The night sky was crying.
Rain poured from above like the heavens had opened, washing the filth of the world down empty streets and broken alleys. Neon lights flickered weakly through the fog, bending in puddles like dying stars. And somewhere in the heart of the city, beneath a world too loud, too bright, too alive—
A man ran.
Barefoot. Shirtless. Blood smeared across his skin like war paint. His breaths came in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling, steam curling off his back from the heat of battle that still clung to his skin.
His hair was soaked, sticking to his forehead. His eyes, golden and strange, darted around like a cornered animal. His body screamed in exhaustion, but he kept moving. To survive in a new land or perhaps old Land.
Behind him, the lab was gone — torn open like a rotten fruit. Sirens wailed somewhere far off, swallowed by the storm.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't even know what this world was called.
But he was alive.
And life… was colder than he expected.
****
He slipped into a narrow alley between two buildings, stepping over trash bags and broken bottles. The city reeked of oil, rust, and something worse. The smell of people. The smell of fear.
A car passed by on the street. The driver slowed when they saw him, then sped up.
A man smoking by a corner store caught sight of him and muttered something in a language he didn't understand. Then came the anger — the shouting — the shaking of fists.
He didn't fight back. He just walked.
People didn't see a man. They saw a monster.
And maybe… he didn't blame them.
****
He found a crumbling stairwell in the side of a run-down building. It led to nothing — just a dead end. But it was dry. Quiet. Hidden.
He crouched in the corner, wrapping his arms around his knees, watching the rain dance on the sidewalk.
His stomach growled.
His eyes were heavy.
His hands… still trembled.
"I fought creatures that broke mountains… gods with fire in their blood…"
"And now… I can't even find a place to sleep."
His head dropped forward. Water dripped from his hair. The world had become too big, too strange, too alive. It was overwhelming. All he had known were cold walls, metal floors, and pain from endless battles.
Out here, everything hurt in a different way.
****
And then… he saw a girl.
She was small — thin legs, scratched knees, a limp in her step. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her clothes were soaked through, barely enough to keep out the cold. She had a torn schoolbag clutched tight to her chest and without any shoe on.
But her eyes… they were sharp.
Fierce.
Unmoving.
She walked with her head up, even as the storm pushed her down. Even as the wind tugged at her sleeves and the world ignored her.
He watched her pass by the alley.
She stopped.
Turned.
And looked right at him.
****
For a second, he held his breath.
She wasn't afraid. Not like the others. Her gaze didn't flinch.
Slowly, carefully, she stepped closer.
From her bag, she pulled out something small — wrapped in tissue, crushed from the weight of books and water. Bread. Half-eaten. Damp.
She stepped into the alley. The water splashed around her socks.
He didn't move. Didn't know if he should.
She stood in front of him and said something soft. Something he didn't understand. Her voice was quiet — the kind you use for birds or broken things.
Then she crouched and held out the bread.
He blinked.
She smiled.
Not wide. Not bright.
But real.
****
He stared at the bread. Then at her hand.
His fingers twitched.
He didn't need food. Not really. His body was different now. Stronger. Beyond human.
But still… his chest ached.
"No one's ever… offered me anything."
She tilted her head and tried again — this time, pointing at him, then at the bread, then to her mouth.
She was trying to talk without words. Sign language. Simple gestures. Child logic.
It worked.
Slowly, he copied her movements — clumsy, but enough to show her that he understood.
Her eyes lit up a little.
She said something else — maybe his name? Maybe hers?
But he didn't answer. He didn't know how.
They sat in silence for a while. The rain softened.
She sat beside him under the cracked stairwell, legs pulled close, head against the wall. Her bag was soaked through. Her fingers were cold. But she didn't complain.
He watched her closely. Every breath. Every twitch of her hand.
This girl… she had nothing.
And yet she gave.
****
"She's not strong like me," he thought.
"She's probably hungry too."
"Because she kept walking."
"Even when it hurt."
"Even when the world forgot she existed."
He stood slowly.
She looked up at him.
His shadow loomed over her — tall, dark, soaked in rain. Anyone else might have run.
But she didn't move.
She didn't flinch.
He looked at his hands — rough, scarred, built for breaking.
Then he looked back at her.
And for the first time in a long, long while—
He didn't want to destroy.
He wanted to protect.
He knelt down.
Met her eyes.
Held out his hand.
No words. Just a gesture.
An invitation.
Come with me.
You won't be alone again.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then her small hand reached forward.
And she took it.
****
They walked into the night together.
One with nothing to offer, and one with nothing left.
A broken man. A tired girl. Two strangers bound by rain, hunger, and a single silent promise.
To be continued...