Chapter-11

Atlas's vision blurred crimson as a stray bullet pinged off the brick beside him, the metallic clang echoing in his smoke-filled skull. A curse ripped from his throat, hoarse and raw, lost amidst the cacophony of battle raging below. The scavengers, their initial shock fading, swarmed the building like a tide of gnashing teeth and glinting blades.

One, a hulking behemoth adorned with a boar tusk necklace, scrambled onto the rooftop, the glint of his sword catching the weak sunlight filtering through the dust motes swirling in the air. Atlas rolled, a desperate reflex etched in muscle memory, the rifle spitting defiance even as smoke stung his eyes. The bullet found its mark, clipping the brute's shoulder and eliciting a howl that sent shivers down Atlas's spine.

But respite was a fleeting luxury. Another scavenger, his war cry a guttural roar that filled Atlas's ears, was upon him. The rusted machete hefted in the man's grip swung down in a clumsy arc, meeting the rifle barrel with a bone-jarring impact. Wood groaned under the pressure, sweat slicking Atlas's palms, the metallic tang of gunpowder clinging to his nostrils.

With a feral snarl, Atlas lashed out, his boot connecting with the attacker's shin. The man stumbled, momentarily disoriented, and Atlas seized the opportunity. The rifle butt came crashing down on the exposed skull, the sickening crunch followed by a crumpled heap at his feet. Silence, thick and heavy, descended momentarily before being shattered by the renewed clamor of battle.

But the respite was short-lived. Two more figures emerged from the fire escape, their faces twisted in a grotesque parody of hunger. Atlas emptied his clip, each shot a hollow echo against the makeshift shields his adversaries wielded. The rifle clattered to the ground, useless now, replaced by the cold comfort of a dented machete, its edge dull and nicked.

The attackers closed in, blades flashing in the grimy sunlight. Atlas parried a clumsy swipe, the clang of metal on metal resonating through the ruined city. Another blow came, the wind of the blade whispering past his ear as he danced back. His own counter found flesh, a shallow cut blooming across a forearm. The man roared, his fury fueling his attacks, forcing Atlas back towards the precipice.

Driven by a primal urge to survive, Atlas lunged forward. His shoulder connected with the chest of one attacker, the impact sending the man sprawling. With a surge of adrenaline, he brought the machete down in a punishing arc, the sickening thud of metal meeting bone followed by a scream that was quickly swallowed by the chaos around them.

Atlas's grip tightened on the worn handle, knuckles white with exertion. His narrowed eyes, glinting with steely resolve, scanned the remaining assailants. The scavengers closed in, their eyes reflecting the same primal hunger that mirrored his own. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of smoke. In that moment, the rooftop became a microcosm of the brutal world they inhabited, a world where survival was the only law.

As the first attacker lunged, his blade glinting maliciously, Atlas sidestepped with the practiced grace of a predator. His own machete whipped around in a blur of motion, the dull edge finding its mark with a sickening thud. The scavenger crumpled, a strangled cry escaping his lips as crimson stained the dust-covered rooftop.

The metallic tang of blood filled Atlas's nostrils, the coppery heat.

The second attacker attacked; quick, silent, aimed for the gap between Atlas's ribs. The rusted clang of metal on metal, deflected steel. The man cursed, surprise twisting his features into a grotesque mask.

Each clang was a tough, each parry an advantage. 

Finally, an opening. The man overextended, his guard dropping for a fraction of a second. Atlas seized it. The machette, a crimson arc against it's heart. The man's scream, short and sharp, was swallowed by the city's constant hum.

He crumpled to the ground, a broken marionette at Atlas's feet. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. Atlas stood panting, chest heaving, his body filled with sweat and blood.

***

His weary eyes shifted toward the discarded rifle lying a few feet away. With a quick stride, Atlas closed the distance and stooped to retrieve it. His fingers wrapped around the worn stock.

As he straightened up, the sound of distant growls rose up. Atlas's gaze scanned the horizon, his eyes squinted. An army of bears, their snarls echoing through the air, charged toward the rooftop, drawn by the scent of fresh blood and the promise of a feast.

With a firm grip on his rifle, he surveyed the rooftop, searching for a strategic advantage. His eyes landed on a partially collapsed structure nearby, its remnants providing partial cover.

Without hesitation, Atlas sprinted toward the makeshift barricade, his boots pounding against the concrete. He dove behind the debris, using it as a shield against the impending onslaught. The bears closed in, their massive forms casting ominous shadows.

With rough hands, Atlas steadied his aim, his fingers finding familiarity in the grooves of the rifle. His eyes locked onto the first bear, its massive frame charging directly at him. His finger tightened around the trigger, and the rooftop exploded in a storm of gunfire.

The rifle roared to life, muzzle flashes illuminating the haze of smoke and dust. Atlas's shots rang out with precision, each bullet finding its mark. One by one, the bears faltered, their momentum disrupted by the impact of the bullets. Fur and flesh tore apart under the onslaught, blood spattering the ground.

The acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the scent of blood, creating a sensory backdrop of violence.

Their massive bodies collided with the makeshift barricade, shaking the debris and threatening to topple it. Atlas gritted his teeth, his grip on the rifle unwavering.

With calculated precision, he adjusted his aim, targeting the vulnerable spots on the bears' bodies. His shots found their mark, causing the beasts to get knocked out or killed.

Atlas's muscles screamed with exhaustion, his mind teetering on the edge of fatigue.

He fired round after round, the recoil jarring his body with each shot. The bears, weakened and disoriented, continued their relentless assault, their growls morphing into pained cries.

And then, as if by some miracle, the last bear fell. Its massive body crashed to the ground, the impact shaking the city. Silence engulfed the battlefield, broken only by the sound of Atlas's heavy breathing.

For a moment, he remained crouched behind the remnants of the barricade, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph. The rooftop, once a battleground of chaos and violence, now bore witness to a fleeting stillness, a momentary respite from the death that surrounded him.

"A day in the life of a Normal twelve-years-old kid,"