The Fool’s Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse

Harry felt it before he saw it—a deep, guttural tremor that rolled through the ground like a heartbeat from hell. His bones vibrated with it, a primal warning system screaming at him to run.

"Oh, come on," he muttered.

The ground exploded.

A massive tendril, glistening and spiked, shot up from the earth with terrifying speed. Dirt and rock showered the battlefield as the monstrous appendage lashed out wildly, snatching at anything that moved. For a brief, hopeful second, Harry thought maybe—just maybe—it was on their side, because the first victims were the Jonkeys.

But there was no such luck.

The nimble creatures dodged easily, leaping and twisting through the air with mocking grace. The tendril slammed into the ground, then burst up again somewhere else, thrashing, searching.

Then it stopped.

Like a predator catching the scent of something better.

The sunlight faded, swallowed by dark clouds that hadn't been there moments ago.

"Don't tell me..."

Harry swallowed hard.

This thing didn't fear the dark.

So now - it wasn't afraid of anything.

With a sound like wet meat tearing apart, the rest of the monster emerged. More tendrils slithered out, writhing and snapping. A grotesque, pulsing mass rose from the earth, slick and glistening as though it had been birthed straight from the planet's rotting core. It heaved once, twice—then released a deep, guttural growl that vibrated in Harry's ribs.

And just like that, the battlefield wasn't about the Grimlings or the Jonkeys anymore.

It was about them.

Jess's desperate voice rang through the chaos. "MOVE! MOVE!"

"Shoot-!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

Panic overtook the group.

Shouts, screams, and the dull, sickening sounds of bodies colliding filled the air as survival instincts shattered any semblance of order. Someone shoved past him, nearly sending him to the ground. Another tripped—Harry had no idea if they got back up.

A projectile whizzed past his head. He had no idea which enemy had thrown it. Didn't matter. Everything was trying to kill them.

"This is bad," he muttered. "This is really, really bad."

The Grimlings screeched and dove from above, talons flashing. The Jonkeys roared, hurling stones the size of his head. The tentacle monster—because really, what else was he supposed to call it?—swung its spiked appendages with terrifying speed.

They were still a hundred meters from the fortress.

Harry's lungs burned, every breath ragged and sharp. He kept running. He didn't have a choice.

Then, up ahead, someone screamed—a short, terrified sound that was cut off too quickly. A Grimling had snatched them. Another person was struck by a Jonkey's projectile, their body crumpling like a broken doll.

'Don't look, don't look....'

Harry forced himself not to look, his heart beating faster, his guilty consciousness stabbing him nonstop.

'Don't think about it. Just keep running.'

The fortress loomed closer, impossibly high and solid, a beacon of hope in the middle of this hellscape.

Then they reached it.

And as expected - there was no entrance.

No gate. No ladder. No conveniently placed rope hanging from a tower.

Just smooth, unbroken stone.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Harry gasped.

Some people clawed at the walls in desperation. Others collapsed to their knees, sobbing. A few sprinted along the base, searching for something—anything—that would let them in.

Jess and Darrow stood apart from the panic, eyes sharp, scanning.

"Huf, Huf..."

Harry braced his hands on his knees, forcing his breath to steady. He turned back toward the battlefield.

The Grimlings were closing in, talons outstretched. The Jonkeys barreled forward, howling as they hurled another volley of stones. And the tendrils—oh, the freaking tendrils—sliced through the air like living whips.

This was it.

Then he saw her.

A small figure in the chaos, barely standing, her thin legs trembling. She turned, stumbled, and fell.

She was just a child.

A boy near the wall screamed her name. "LILY!"

The kid—her brother, maybe?—was pale, shaking, his arms outstretched. "Lily, GET UP! RUN!"

But she couldn't. She was too scared. Too small. 

"Urgh..."

Harry clenched his jaw.

No.

He forced himself to look away.

She wasn't his responsibility.

'Don't look... Don't look...'

Survival first. The mission first. His life first.

'Darn it.'

His legs moved before his brain could stop them.

"Damn it, boy!" Jess's voice cut through the air, but she was too far away to stop him.

Harry bolted.

He dodged projectiles with clumsy movements, weaved between the chaos like a drunkard, his breath coming in short and burning gasps.

"LILY!" he shouted. "GET DOWN!"

The girl turned, eyes wide with terror.

Harry reached her, scooping her up in one motion, nearly losing his balance.

"I've got you, kid," he muttered, forcing a grin as he dodge another 'bullet'. "But we gotta work on your running skills later."

"Bro-Hick!"

She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Harry!" Tim's shouted from the wall, panicked. "RUN!"

"NO KIDDING!" Harry shot back.

A tendril slammed down inches away, shaking the ground. The Jonkeys roared. The Grimlings shrieked.

"Hold on tight," he whispered.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the only weapon he had left.

A kitchen stife.

A stupid, small, insignificant knife.

With all his might, he hurled it at the nearest tendril.

It bounced off harmlessly.

The tendril recoiled slightly.

Harry grinned. "See? Brains and brawn!"

The tendril lashed toward him with twice the speed.

"Oh, COME ON!"

The last few meters to the fortress were a blur of pain and adrenaline. He shoved the girl toward her brother, who was barely caught by Tim who arrived in time.

SWOOOSH-!

Before he could catch his breath, the battlefield erupted in fire.

Light burst forth from the top of the walls, illuminating the battlefield as fireballs streaked toward the monsters. Arrows followed, glowing with enchantments—flames, ice, lightning—each finding their mark with deadly precision. 

"Oq Uz!"

"Oldir!"

Voices shouted in a language he didn't recognize.

Figures stood silhouetted against the firelight, moving with calm, lethal precision.

They were saved.

Swoosh-!

"Shoot-! Jinxed it!"

A tendril struck the ground beside him, throwing him off balance. Another lashed out, too fast to dodge.

It slammed into his chest.

The impact sent him flying.

His lungs seized. The world tilted.

He hit the ground hard.

Pain flared, white-hot and unbearable.

"Cough-!"

He coughed, tasting blood.

"...hurts..."

His vision blurred.

Above him, the tendrils loomed.

Harry forced a weak smile, his voice barely a whisper.

"..this…sucks."

Then something moved in the sky.

A shadow, falling fast.

The tendrils struck—but the figure dodged, impossibly fast.

Harry's fading vision caught a flash of eyes, calm and unreadable.

A weapon gleamed in the firelight.

'Cool...'

Then everything went dark.