concrete spraying like shrapnel. I barely had time to throw myself over Mari before the thing lunged in — all claws and hunger and shrieking void. A crawler.

She screamed. A sound I'll never forget.

I rolled, shoving her away, pipe already in my hand. The crawler skittered over broken tiles, its movements jerky and wrong, phasing half in and out of the floor like it hadn't decided if it belonged to this world.

I didn't think.

I just moved.

I drove the pipe straight into its open mouth as it leapt, caught it mid-air. The force knocked me back against a shelf, but I didn't let go. I roared and ripped the pipe free, blood — black, thick — splashing across my face.

It thrashed. Hissed.

I slammed it again. And again.

It shrieked.

Mari was curled against the far wall, hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror.

I stepped between her and the crawler.

And I didn't stop.

Even after it stopped moving, I kept swinging. My arms burned. My breath came in ragged bursts. But I didn't stop.

The pipe hit bone. Cracked it.

Hit again. Splintered.

Again. Again.

I don't know how long it lasted — five seconds, ten — maybe longer. Time was smoke. My vision tunneled.

Finally, I dropped the pipe.

It clanged to the floor, slick with blood and something worse.

The crawler's body was a mess of ruin. Just meat now.

I looked at Mari.

She was still staring.

And for a moment, I thought she might be afraid of me.

I turned to check on her.

She was slumped against the wall. Still. Too still.

"Mari?"

No answer.

I crawled over, knees scraping through dust and glass, and gently touched her shoulder.

Her head lolled to the side.

That's when I saw it — the gash across her neck. Deep. Clean. She must've caught it when the wall came down. Or maybe... maybe the crawler got to her before I did.

She hadn't screamed because she was afraid.

She'd screamed because she knew.

"No, no, no—" I pressed my hand to the wound, stupid, automatic. Blood slicked my fingers, warm and already cooling. Her eyes were open, but not seeing.

The words were still ringing in my ears.

You saved me.

She'd smiled when she said it.

Now her face was frozen, lips parted, like the words might still be trying to crawl out.

My body gave up. I slid down next to her, pipe clattering uselessly away. My hands shook. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

I didn't scream.

I couldn't.

My system flickered across my vision, still trying to calibrate something — blood pressure, sync levels, metabolic rates — like any of it mattered.

[SYNC LEVEL HOLDING… 63%]

[TRAUMA SPIKE DETECTED]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: DECOMPRESS]

Shut up. Shut up.

I closed my eyes.

And I was back there again.

Back in the dark.

The mansion burning.

Eli's fists pounding on the other side of the locked door.

His voice — raw and terrified — screaming my name.

Me, standing there. Frozen.

Too late.

Too weak.

Too afraid.

The fire roared. The wood cracked.

Now Mari is gone too.

Because I wasn't fast enough.

Because I wasn't strong enough.

Because this world doesn't care.

And still — deep under all of it — that same voice whispered again.

Get stronger.

I sat in the dust beside Mari's body, the silence louder than any explosion. The heat of the burning district pressed in from all sides, smoke curling like fingers through the broken walls. Somewhere, far off, gunfire rattled. But here — in this ruined shelter — everything had stopped.

Her small hand still rested near mine. A thank-you frozen in time.

My breath shook. My pulse thundered.

I couldn't protect her.

Just like Eli.

My fists clenched, knuckles white and blood-slicked.

No more.

No more running.

No more weakness.

If power is the price —

I'll pay for it.

All of it.

And from beyond the shattered walls, a new roar cut through the flames. Something massive. Something hunting.

I stood. And I moved toward it.