Zayne stared at the crossbow in his hands, watching how the dim light caught on the metal mechanisms.
Blood still coated the bolt loaded in the chamber—he hadn't bothered to clean it after the last fight.
The last fight.
He couldn't even remember what it had been about. Territory? Food? Water? Did it matter? In Avalon, every fight was about survival. Every kill was just another step in an endless cycle of violence.
But something felt wrong.
Not wrong like the constant wrongness of Avalon—the gray sky, the broken city, the creatures that hunted in the shadows.
This was different. A wrongness inside him, like he was missing something crucial. Like he'd forgotten something important.
Someone important.
"Yo, Hazel Eyes!"
He didn't react to the nickname. He'd been called that since the day he'd woken up in this nightmare. Since the day the group had found him wandering the ruins, confused and disoriented, with no memory of where he'd come from or who he was.
That had been... how long ago? Weeks? Months? Time moved strangely in Avalon.
Tao—the leader of their gang, a man built like a tank with scars covering half his face—dropped down beside Zayne with the kind of casual violence that defined everyone in this place.
"Hell of a fight today," Tao said, grinning. His teeth were stained red. "You took out what, fifteen? Twenty? That thing you did with the blade through that guy's throat—" He made a slicing gesture, laughing. "Beautiful. Pure art."
Zayne looked down at his blade. It rested across his knees, still dripping. The blood looked black in the shadows.
"We couldn't have won without you,"
Tao continued, slapping Zayne's shoulder hard enough to make a normal person wince.
Zayne didn't react.
"The Hazel Eyes Devil strikes again! You know what they're calling you in the other districts? The Silent Death. The Ghost Killer. They're terrified of you, man."
Good, Zayne thought distantly. Fear keeps them away.
"We're celebrating tonight," Tao said. "Found a stash of real alcohol in the last raid. You should join us."
"I'm fine here," Zayne replied quietly.
"Suit yourself." Tao stood, stretching.
"But seriously, brother—you saved our asses today. This territory's ours now because of you. Respect."
He left, his heavy footsteps fading down the stairs.Zayne sat alone on the rooftop, surrounded by the sounds of Avalon at night. Screams in the distance.
The roar of some creature hunting. Gunfire from rival gangs fighting over scraps.
He should feel... something. Pride, maybe. Satisfaction at winning. Relief at surviving another day.
Instead, he felt hollow.
What am I doing here?
The question came unbidden, as it had so many times before. He had no memories before waking in Avalon. No name—he'd chosen "Zayne" because it felt... right, somehow. Familiar. But he didn't know why.
He didn't know anything.How that he was good at killing.
That his body moved with a precision he didn't consciously understand. That when he held a blade or aimed a crossbow, muscle memory took over, guiding his movements with lethal efficiency.
It was like his body remembered things his mind had forgotten.
Who was I before this?
No answer came. It never did.
Zayne cleaned his blade methodically, wiping away the blood with a torn piece of cloth. As he worked, that strange pull started again. The sensation he'd been feeling more and more lately.
It was like a compass needle in his chest, pointing... somewhere. East, maybe? He wasn't sure. But it tugged at him insistently, demanding attention.
Find her, something whispered in his mind.
You need to find her.
"Find who?" Zayne murmured to the empty rooftop.
Silence.
He looked down at the gang's base below—a fortified building they'd claimed three weeks ago after killing the previous occupants.
His "family," such as it was. The people who'd taken him in, trained him, turned him into a weapon.
They were celebrating their victory now. He could hear the laughter, the boasting, the clinking of bottles.
They'd won territory today. Gained resources. Proven their strength.
It meant nothing to him.
I need to leave.
The thought crystallized suddenly, undeniably. He couldn't stay here anymore. Couldn't keep fighting meaningless battles over meaningless territory. Couldn't keep killing just to prove he was the strongest.
He needed to follow that pull. Needed to find... whoever or whatever his soul was searching for.
Even if he had no idea what he was looking for.
He waited until deep night—when most of the gang was drunk or asleep—to make his move.
He packed systematically: his blade, crossbow, bolts, a handgun with limited ammunition, water bottles, canned food they'd scavenged. A medical kit he'd assembled from various raids. Everything fit into a worn backpack he'd claimed weeks ago.
He dressed in layers—a turtleneck sweater that covered his mouth and nose, a hoodie pulled low over his forehead and hair. Only his eyes remained visible, those distinctive hazel eyes that had given him his nickname.
The Hazel Eyes Devil.
Let them remember him that way.
He took one last look around the small room that had been his for the past few weeks.
Nothing here was his. Nothing here mattered.
He shouldered his pack and moved silently through the building. Years—no, lifetimes—of muscle memory guided his steps, avoiding the creaky floorboards, the places where guards might be posted.
He passed Tao's room. The leader was snoring, dead drunk after the celebration.
Sorry, Zayne thought, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. But I was never really one of you.
He reached the exit—a window on the second floor that opened onto an adjacent building's roof. Easy escape route. He'd planned it weeks ago, some instinct telling him he might need it.
Zayne climbed through silently.
The Avalon night greeted him with its perpetual gray sky, the distant sounds of violence, the smell of smoke and decay. He stood on the rooftop, backpack secure, weapons ready, and looked east.pull was stronger now. More insistent.
Something's there, his instincts screamed. Someone's there. You need to find them.
NOW.
Zayne didn't understand why. Didn't understand anything about this strange compulsion that had been growing for days.
But he trusted it.
Because in Avalon, instinct was the only thing that kept you alive.
He took one last look at the gang's base—the place that had housed him, trained him, turned him into a killer.
Then he ran.
Rooftop to rooftop, moving like a ghost through the night. Away from the only "home" he'd known in this life. Toward something unknown. Toward someone he couldn't remember but desperately needed to find.
That night the hazel eyes devil's left his gang.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.