As Aran walked through the wreckage, occasionally stopping to dig around for anything useful, he could feel the air changing. He’d taken a slightly angled route that morning, aiming to avoid the center of the city and hopefully find a clear path. As he’d progressed, however, the air had begun to feel charged, and now it felt heavy and cloying, almost as if it was sticking to him. The hair on the back of his neck was on end, and the whole area felt wrong. He shook his head, trying to ignore the feeling, knowing it was likely leftover radiation. Not much he could do about that, and he needed to move quickly, so the shortest path south was the only one that made sense.

As the hours passed, the weird sensation didn’t let up, but Aran pressed on. He estimated he’d made about 2 miles of progress since he set off. The debris and his route around the city were slowing him down. His plan had been to make the southern edge of the city by nightfall, but he’d underestimated the distance greatly. At his current pace, he estimated it would take a whole nother day to reach the southern tip. He looked to the west, at the mostly empty center of the city. The radiation at the center would probably be worse, but he could probably make it through the center in a few hours. And he was still feeling perfectly healthy, so maybe however his mana healed him could protect him. He looked south east again, at the miles of debris in his way. Making up his mind, he headed towards the center of the city.

The feeling in the air grew noticeably more oppressive the closer Aran got to the center of the blast, but he pushed on, increasing his pace to a quick walk now that most of the area was blasted flat. As he neared the center, the ground started to slope down, forming a wide crater. The almost physical pressure in the air increased more and more quickly now, and Aran could feel himself starting to tire. Pushing mana throughout his body helped keep him going, but a sense of dread was starting to grow in his mind. He was making good progress, but he could feel more of the radiation working its way into him. Looking up, he could see the far side of the crater now, though it was still over a mile. He spared a thought to check on his mana, and immediately broke out into a jog. There was very little of his natural mana left, and all of it was circulating through his body, trying in vain to block the insidious radiation out.

He was sweating now, and it felt like his veins were filling with lead as his reserves started to run dry. Soon he would be unable to slow the radiation at all, and circulating it seemed like it would only make it worse.

“Shit,” he mumbled, voice ragged. He’d never been a runner, never exercised much at all, coasting on a naturally fast metabolism, and it was really coming back to bite him now. He tried to push himself faster, to at least get across most of the crater before his reserves ran dry. He could probably still recover if he could find people and medicine, but he had to get out of this damn crater. He looked up, hoping, but the edge still didn’t seem any closer than before.

“Shit!”

He pushed harder, gasping for breath, vision clouding from lack of oxygen. He pushed like this for another minute before he reached his limit. He pulled up, chest heaving, eyes wide. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself, and lurched forward, vomiting. He coughed, trying to breathe past the bile, only forcing another hiccuping lurch, and more vomit. Aran collapsed to his knees, cold sweat running down his back, tears swimming in his eyes. His breath was steadying, but his body felt like a wrung out dish towel, limp and used up.

He felt the last of his reserves run dry, the last of his mana devoured by the radiation inside him. His whole body was shaking, and he could feel more radiation seeping into him now, much faster than before. He looked at the rim of the crater through bleary eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to make it. Out of options, he opened the floodgates to his now thoroughly radioactive core, hoping the mana would still give him the energy to move.

He screamed. It felt like he was being burned alive and drowned in an ice bath, all at once. He fought to open his eyes through the pain. He tried to stand, but it was futile, his limbs would not obey. His nerves were on fire, every movement, everything that touched him burned. He dug his hands into the ashes, dragging himself forward. The pain did not ebb, he screamed with each breath. He tried to stop the mana, to halt its raging throughout his body, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his hands. The poisoned mana raced through him destroying his body and building it back again and again. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on only moving forward, but it was not darkness that greeted him. The blood vessels in his eyelids were lit up like a nightclub, dull green light highlighting a spider web of agony.

Aran was hyperventilating, mind racing. The pain muddled his mind, making coherent thought impossible. He could feel the radiation poisoning him, curdling his body like old milk. He stopped moving, the pain was too much. He stared down at his hands, bloodied and covered in ash. Even the blood seeping out from under his broken nails was the same dull green, softly glowing in the twilight haze. He let out a broken sob. The skin around the cuts had gone grey and lifeless as the ash around it. He watched, transfixed and unable to muster any kind of energy to move, as the decay spread over his skin.

As the poison killed his cells, mana surged into them, hardening his skin like bark. As it traveled up his arms, cracks formed, each one heralding another hoarse scream as more dark green ichor spilled out. His blood hardened and filled the gaps quickly, leaving dark scars crossing his body. He could feel the corruption flowing under the skin as well, bones and organs burning as it flowed over them. As the poison reached his face, he lost all reason and screamed as it burned his throat and up into his skull. He screamed and screamed, begging to black out, to just let it end. As it reached his eyes, they burned away, melting into little more than puddles, Aran reached new heights of horror, clawing at his face and eyes in a frantic bid to halt the pain and sudden blindness. The flesh in his sockets boiled and bled, solid dark green orbs forming in place of his former white sclera. Finally too much, Aran’s mind mercifully shut down, blocking out sensation completely, and his body lay there comatose, as the poison finished its terrible work.

----------------------

The room seemed to vibrate, and the air was viscous, like moving through water. Aran was back in the apartment he shared with his mother, straining towards the door to his room. He could hardly breathe, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. With a monumental effort, he reached the door, grasping the door knob as he slumped to his knees. Looking up, the knob seemed miles away, and his arms far too heavy to move. His hands, sweaty with effort, slipped as he tried to turn the knob, far more resistant than it should have been. Bracing himself, he reached up once more, stretching for what felt like hours to reach it once more. Palming the door knob in one hand, and bracing against the frame with the other, he twisted. The door vibrated as he turned, sounding like screeching metal vibrating through his whole body, until with a soft click, the door suddenly came free, and he rocked back, the door swinging wide.

Breath rasping, he pulled himself to his feet. The hallway beyond seemed to thrum with his heartbeat, flickering around the edges of his vision. He stumbled out the door, past several doors, more than he remembered in their small apartment. He struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, but he was too tired to care. He pushed through the exhaustion, turning into the living room, gasping. The edges of the room seemed to fade away, the room shaking even more violently than the hall. Cold light streamed in through the window, facing the city, landing on a dusty recliner. A small ashtray sat on an end table to the left, wisps of smoke drifting off of it. His mother’s lank mop of hair rested against the top, facing the open window. A raven perched on the headrest, staring at Aran as he entered. He froze. The bird’s head cocked, looking at him with what felt like amusement, and… pity? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. The bird jolted into the air, disappearing out the window.

“You made my little friend abandon me, you worthless boy. Intend to make sure I never have any company?” His mother's voice rasped from the chair. Aran nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I’m leaving. They’re going to bomb this place, I think. Or… they did? I’m leaving. You should too,” he muttered, going quiet at the end.

She cackled, violently. “Idiot. Why would they bomb the city?” She shoved the chair, turning to face him. “We’re all already dead anyway.” Her corpse looked back at him, eyes bloody holes where he realized the raven had pecked them out. Her skin was in tatters, her clothes burned away, as her blackened organs spilled out onto the chair. The remaining muscle pulled taught around her mouth, pulling the face into a horrible facsimile of a smile. Aran tried to scream, but the air caught in his throat. He stumbled back into the hall, away from the horror in front of him. Anything to get away from that thing in the chair. He turned, sprinting for the door to the apartment, the distance seeming to stretch. He heard the springs in the chair creak, as that abomination stood.

“This is your fault!” It screamed.

He could hear it moving, getting closer. He choked out a frantic sob, running as hard as he could, but getting no closer to the door. He heard the clacking of bone and the drip of blood behind him. He screamed, slamming into the door. Fumbling with the deadbolt, he could smell it now, the scent of decay choking. He ripped open the door with a yell, and pulled it tight behind him. His breath came in ragged gasps, filling his lungs with cold air, leaning against the door frame.

He managed to catch his breath, straightening and turning. He wasn’t in the hall of the apartment building. He stood in a massive expanse of white snow, just a few inches here, but he could see massive drifts rising in the distance. He shivered, noticing the wind biting at him. He didn’t bother looking back, anything was better than being trapped inside with that thing. He bundled his arms up, bracing against the wind in the light hoodie he just noticed he was wearing. He started walking, only looking up to scan the grey sky for the raven flying overhead.

Aran didn’t know how long he walked, it didn’t seem to matter. He tried to stick to a single direction, but tracking around the large snow drifts made him sure he’d lost any track of direction after just a few hours. Each time he looked up, the raven was there, always gently floating on the wind, pointing the same direction. The raven, at least, seemed to know where it was going, so Aran figured it was as good an indicator as anything else.

Nothing seemed to change, no matter how long Aran walked. The cool grey twilight never grew brighter or darker, and the weather never seemed to change, other than occasional change in direction of the wind. He just trudged on, for what felt like days. Measuring time seemed futile, but when he’d finished humming the 18th repetition of “Can’t Buy Me Love”, the raven let out a caw! shattering the stillness of the plain. The sound sent a flash of anxiety through Aran’s body as he instinctively crouched, looking up. The raven wasn’t above him anymore, instead diving rapidly to the left, until it was hidden by a massive drift. Looking around for any other changes, Aran stood. Might as well see. He strode towards the drift, skirting around to the right. He was not prepared for what he found on the other side.

The raven was there, sitting astride a door. Or, more accurately, the frame around a door, he supposed. This was not the same door he’d come here through, thank God. Or Judges? Unimportant. The door looked inviting, there was no other way to describe it. It looked… nice. Aran glanced at the raven, eyeing him from atop the doorframe. “This better not lead to me dying or to some afterlife crap,” he said. The bird ruffled its feathers, seeming offended at the suggestion. “Fine. Can’t be worse than stumbling around forever.” He grasped the handle, noting how warm it felt, even in the biting cold. As he pulled open the door, the raven cawed once more.