There was a theory that cities could not truly die, that even in ruin, stone and memory clung to something like life. Whoever believed that had never watched their city get eaten literally by monsters. Ours was chewed up and spat out in a single night. Now, it was nothing but twisted metal and crumbled stone, the air thick with smoke, dust, and the very distinct, not-at-all-charming scent of roasted limbs and melted hopes.
I stood at the edge of what had once been Market Street, now a graveyard of toppled stalls and crushed dreams. Screams echoed from somewhere close, or maybe far I'd long since lost my sense of direction, or perhaps it had decided to flee before I did. Beside me, my parents and older brother clung to each other, glancing at me only when I dared to breathe too loudly, as if even the act of existing was an inconvenience I'd forced on them.
Monsters roamed the ruins, hulking shadows with too many teeth and not enough morals. Their eyes glinted in the firelight, pale and cold and hungry. We were just another snack to them. Well, I was. My family, on the other hand, could actually fight back spells, swords, all those things you need to not die in a world like ours. Me? I had… a nice personality. Which, as it turned out, was not very helpful in a siege.
We hadn't eaten in days. Correction: I hadn't eaten in days. My parents and brother shared what scraps they could scrounge, and I watched them chew with all the envy of a starving squirrel watching a buffet. When I'd asked, just once, for a bite, my brother looked at me like I'd asked for his soul. "You want to survive? Earn it," he'd said, flinging a bone in my direction. It missed me by a good two meters, which was as close as I'd ever come to being cared for by him.
Now, as another night settled in if you could call this choking, burning twilight "night" we huddled against a broken wall. I tried to make myself invisible. It wasn't difficult. My existence had been unremarkable since the day I was born. No magic, no sword skills, not even the ability to throw a rock with any accuracy. My one talent was being ignored, and if the monsters cared about social cues, I might have survived.
A low, earth-shaking growl rolled over the rubble, making the stones vibrate under my bare feet. I froze. My mother hissed, "Get down, you idiot!" Not "Are you okay?" or "Don't worry, we'll protect you." Just the familiar, loving tone of someone deeply annoyed that I was still alive.
We crouched behind the remains of a burned-out bakery. The smell of charred bread clung to the bricks. If irony was a flavor, it would taste like this: hiding for your life in the ruins of a place you weren't allowed to enter when it was still standing.
"Is it coming closer?" whispered my father. His face was smeared with dirt and ash, hair wild and eyes wide. He looked like a haunted scarecrow."Shut up, it'll hear you," my brother snapped. He glanced at me, then at my parents, then back at me. His gaze was sharp and calculating the way you look at a chess piece you're about to sacrifice for something better.
I felt it before I saw it: the monster. A blur of claws, fangs, and fur barreled through the street, knocking over a lamppost as if it were a child's toy. It was big. Very big. Big enough to eat a family whole, and still have room for dessert.
My heart hammered. I pressed myself against the wall, barely breathing. Please, I thought, let it go away. Let me live, just this once. It wasn't even a very ambitious wish.
The monster skidded to a halt, sniffed the air, and turned its glowing eyes directly at us."Run!" my mother shrieked.
Adrenaline hit me like a slap. I scrambled to my feet, slipped on a patch of ash, and nearly fell face-first into a pile of debris. Behind me, my family surged forward not to help, not even to warn, just to get away faster. My brother pushed past me so hard my shoulder cracked against the bricks.
We tore through the ruins, the beast howling as it followed. My lungs burned. My legs shook. Hunger gnawed at my insides, but fear was stronger. I ran. I ran like I'd never run in my life.
My brother, blessed with the family's talent for magic, flicked his fingers and a wall of flame sprang up behind us. The monster howled and faltered, giving us a precious few seconds to escape. We ducked into the remains of a warehouse, the stench of old fish making my stomach lurch.
We huddled in the shadows. My brother peered out, watching as the monster circled, then lumbered away. He let out a shaky breath. My mother wiped her forehead, leaving a streak of blood and dirt.
"Did we lose it?" I whispered, voice hoarse.
"Shut up," my father growled. "If it comes back, it'll be your fault."
I stared at them. My fault? Did they seriously believe the universe revolved around me, or were they just looking for someone to blame so they wouldn't have to hate themselves?
A tense silence settled, broken only by the distant roar of another monster, or maybe the city finally giving up and collapsing into the sea.
Then my mother spoke, voice cold and perfectly clear. "We need a distraction. Something to keep it busy so we can escape."
My brother's eyes lit up never a good sign. "We need bait," he said, grinning in that way people grin when they've just come up with something clever and cruel.
For a split second, I thought maybe they would offer to fight, or come up with a plan that didn't involve someone getting eaten. But I forgot who I was dealing with.
"Let's vote," my father said, as if we were deciding on dinner, not a human sacrifice.
"I vote Arielle," my brother said instantly.
"Same," said my mother, not missing a beat.
My father looked at me, shrugged, and said, "Unanimous." He didn't even try to look sorry.
For a moment, my mind went blank. I opened my mouth, tried to say something anything but my brother was already moving. With a cruel little smile, he raised his hand. Magic crackled around his fingers, forming invisible bands that snaked around my wrists and ankles, pinning me in place.
I struggled, but it was useless. I wasn't strong enough to break his hold. I'd never been strong enough. That was the point, wasn't it? That was the joke.
"Sorry, Arielle," my mother said. "It's you or us. And frankly, you've always been more trouble than you're worth."
"Try not to die too quickly," my father added, as if that would somehow make this less horrific.
With a single, savage push, my brother shoved me through the broken door and out into the open street.
The world was suddenly very, very large, and very, very empty, except for the monsters. They lifted their heads, sniffed the air, and began to move.
I tried to run. Of course I did. My legs wouldn't cooperate. I stumbled forward, heart in my throat, panic rising in my chest. I was so hungry, so tired, so angry more angry than afraid, now that the end was here.
My family vanished into the shadows behind me, already gone. They didn't even wait to see if I died. Maybe they didn't care. Maybe they hoped I'd make it, just so they could blame me again.
The monsters closed in. One leaped a blur of fur and fangs. I ducked, barely dodged its claws, and landed hard on my knees.
So this was it. This was how it ended. Not with a heroic last stand, not with a dramatic sacrifice, but as the world's most pathetic decoy. The punchline of a joke only my family thought was funny.
I looked at the monsters circling me. I looked at the sky, choked with smoke and fire.
And I thought, If I ever see those bastards again, I'm going to kill them. I'll kill them all. And I'll make sure it hurts.
The monsters charged. I screamed, not for help because who would come? but because I was angry, furious at the world, my family, myself. The sound echoed, raw and desperate, swallowed by the ruins.
And then, with a snap of teeth and a rush of darkness, everything ended.
Or so I thought.