Apocalypse Bound: A Transmigrator's Fate

: Death and Awakening Pain arrived first. It tore through Maren Solace’s chest like a blade driven straight between her ribs. Metal screamed. Glass exploded inward. The world flipped once, then again, before everything stopped in a single, brutal silence. She tried to draw breath. Nothing came. The last thing she saw was the cracked windshield and a smear of red across the glass. Then the dark took her. Cold air touched her face. Maren’s eyes opened to a ceiling she did not recognize. Pale water stains spread across old plaster. The smell of dust and something sour hung in the room. Her heart slammed against her ribs as if it had only just remembered how to beat. She sat up too fast. The bed beneath her creaked. Thin sheets tangled around her legs. This was not the hospital. This was not the wreckage of her car. The room was small and plain. A single desk stood against the wall beneath a narrow window. Books and notebooks lay scattered across its surface. A half-empty water bottle sat beside a phone that looked several years out of date. Maren swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet touched cool wooden floorboards. The body that answered her commands felt wrong, lighter and smaller in the shoulders. The hands that rose in front of her face were slender, the nails short and unpainted. A faint scar crossed the left palm. She had never owned that scar. Outside the door, something heavy dragged along the hallway floor. Maren was afraid. The sound came again, closer this time. A low, wet growl followed it. She stood with her legs trembling. The room offered little in the way of weapons. A wooden chair sat near the desk. She lifted it, tested the weight, then snapped one of the legs free with a sharp crack that felt far too loud. The broken end was jagged. It would have to do. The doorknob turned. The lock held for only a second before the wood around it splintered. The door burst inward. The thing that stumbled through had once been a man. Gray skin hung loose on its bones. One eye was missing. The remaining eye rolled wildly as the creature fixed on her. Black fluid leaked from its mouth. Maren drove the broken chair leg forward with both hands. The jagged wood punched through the soft tissue beneath the creature’s jaw and kept going until it struck something harder. The body jerked. A thick, foul smell poured out of the wound. The creature’s hands clawed at her shoulders, tearing the thin fabric of the shirt she wore. She shoved harder. The thing collapsed, dragging her down with it. She landed on its chest, knees braced, and twisted the chair leg until the thrashing stopped. Silence returned, broken only by her own ragged breathing. Maren pulled the makeshift weapon free. Dark blood coated her hands and forearms. She stared at it. The sight should have broken her, instead a strange calm settled over her thoughts. She was alive. The body she now occupied still functioned. Whatever had happened between the crash and this moment, she had crossed some boundary that ordinary death did not allow. She wiped her hands on the dead creature’s shirt and rose. The previous owner of this body had kept a diary. She found it in the desk drawer, a simple notebook with a blue cover. The handwriting was neat and small. The last entry was dated that morning. Professor Lang cancelled the afternoon seminar. I should feel relieved, instead I keep checking the news. People are saying the flu is worse than they admitted. Mother called again. She wants me to come home this weekend. I told her I have exams. The truth is I cannot face another argument about my future. I will stay here. It is quiet here. The page ended there. No further entries existed. Maren closed the notebook. The previous Maren Solace had been quiet, careful, and alone. That version of her would not have survived the next ten minutes. The new occupant of the body intended to do better. She searched the room with methodical speed. A backpack hung on the back of the door. She filled it with the water bottle, a half-eaten protein bar, a small first-aid kit from the bathroom, and the diary. The phone refused to connect to any network. The battery symbol showed less than twenty percent. She turned it off to save what little power remained. A short kitchen knife from the drawer joined the broken chair leg in her grip. The knife was better. She kept both. Footsteps returned to the hallway. Heavier this time. More than one set. The wet dragging sound had multiplied. Maren pressed her ear to the wall beside the broken door. At least three distinct sources moved through the corridor. One of them stopped directly outside. A hand, or what remained of a hand, scraped along the ruined wood. She looked at the window. The drop to the fire escape was only one floor. She could make it. The problem was the noise she would create. The creatures in the hallway would hear the glass. They would follow. She needed a distraction or a faster route. The ceiling above her head creaked. Someone, or something, was moving in the apartment directly overhead. Dust sifted down from the light fixture. Maren stepped back. The creaking stopped. A new sound replaced it. Slow, deliberate footsteps crossed the floor above, heading toward the same side of the building where her window sat. Whoever or whatever walked up there knew the layout. Maren tightened her grip on the knife. She moved to the window, unlocked it, and pushed the glass upward as quietly as the old frame allowed. Cool evening air rushed in. The fire escape waited three feet below the sill. Behind her, the ruined door shuddered under fresh impact. Wood cracked. At the same moment, the ceiling panel nearest the window bowed downward under sudden weight. Maren swung one leg over the sill. The door gave way completely. Two creatures forced themselves through the gap, mouths open, black fluid dripping onto the floorboards. Above her, the ceiling panel split. A pale hand pushed through the plaster, fingers long and jointed in ways no human hand should bend. Maren dropped onto the fire escape. The metal grated under her weight. She did not look back. The ladder to the alley waited at the far end of the narrow platform. She ran for it. On the street below, the first of the slower creatures turned its ruined face towards the sound of her boots on the metal ladder. Maren climbed down into the darkening alley as heavier movement shifted in the apartment she had just left. The pale hand withdrew. Something larger took its place.