Chapter 12: Awakening I

Mark's head was pounding; his muscles were fatigued, and his spirit dampened. It was the worst feeling he had ever experienced, yet as he briefly moved his limbs, he felt something. Everything was dulled, his sense of touch not entirely what it was previously. Yet, he could still feel it; it was like sand, course and rough but smooth and silky.

"Ughhh." Mark groaned.

He gained strength and pushed himself up and onto his knees, the same position Elise had earlier.

'Elise?'

His eyes shot open, a devastating nightmare appearing in his vision. All he could see was death, destruction and desolation. Fire surrounded him; wood burned black as ash, snow, and soot floated from above, covering the house in its demonic presence. At least what was left of it.

"Wha- What?" He stuttered.

His pupils dilated as he closed and opened his eyes, trying to unsee everything. Finally having to accept it was there, he was frozen, shellshocked. He had no idea what to do as his body was unresponsive. Eventually, he managed some movement, his neck slowly moving as his eyes roamed the ruins. And then, he saw her.

A sideways head lay in the rubble, a gaping hole where one of the eye sockets should be. Small tufts of brunette hair were scattered about, the rest of the scalp torn away. The skin was cracked, bloodied and black as he sat there, staring at the decapitated head, the neck mangled as if bitten by a wild, rabid animal.

Mark whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he mustered the courage to look beyond, spotting Elise's corpse. It was a butchered mess of blood, guts, bone and skin spread throughout the floor.

'This... This is a horror movie. A bad dream! A nightmare! It isn't real! It can't be real! It isn't real!'

As the slow seconds passed, reality started to sink in.

"No... No! No, no, no, no, no. NO! Thi- This can't be happening. Wha... I- I don't understand."

Tears rapidly fell from his face, dousing specks of fire as the only normalcy in the apocalyptic wasteland of fire and ice. Willing his body to move, he shakily stood, the shakes unwilling to leave as he stumbled towards the body.

Dropping back to the floor, he reached for the head; to feel it in his hands, to prove it was not real.

'This is a nightmare. The Void playing tricks. It's not real, no, no, no. Of course. How could the house be destroyed, but I'm still alive? It's imaginary.'

Endeavouring to stay positive, his fingers grasped the body part, and everything fell out of the window. Or rather, it flew out of the window, hitting the ground like a nuke. He could feel the head, the left-over strands of hair and the rough, dried skin. And, if he could feel it, then it must be true.

And with that thought came the crack, a subtle and silent rupture in his psyche; his sanity. He poured out his anguish and grief in an ear-piercing scream, a screech of pure despair as tears cascaded out of his eyes like a waterfall.

Yet, no matter how much he screamed or howled, no matter what promise he offered to every god, demon and eldritch being, none of them answered. There was no soul-tempting offer or justification of why this happened. Mark shouted at the Void, audibly and mentally, to which he received nothing. There was no reason or mercy for his damned family, and upon realizing this, he understood; the worst is yet to come.

'Dad? Amelia? They should be fine... right?' He thought.

"Of course they are." Mark muttered to Elise, "I could never lose them. Not with you, too. Thank you, Elise; they'll be fine."

Holding the brutally scarred head, he stood like a mountain and looked around with urgency and purpose. His mind was set on saving them, rescuing them from the rubble.

The fire blazed and spat at him, unable to hurt him as he tunnel-visioned on his goal, entering further into the house's depths. Understanding there was no second floor, he moved with hard and heavy steps, crunching glass, wood and brick underneath effortlessly. Mark walked through fire as one walks through the air, his steps moving towards the area his parent's chamber would likely be.

Getting there, he found two bodies; a male and a female. Stunned, he gawked at them, unable to comprehend why he was wrong. The male was skinned as organs were sprayed around the room, blood pooling beneath his body remnants.

"Dad...?" He croaked.

Mark frowned as he approached, his head shaking with rejection as the tears advanced into sobs. He could not accept it; he was a normal guy, perhaps even above average. He had a girlfriend and a happy family - he was happy. With education and future prospects, he had everything he wanted in life, yet, here it lay, sprayed across the ground, dead. There were pieces left, but it would not matter; it might as well be gone. Mark knew technology had improved significantly but could not bring back the dead. A sense of numbness washed over him as he looked at the female corpse.

Amelia's lower body was skinned like her husband's; her upper body was bare, and her breasts and chest were ravaged by nails and wooden splinters. She was impaled on the wall by a long, metal pole, her face not faring any better. Her left eye was missing and the right pushed from the socket, a plank of wood embedded into her mouth, bursting the jaw disgustingly wide.

Tripping backwards, he was met with what he hoped to be the final shock. Yet, it was the worst, scarred into his memory that he would never forget; the corpse of his sister. His five-year-old sister, so young, pure and full of life, had been snuffed out like a candle in the wind; her body was a broken mess of bones sticking through the skin. It was a sight that even the most depraved demon could not come up with.

Her body lay against the bed headboard, holding her knees to her chest as her neck was broken, hanging over the edge of the board; the neck skin and muscles stretched to the limits. Mark vomited over himself, his breaths ragged and heavy as he gazed at the corpse.

'How? Why? She didn't deserve... I don't understand! Why! Fucking why!'

"What have I done to deserve this fate?" Mark cried, "Why am I alive, and they are not? Take me! Take me!"

Mark's voice turned hoarse as it disappeared into the cloudy night sky, covering his eyes with his hands. He wondered, and wondered: What demented, evil god did this to them? And why?

He cried, hands soaked with tears before finally uncovering them, naively hoping that it would all disappear. Yet he was left bitter, disappointed and gradually enraged. His eyes hummed red, a slight wisp of red smoke flowing from his sockets. Sneering, he struck the floor with a fist. The ground shook, a multiple metre-long crack emerging as a massive gust of wind caused the fire to flicker and fluctuate. And, as if to mock him, the debris moved, and he saw another male arm.

'How could I forget... Jake?'

They may not have gotten along great, but in his heart, he felt the scorpion's sting. Mark had hoped he was gone, at a friend's house, out drinking or having fun, but no.

'Why? Why was he a loner! Why did he have no friends! He... He could've been saved... if only he listened! Why? God, why!?'

His thoughts and judgements were becoming deranged and confusing, unable to realise he was blaming someone for an event out of their control. A strange relief hit him, however, that most of Jake's body was covered under rubble, merely a solitary hand and arm.

A single reflection came through as darkness started to take over his vision as he thought of the future: At least... it was a quick and painless death. At least... they won't suffer as I will.

The sound of blaring sirens echoed in the background, joined by car and house alarms, dogs barking, and people screaming; panic and bravery coalescing into a storm. As his body dropped to the floor, his vision faltered and his consciousness became fleeting, he spotted something, a shadow... a figure.

Unbeknownst to Mark, that same shadow jumped through the flames. The crackling of timber and the smell of toxic smoke surround the elderly gentleman. Awoken by an explosion as his house rumbled, Hakeem had sprinted outside and stared at the flames. Braving the fire of a nigh-certainly dead family, he had spotted the young man that he barely knew, going in to rescue him because that is what good people do.

Burnt by the scorching hot flames as soot, ash, embers and snow fell around him as his face blackened further, he approached the young, naked lad. His body screamed at him, his lungs drawing their last as tears trickled down his face, his skin blistering. Hauling Mark onto his back like a soldier is taught to, his legs nearly gave way, yet he pushed on. He mentally repeated his vow to save Mark, having seen the bodies nearby; he would rescue him, no matter the cost.

And thus, he rushed out from the fire, his body covered in second and third-degree burns. His throat flared as his nose bled, exiting the danger and into the driveway. Struggling to breathe, he collapsed to the floor as his strength failed him. With his heart beating to the point of pain, he spat blood, trying to crawl further away from the house. Yet, as his eyes glazed and the firefighters rushed to retrieve them, his vision slowly darkened as he took his last breath, his life leaving him.

'Live boy! And... make this old man proud.'