There was nothing.

  Then there was pain.

  Then there were numbers, floating like persistent pop-ups in his field of vision.

  -542

  -173

  -139

  Greg’s first thought when he woke up was that his brain had been swapped for a malfunctioning engine—too loud, too clunky, grinding against his skull.

  Second thought was that his spine had filed for divorce.

  Third thought was Why is it so damn dark?

  -97

  -53

  -29

  Ow... the fuck... Moving at all was pretty much the worst fucking choice he could make right now and he confirmed that a second after he already tried the first time. Ow.

  His teeth grinded against each other, jagged and broken in several places as he tried to understand why breathing suddenly felt like trying to suck air through a fucking straw.

  His eyelids felt glued together with what he hoped was just sweat and not blood. Who am I kidding? He knew it was both.

  He swallowed, tasting copper and dust and blood and probably another shattered tooth as he tried to piece together how he got here.

  The numbers hanging in his vision were definitely not a good sign—the ones he could see now didn't seem that bad but he must have been out of it for a while, more than just a few seconds.

  He had a solid chunk of his HP gone, much more than just these could account for. The fact that they had stopped appearing probably meant he had finally stopped taking damage, which was... something.

  He must have been out of it long enough to heal major damage which was... also not good.

  Not dead yet, no respawn screen. Take the win, Veder.

  His entire body throbbed with a dull ache that reminded him of the time before getting powers he'd tried to weightlift with Sparky, except instead of barbells, someone had apparently decided to drop a building on him.

  Darkvision, best perk points I ever spent, Greg thought, mentally high-fiving his past self for that particular investment as the darkness fell away and indistinct shapes began to look like actual proper things.

  Okay... o-okay, I'm alive. I'm alive. He nodded his head slow, almost uncertain as to whether it was real or not. Step one complete. Don't die. Now for the bonus-round question: Where the hell am I?

  The answer, as far as Greg could tell, was "completely fuckin' screwed." The apartment interior had been transformed into some kind of abstract art piece titled "Everything Is Completely Fucked." Broken furniture jutted at angles that defied basic geometry. Smashed drywall coated everything in a fine white powder that reminded him of the time he'd knocked over an entire container of baby powder in his mom's bathroom and tried to vacuum it up, only making things infinitely worse. Twisted rebar curled through the wreckage like the claws of some metal beast reaching for a kill. The ceiling had buckled, the entire upper floor compressed down at a shallow diagonal that made the whole room feel like it was slowly crushing him.

  Is this the apartment building I saw before... before... wait, what actually happened?

  His back ached, ribs feeling like they'd been used as impromptu drumsticks by an enthusiastic toddler. The pain wasn't debilitating, though—his body was already knitting itself back together, invisible hands sewing up the worst of the damage. Not enough to slow him down, probably not enough to matter in the grand scheme of things.

  Memory hit him like a sudden character-wiping glitch. Leviathan. The blast. The water. Nothing after that.

  Oh hell, Leviathan. That wave... I...I got punted like a football by an actual, literal Endbringer. Is that awesome or does that make me completely pathetic? Let's go with awesome. It's definitely awesome. Oh god, I nearly died. Statistically speaking, I probably should be dead.

  It made perfect sense why Leviathan was so fucking terrifying, why Endbringers were considered natural disasters. Sure, he knew but he didn't know, you know?

  But now, he knew.

  A low moan of metal reverberated above him, the building groaning like some wounded beast. Every few seconds, distant muffled explosions rumbled through the concrete, followed by crashes and screams from outside, dampened by layers of wall and debris. Water trickled somewhere nearby, and bits of ceiling continued to rain down as gravity slowly negotiated the surrender of the remaining structure.

  And then, cutting through it all, he heard a sound that wasn't just rushing water and crumbling drywall: crying.

  Soft crying.

  The teenager twisted his head to the right, his neck protesting every single inch of the whole movement and found himself staring at something he hadn't expected.

  A little girl — probably no older than twelve — was huddled against a partially intact support beam, blond hair sticking to her head and face. She looked like the sort of kid who should be playing with dolls or arguing about which boy band member was cutest, not trapped in a collapsing building during an Endbringer attack. Huh. He couldn't help but think back, back to when he'd asked his mom for a sibling before realizing where babies came from and immediately retracting the request.

  The little girl was fully fucking drenched, a cut on the side of her head leaving a thin trail of blood down the side of her face. Her breathing came in shallow, panicked gulps, eyes wide and locked on him like he was either her salvation or another monster come to finish the job.

  Greg's first instinct was to speak—probably to say something heroic and reassuring like they did in the movies—but before he could get a word out, a sound like splitting earth cracked behind her. The wall pillar behind what remained of a stainless steel refrigerator started to give way, tearing through plaster and wiring as it began its inevitable descent.

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  Without conscious thought, Greg launched himself forward. Time seemed to slow as his reinforcement flared golden beneath his skin, strength flooding his muscles. He caught the massive slab with his back and shoulder, a grunt of pain escaping between clenched teeth as the weight settled onto him.

  "Are you—ngggh—are you okay?" he managed, voice strained as he struggled to distribute the weight more evenly across his shoulders.

  The girl stared at him, her gaze unfocused. "I can't hear them," she whispered, voice barely audible above the creaking concrete. "I can't hear my sisters anymore."

  Her attention wasn't even really on Greg; instead, she kept staring at a crumpled door to her left, one hand reaching out toward it as if magnetized. The door hung at an angle, the frame twisted and partially buried under fallen ceiling panels.

  More of the building shifted — Greg could hear it and he wished he didn't — with a sound like distant thunder. Fuck me. The stove next to him creaked and groaned and whined as metal buckled and began to give way. Fuck me.

  There was no sugarcoating the absolutely fucked situation Greg knew he was in and how quickly it was getting worse. For instance, the refrigerator behind him groaned against what remained of the kitchen wall as his reinforcement held, Greg still straining against what had to be several dozens of tons worth of material threatening to crush him. Tiny pieces of concrete, plaster, and paint rained down on both of them, one landing on his forehead and sticking to the sweat there. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

  "Okay, okay, o-o-okay, we're fine," Greg said, the words tumbling out nervously, shakier than he'd like, way less confident than he really needed them to. He was the hero here, he had to sound cool. "H-hey, what's your name?"

  "...M-m'name... m'name'sAngie..." the girl murmured, all her words rolling together as her eyes stayed fixated on the door.

  "Okay, Ange-Angie, look," Greg continued, trying to sound calmer than he felt, "this whole place could—nggh—come down on us any minute, and that side of the room looks fucked."

  More than fucked, really. Greg bit his tongue to keep from grunting in pain, and letting any of it show on his face. Totally hyper-mega-fucked with a side order of we're-all-going-to-fucking-die-in-here!

  Angie's small fingers gripped the edge of the door frame, trembling and shaky but still holding tight to it. "I need... to stay by the door. My sisters... they're on the other side..."

  Greg blinked, eyes darting to the door as he tried to see how something could be behind there, the wall having collapsed hard already from his angle, the whole thing pancaked together in a way that left no space for anything at all in there.

  Nothing alive at least.

  Hoping he was wrong, Greg strained his ears but heard nothing—no crying, no breathing, no movement. Keeping his face as blank as he could manage, he turned back to the small blonde girl.

  + 1 STR

  "Look... your sisters... they'll be safe," Greg pushed harder against the wall, sweat dripping into his eyes and blurring his vision. "But the safest place... right now? Is right beside me."

  "B-but my—"

  "ANGIE!" The shout ripped from Greg's throat before he could stop it.

  She flinched, eyes going wide with fear. Great job, moron. Scare the traumatized kid even more. A+ heroism.

  "I am the only thing," Greg continued in a softer voice, trying to undo the damage, "between you and a couple thousand pounds of concrete. You need to get beside me, okay? We'll save your sisters after."

  + 1 STR

  For a long moment, Greg thought she wouldn't listen. Then, slowly, she released her grip on the door frame and crawled toward him. Her movements were jerky and uncertain, like a wind-up toy running low on energy. When she reached him, she stopped just close enough that he could feel the tremors running through her small body.

  Greg's mind spun like a processor on overdrive, calculations and scenarios rushing past faster than he could fully process them. Burst reinforcement would give him the strength to maybe push through, but the sudden movement would create a cascading collapse that would pulp the girl before he could get her clear. He couldn't blast out—no room to maneuver, no way to guarantee her safety. Air-jumping was impossible inside a sealed space with no leverage points. No time to think of a better plan. No obvious way out.

  + 1 STR

  "Look, Angie... I..." Come on, idiot, sound like a hero. It's a crying little girl. "I don't..." Greg swallowed hard, the admission painful to even think honestly. "I don't think I'm strong enough to get out..."

  Now that part stuck in his throat; that specific lie. He could get out easily enough, him.

  It wouldn't be clean, but he could manage it. Reinforcement Burst and he could probably bulldoze his way through, even through several tons of rock and brick and concrete or whatever apartment buildings were made of. It just wouldn't be something another person could survive, least of all an already-injured little girl. "I can't get us both out," he repeated, "not without hurting you."

  + 1 STR

  His eyes flicked involuntarily to the crumpled wall where the door stood. "A-and your sisters... I know it looks really bad, okay, but they're fine," he lied, the words coming from a place that just felt wrong. "We're gonna be fine, too. There's rescue teams. They saw me land in here. They'll dig us out."

  Angie nodded, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on her face.

  "I'm White Knight, by the way," Greg added, because what else do you say when you're trapped under half a building with a kid who's probably just lost her entire family?

  She nodded again, the sound she made barely audible—something between acknowledgment and a stifled sob.

  Greg’s throat felt tight, like he was choking on words he didn’t have time to say. “I promise you,” he whispered, trying his very best not to feel like he was lying to this little girl. “Just listen to me. Stick close. I’ll get you out.”

  A crash sounded off like a thunderclap, loud enough to rattle his teeth. The building groaned, shuddered, a grinding noise from above. Then another impact, like a sledgehammer to the roof. Dust rained down, sticking to his sweat-soaked face. Angie fell forward, bracing herself on her hands and knees.

  Greg tried to shift, but the pressure doubled, forcing him lower. His arms were trembling, muscles coiled and straining as the concrete above them cracked with a sound like breaking bones, and the wall behind Angie jolted loose from whatever had been holding it in place.

  She fell forward, landing on hands and knees with a frightened cry. Greg stumbled under the shifting weight as the room itself seemed to tilt, the whole structure slanting and crushing downward. The refrigerator shifted with a metallic screech, the kitchen counter splintered into kindling, and the stove collapsed inward with the hollow boom of imploding metal.

  + 1 STR

  "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Greg chanted, the words becoming a mantra, a shield against the reality pressing down on them both literally and figuratively. He braced harder, muscles screaming in protest as his reinforcement fought to keep up with the increasing strain.

  Water so brown that it looked almost as dark as the room had when he first opened his eyes began to ease into the room, pooling across the floor from beneath shattered rubble. No. No. No.

  First a thin film, then the liquid began deepening to soak his knees where they pressed against broken tile, cold and even more uncomfortable than he already was.

  If that was all, he would have honestly been thankful but it wasn't.

  It really wasn't and he hated that.

  Water leaking in meant things began to move and shift, displaced and disturbed by not only the presence but the pressure of the water. Things like dirt, debris and the literal fucking walls. His teeth gritted from the effort, Greg found himself being forced lower and lower, arms trembling from the strain, torso twisted awkwardly as he tried to maintain the pocket of safety around the girl. His spine felt like it might snap at any moment.

  But he held on.

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The apology spilled from him almost without stopping as he tried to ignore what was happening, as he struggled with his Reinforcement to keep the room upright.

  + 1 STR

  Tears ran down her face, thick streams pouring from her eyes as she was stuck beneath him, both unable and too afraid to move.

  "I'm s-s-sorry," His voice shuddered, barely more than a whisper as he tried to fight to stay upright.

  Blackness surrounded his vision that he knew wasn't just darkness, creeping in from the edges as he found himself face to face with the sobbing Angie.

  "I... I... I'm s-"

  Thank you for reading the story by the way.

  I'm about to post my original novel here, a dark progression fantasy isekai cyberpunk cultivation tower climber story.

  Coming Next Month – Shattered Ladder Book 1: Empty

  A prison. A ladder. A promise.

  isekai, cyberpunk ruins, brutal underdogs, and cultivation tower climbs, keep an eye out—Shattered Ladder: Empty begins posting here next month.