LOGINWhen the sky ignited in crimson and bombs obliterated Segunda Island in 2080, death was only the beginning. The fallen didn't stay dead—they morphed into savage, bloodthirsty beasts. Terrified survivors barely hold on, hunted by horrors that wear the faces of those they loved. Jane Fortalejo, the last from a dynasty destroyed overnight, is forced to ally with strangers from the island's shadowed underbelly. Driven to expose the sinister truth behind the apocalypse, Jane will risk her life, sanity, and the fragile alliances she forms. What really brought ruin to Segunda? And can the last survivors escape a fate worse than death itself?
View MoreThe nets never behaved, and Rylan was pretty sure they hated him personally. The salvaged wires curled against his fingers, scraping skin, biting at his nails every time he tugged them through the makeshift frame. He groaned loudly and shot a look at the two people on either side of him. His grandfather, tatay Samson, just chuckled. His sound was low and warm just like the sea he never shut up about. Born in 2018, before the great flood sunk up most of the regions in the ancient Philippines, before the wars, the bombs, and the creepers, he carried the ocean in the way he talked and the way his eyes softened whenever he glanced at the horizon. His hands moved with easy certainty, looping and pulling the wire as if it were gentle rope instead of scavenged metal. Nanay Irene, Ry's grandmother, sat across from them, brow furrowed, lips moving in quiet prayer as she tied knot after knot. She prayed for strong nets, safe tides, no storms, and—Ry suspected—for all of them to stop doing s
A week had passed since Caite's reveal. The boat in the yard had grown taller, wider, each plank a reminder that we were building more than wood. But the night made the unfinished skeleton of the boat look fragile, almost laughable. Shadows pooled beneath it, uneven and restless. Most of the kids had retreated to the gym or tents. As for me, I couldn't stay still. I needed to move, needed to occupy my mind before it unraveled entirely. Guard duty, I told myself. That was reason enough.A voice drifted across the courtyard—soft, almost lost in the wind. It made the hairs on my neck stand. Hesitating only for a second, I followed it. Each step was careful, measured, my ears scanning the empty campus.He was on the rooftop. Keilser. He wasn't aware—or maybe he was pretending not to be—that I was watching. The sound wasn't polished, wasn't meant for anyone but him. It was a hollow, quivering thing, carrying the weight of something I didn't know I'd missed until this moment.I didn't spe
The wasteland stretched open in every direction, flat and dead, but our hover scooters carved little pulses of life into it. Ian and Keilser rode ahead, and honestly, I didn't expect them to be that good. Ian moved like she'd studied the scooters' physics before mounting one. Keilser, on the other hand, was the opposite. Wild. Reckless. His scooter swerved in tight, masterful arcs like he was dancing with the road, every tilt a dare to gravity.Caite shifted behind me, her fingers hooked just above my ribs, the heat of her palms seeping through my jacket whenever my balance wobbled, which—fine—was more often than I wanted to admit. The scooters glided an inch above the cracked pavement, but every so often the engines hiccuped when we passed over scorched metal or deep fissures left by the bombings.Earlier, before we even mounted the damn things, we actually argued about this.Ian had unfolded the scooters like she was presenting sacred relics."We'll move faster," she said. "We cut
JANEIf the heart of the city was supposed to beat, this one had already drowned.The old woman ladled watery soup into the bowls and cups. She had a slight limp but moved like someone who'd mastered the art of pretending she was fine. "Sip this," she said, smiling as if trying to warm me with her face alone. She thrusted one of the cups gently into my cold hands. "You look like you haven't rested in weeks."I didn't have the energy to lie. I nodded and drank. It tasted like boiled water that had briefly met a vegetable then immediately parted ways.She sat beside me and her eyes softened. "Do you... have family?" she asked.The question hit harder than the soup."They're gone," I answered. "All of them."Her smile faltered as if something in her chest collapsed."No child survives out there anymore..." she whispered, almost to herself.I lowered my gaze, but inside me something twisted, a raw ache protesting against her certainty. We survived. We found people. We found them.But no






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