I stood in my room, staring at my phone, scrolling through messages about the meteor shower. My fingers hovered over the screen. Something gnawed at my gut—an unease I couldn't shake.
Then the power cut out.
Everything died at once.
The lights. The streetlamps. The city.
Even the sounds of traffic outside—gone.
A heavy pressure settled over me, thick and suffocating. The kind that makes your skin crawl, that makes your instincts scream.
Then I heard it.
A low, guttural sound, too close.
I turned.
And it was there.
Tall. Twisted. A shape that barely held itself together. Its limbs flickered, glitching in and out of reality. The thing didn't move—it jerked forward, like frames missing in a video.
I couldn't breathe.
No face. No eyes. No breath.
Just a shifting hole in the shape of a man.
My legs finally reacted. I ran.
I crashed through my bedroom door, slamming it behind me. A second later—
BANG.
The wood buckled, the whole frame bending inward.
Another hit and the entire doorframe warped—as if the laws of reality no longer applied.
I didn't wait for a third.
I tore through the hallway, down the stairs. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Then I saw the window.
And the world outside—
Was falling apart.
Blackness poured from the sky, thick and endless, like ink swallowing the stars. The streetlights remained dead, leaving only the glow of phone screens and car headlights.
Then, one by one—
The screams began.
It started distant—muffled cries, the crunch of glass. Then closer. Louder. A horn blared and was cut off mid-sound.
Figures moved in the streets. Some ran. Others… didn't.
Shapes emerged from the darkness. Not just one. Dozens. Hundreds.
They crawled from the alleys, from the rooftops, from the shadows themselves. Some staggered, barely human in shape. Others slithered. Some had too many limbs.
And then—they attacked.
The first to die was a man across the street. One of the creatures lunged, its arms bending in ways that weren't possible. The man **screamed—**then he wasn't there anymore. Just a smear of static and dust.
People ran. Cars slammed into each other. Someone tripped.
The creatures didn't just kill.
They erased.
I stumbled backward, my legs weak, my breath sharp and ragged. The black sky twisted, shifting, writhing like a living thing.
I had to get out.
I sprinted for the back door. My fingers barely grazed the handle when—
A hand shot through the glass.
No.
Not a hand.
Something worse.
It was wrong, the shape only vaguely human. Too many joints. Too many angles. Its fingers twitched, flickering, like reality itself was rejecting its existence.
It lunged.
I threw myself backward, tumbling onto the floor. The thing jerked through the broken doorframe, pulling itself into the kitchen, its head twisting too far to the side, locking onto me—
I ran.
I didn't think. Didn't stop.
I burst onto the street, into hell itself.
Screams tore through the night. People ran, pushing, shoving, trampling each other in blind panic. Some were dragged into the dark. Others—erased.
Shadows moved unnaturally, stretching like living things, wrapping around anything that got too close.
A child cried nearby. A woman tripped, scrambling to her feet. A man swung a tire iron at one of the creatures—only for his arm to vanish mid-swing, his body flickering out of existence.
I turned, my stomach twisting. I had to keep moving. Had to survive.
Then—
The sky ripped open.
A blinding golden light exploded through the darkness, splitting it apart like a blade through flesh.
And from that light—
They descended.
Not meteors.
Not salvation.
Maybe Angels.
They fell like comets, wreathed in burning radiance. Some had swords of light, others wielded nothing at all—because they didn't need weapons.
They were the weapons.
And the creatures screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
In denial.
As if their very existence was being rejected.
The first angel landed in the center of the street.
Six wings. A face too perfect to be human. Eyes that saw everything.
He looked at me.
And in a voice that shook the air, he spoke a single word—
"Run."