I didn't bother to look up, and I didn't dare to. I just wished it would be over quickly... and painlessly. There were no memories that tied me to the living. There would be no one to mourn for me, no one to cry for me, and no one I'd leave behind. I should be indifferent at the prospect of death.

Then why do I feel this way?

The unexplainable feeling as I envisioned myself erased from the world. The thought of leaving the world I lived in and entering the unknown. I was afraid. Afraid of dying. Afraid of what I didn't know. Afraid of what would happen after.

I want to live.

Energy driven by fear filled me; adrenaline pumped through my veins. My breathing sped up to an uneven pant. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest. The wisps of its smoke-like body brushed against my neck and hair, sending chills down my back. They were right above me.

I lunged forward ungracefully from under the impending black doom, tumbling and rolling across the street until I was far enough from them to jump onto my feet. Time felt slow, maybe because of all the blood that was rushing to my head. The lumps of smoke engulfed the spot I was a second ago. Their beady eyes slowly turned towards me, unhappy with their brick road snack.

Have you ever hit smoke? I can say I have now. As the angry black monsters flew towards me, my body reacted instinctively. I shifted to the side as one of them charged past me in slow motion. My fist slammed against the side of the monster, changing its trajectory and sending it skidding away from me. It felt as if my fist was enveloped in a cold layer of smoke as it entered the misty substance of its body, like sticking my hand into a bucket of dry ice. Past the freezing layer of wispy smoke, my fist hit a material body. I can't exactly describe the feeling of punching it. It didn't feel like hitting a living animal or an inanimate object. It was just different...

As I pulled away, I felt a dull ache. My right hand, the one that had touched it, was a bloody mess. Cuts and scratches were slashed across my entire palm, and chunks of skin were missing from my knuckles and fingers where I made contact with its material body. Blood oozed out from large areas of exposed flesh, dying my hand in a dark shade of red.

"Arrrgh--" I bent over and gripped my bloody wrist with my other hand, clasping it tightly as if that would stop the aching sensation from spreading. It did not. Pain coursed through my hand, down each finger, and up my arm. I knocked my head against the ground in my hunched position, hoping that it would drive the agony away. My teeth were so tightly clenched that they squeaked. I gasped for breath between each spasm of pain, and my sight was blurry from the tears welling in my eyes. I could barely see and process the shadow that neared me. Its cold, deadly voice was calling out to me. My head paired that voice to a blurry face. The fuzzy image etched itself into my mind. It was the same one I envisioned earlier. The painfully sweet smile, dark hair resembling mine...

"M...o..."

Move. My will echoed through my mind; my body struggled to respond. The world was distorted around me. My head refused to function. I backed up against a wall, my hand still clutched against my stomach. My shirt was stained red; it lunged towards me; the world was spinning; I felt dizzy; its gaping jaws blocked my vision. My eyes clamped shut. A whizzing sound of air being split. 

Silence.

The battle was over.

And I knew I lost.

The first sight that greeted me was an unfamiliar roof. Light poured in from an open window not far to my right. It was a clear and beautiful day; not a cloud marred the vast, rich blue sky. The song of the birds filled the air, and a cool, relaxing breeze entered the room, giving life to the thin beige curtains fluttering before the window.

A dream?

I sat up. The room was mostly empty, except for the bed I was on and a cabinet across from me. A simple vase holding gentle blue flowers on the cabinet was the only item decorating the room. I was dressed in fuzzy light blue and white striped pajamas. And my hand... my right hand... was wrapped thickly with bandages.

It wasn't a dream...

"Where did you put my badge?" Voices sounded from outside the room's door.

"In that room."

"What room?"

"That one!"

"This one?" The doorknob clicked and the door slid open. A boy, by the looks around seventeen or eighteen, walked into the room. He stared at me for a several awkward seconds before he finally reacted, "Ohhhh, you're awake!"

"He's awake?" A redheaded girl poked her head into the room.

"How's your hand?"

I glanced down at the bundle of bandages and tried to wriggle my fingers.

"I found you unconscious on the side of the road. Luckily, Maria spotted you earlier and shot the two cursed daemons." The blonde boy explained.

The whiz through the air...

The redheaded girl beamed with pride.

"By the way, I'm Mike. Mike Casteron." The blonde-haired teenage boy pointed at himself. His eyebrows and lashes were the same bright blonde, and his eyes were a blueish-grey. He wore a plain white T-shirt and black gym shorts. His stature was tall, maybe close to six feet, definitely taller than me.

"Maria Ravendale." The redhead smiled. One can tell she was full of positive energy just from the way she posed. She looked about the same age as me, and had messy, shoulder length red hair and large, bright brown eyes. She wore a hot pink shirt that read, "Keep Calm and Rock On." A pink sweater was tied around her waist. The only non-pink component of her was her blue jean-shorts.

"There are more people downstairs, but you can meet them later. In the meantime, can you tell us your name?"

My name? I hadn't thought about that. What am I called? I thought back to the time I first woke up, the storm, the weird daemons calling to me, and quietly, a voice echoed in the back of head. A familiar voice; a heartwarming voice; a broken voice; a sad voice.

"Kyle. I'm called Kyle."