John moved slowly through the streets of Fairview, boots scraping softly against cracked pavement as the cold night pressed in around him.
The streets were empty.
Not quiet.
Empty.
John walked slowly down the cracked back road, the sound of his boots echoing faintly between the dark buildings around him. Trash rolled across the pavement in the cold wind, scraping softly against abandoned cars left crooked along the curb.
Fairhaven looked dead.
Storefront windows were shattered.
Streetlights flickered weakly overhead, some sparking intermittently before dying again completely.
Everywhere he looked—
Signs of panic.
Signs of people who had left fast.
Or never got the chance to leave at all.
John tightened his grip slightly on the grimoire tucked beneath his arm as he continued forward.
The book felt warmer now.
Restless.
Like it could feel the same thing he did.
Something wrong beneath the surface of the town.
A distant metallic clang echoed somewhere far off.
John stopped.
Listened.
Nothing followed.
Still—
His eyes moved carefully across the alleyways and intersections around him before he finally continued.
One step at a time.
Measured.
Careful.
The deeper he went into Fairhaven, the worse the feeling became.
The air itself felt heavier.
Like pressure building before a storm.
Then—
He saw it.
At the end of the road, partially hidden behind overgrown hedges and rusted decorative fencing—
A sign.
Tall.
Damaged.
But still standing.
CRESTWOOD ESTATES
John slowed as he approached the sign, boots crunching softly over scattered gravel and dead leaves. Up close, the damage was worse than he first thought.
Deep claw marks carved across the metal.
Dried blood splattered near the base.
Something had tried to get in.
Or out.
John's grip tightened slightly on the grimoire beneath his arm as his eyes lifted past the sign.
The entrance road curved inward through rows of tall hedges and old decorative lamps, leading deeper into the estate beyond.
Big houses.
Private roads.
Money.
Or at least it used to be.
Now it looked abandoned.
Still.
John stepped toward the entrance.
One foot onto the road—
Then stopped.
A sound.
Faint.
Metal crackling.
He froze instantly.
Another sound followed.
A screech.
Not human.
John's eyes narrowed.
Slowly, carefully, he crouched down and moved off the road, slipping behind the edge of the stone wall bordering the entrance. He kept low, moving quietly until he reached the corner—
Then leaned just enough to see around it.
And his stomach tightened.
The front gate of Crestwood Estates was swarming.
Revenants.
Dozens of them.
Maybe more.
Their twisted bodies crowded against the entrance in a mass of jerking limbs and broken movement, clawing and slamming themselves toward the gated opening.
But they couldn't get through.
Every time one touched the gate—
CRACK.
A surge of blue-white electricity exploded across the metal fencing, lighting up the entire entrance in violent flashes.
The revenant convulsed instantly.
Thrown backward smoking—
Or collapsing outright.
The others didn't care.
They just kept coming.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Mindless.
Relentless.
John stared.
"…Well," he muttered under his breath, "that's definitely intentional."
The fence wasn't ordinary.
But it also wasn't magical.
John could tell the difference immediately.
No rune glow.
No resonance pulse.
No layered sigils hidden beneath the current.
Just raw electricity.
Industrial grade.
Expensive as hell.
A top-tier patrol fence.
The kind designed to keep people out long before the world ended.
Or keep certain people away from certain people.
Even in smaller towns like Fairhaven, the rich demanded security that looked excessive to everyone else. High-voltage perimeter fencing. Reinforced gates. Patrol systems tied directly into private backup generators.
Crestwood Estates had money.
Enough to prepare for the worst.
Turns out—
That paranoia was finally paying off.
CRACK.
Another revenant slammed into the fence and convulsed violently as thousands of volts ripped through it.
The smell of burnt flesh drifted through the cold night air.
Still the others pressed closer.
Mindless.
Driven.
John watched them for another few seconds, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
They weren't just wandering.
They wanted in.
That bothered him.
Because revenants usually followed noise.
Movement.
Life.
But this many gathered in one place?
Pressing the perimeter nonstop?
Something inside Crestwood Estates had their attention.
John slowly lowered himself back behind the wall before any of them noticed him.
"No point trying the front," he muttered quietly.
The grimoire beneath his arm pulsed faintly.
Agreeing.
John glanced once more toward the crowded gate before slipping away from the entrance road entirely, moving deeper into the shadows along the outer wall of the estate.
Quiet.
Careful.
He stayed low as he worked his way around the perimeter, boots crunching softly over dead leaves and overgrown brush. The massive fence stretched on beside him, disappearing into darkness between thick trees and decorative stone barriers.
The farther he moved from the gate—
The fewer revenants he saw.
Good.
That meant less attention.
But it also meant something else.
The front wasn't where the breach would happen.
If there was a way in—
It would be somewhere quieter.
Somewhere overlooked.
John adjusted the grimoire slightly under his arm and kept moving toward the back side of the estate.
Looking for another entrance.
Or a weakness.
Because if Kendra was still alive in there—
He needed to reach her before whatever was outside finally found a way through.
John moved carefully along the outer edge of Crestwood Estates, eyes constantly scanning the fence line.
Most of it was impossible.
Too tall.
Too exposed.
Too electrified.
Then—
He stopped.
At the far back corner of the estate, three large trees stood closer together than the others, their thick trunks leaning slightly inward near the wall. Overgrown branches stretched above the fence line, forming the closest thing to cover he'd seen so far.
John studied it quietly.
Distance. Height. Angle.
Possible.... Barely.
"…Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "That'll have to do."
He stepped closer, scanning the fence itself one more time. The current pulsed steadily through the metal, blue sparks occasionally snapping between the wires.
No safe landing spots.
No room for mistakes.
John exhaled slowly.
Then tucked the grimoire securely inside his jacket.
He rolled his shoulders once.
Closed his eyes.
For a second—
He stood perfectly still.
Not resting.
Focusing or perhaps Remembering.
Movement.
Breath.
Flow.
Then—
His eyes opened.
Glowing.
Faint pale-blue light flickered beneath his irises.
And he moved.
Fast.
John bolted toward the trees in a blur of motion, boots barely touching the ground before he jumped—
His foot slammed against the first trunk.
THUD.
He kicked off hard—
Twisting midair toward the second.
Another impact.
Another launch.
Again.
Again.
Higher.
Faster.
Working his way upward through pure momentum and precision, each kick redirecting him higher toward the top of the wall.
Branches snapped around him as he climbed through the air.
Then—
His right arm ignited.
Sigils burned alive beneath his sleeve, glowing bright across his skin.
John thrust the arm outward—
And released.
FWOOOM.
A violent burst of compressed air exploded from his palm, launching him upward and outward in a sharp arc over the electrified fence.
For one perfect second—
It worked.
He cleared the top.
Missed the current by inches.
The estate rushed beneath him—
Dark roads.
Large rooftops.
Silent homes.
Then—
"…Ah, crap."
He came in too fast.
WHAM.
John slammed shoulder-first into the edge of a rooftop, tiles shattering under the impact before momentum carried him over.
He rolled hard across the slanted surface—
Lost balance—
And dropped off the side completely.
THUD.
He hit the ground flat on his back in the yard below, the breath exploding out of him violently.
Silence.
John lay there for a second staring up at the sky.
Then groaned.
"…Still counts," he muttered weakly.
John stayed there for a moment.
Flat on his back in the cold grass.
Breathing hard.
Every part of him hurt.
Above him, the dark outline of the rooftop loomed against the night sky, broken tiles still occasionally sliding loose and clattering down beside him.
"…Okay," he groaned weakly. "Maybe not the cleanest landing."
His ribs throbbed.
His shoulder felt like someone had hit it with a truck.
And somewhere beneath his jacket, the grimoire pulsed with what felt suspiciously like judgment.
John let out a slow breath through clenched teeth before finally forcing himself to move.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I know."
He rolled onto his side first.
Immediately regretted it.
A sharp spike of pain shot through his chest and shoulder, earning another strained groan from him.
"Fantastic…"
Slowly—very slowly—he planted one hand against the ground and pushed himself upward.
His legs wobbled the second he stood.
John caught himself against the side of the house, breathing unevenly as he waited for the dizziness to pass.
"…Still alive," he muttered after a second. "Good start."
He straightened carefully, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck while the other adjusted the grimoire beneath his jacket.
The sigils along his right arm had dimmed now, fading back beneath his sleeve.
Around him—
Silence.
The inside of Crestwood Estates felt completely different from the outside.
Cleaner.
Still protected.
No distant screeches.
No hordes clawing at fences.
Just quiet streets and massive dark homes stretching through the neighborhood.
Too quiet.
John frowned slightly as he looked around the backyard he'd landed in.
Well-maintained once.
Now abandoned.
Patio furniture overturned.
Pool cover torn loose and flapping softly in the wind.
A back sliding door stood partially open.
John's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…That's never a good sign."
Still wincing faintly with every step, he slowly pushed away from the wall and started moving again—
Careful now.
Quiet.
Because getting into Crestwood Estates had only been the first problem.
Now he had to find Kendra before something else found him first.
John had just taken another step toward the open sliding door when—
CHK-CHK.
The unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked froze him mid-motion.
Then came the barrel.
Cold steel pressed hard against the back of his head.
"Don't move."
The voice behind him was firm.
Trying to sound in control.
But underneath it—
Fear.
Real fear.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. "You one of those freaks from outside?"
John slowly raised his hands away from his sides.
Careful.
Non-threatening.
"…No," he said calmly. "I'm not with them."
"Bullshit."
The barrel pressed harder into his skull.
John winced slightly.
"I'm serious," he said evenly. "I'm on your side."
A shaky breath came from behind him.
"Yeah?" the man snapped. "Funny way of showing it."
John stayed still.
Could feel the man trembling slightly behind the weapon.
Not trained.
Just scared.
"I came here looking for survivors," John explained. "I'm just another person like you."
The man's voice began to tighten as he said, "Normal people don't glow blue and jump twenty feet through the damn air using trees."
John sighed softly.
"…Fair."
John sighed softly.
"…Fair."
The shotgun stayed pressed firmly against the back of his head.
John could practically feel the man's fear bleeding through the weapon.
"I can explain everything," John said calmly. "But I need you to lower the gun first."
"No."
Immediate.
Sharp.
The man's breathing quickened behind him.
"No way in hell."
"Look," John said carefully, "I know how this looks—"
"How it looks?" the man snapped. "You flew over a twenty-foot electric fence!"
"…Technically I crashed over it."
"Not helping!"
The barrel dug harder into John's skull.
"I watched you glow!" the man shouted now, panic starting to crack through fully. "I watched you jump through the damn air like some kind of monster!"
John closed his eyes briefly.
Patience.
"Sir—"
"Don't move!"
"I'm trying to avoid that."
"Shut up!"
The shotgun trembled violently now.
Finger too tight on the trigger.
Fear making people dangerous.
John's expression flattened slightly.
"…Okay," he muttered quietly. "I've had enough of this."
The man tensed. "What—?"
John moved.
Fast.
His right arm snapped backward—
Sigils ignited beneath his sleeve—
FWOOOM.
A compressed burst of air exploded outward from his palm.
The man yelped as the force hit him full-on, throwing him backward across the patio.
The shotgun ripped from his hands instantly.
He crashed into a patio chair—
CRASH.
The furniture toppled apart beneath him as he hit the ground hard.
John turned smoothly, catching the shotgun out of the air before it could hit the ground.
Silence.
The man scrambled desperately, trying to push himself upright—
Then froze.
Because John already had the gun.
And was pointing it directly at him.