Astreya

ANYA(Thailand)

Anya's footsteps hit the cracked pavement unevenly, her left arm hanging at an awkward angle. The sharp sting from the ragged tear in her bicep pulsed with every step, a constant reminder of the creatures she'd just put down.

She paused under a flickering neon sign, breathing shallow, and wiped sweat and grime from her brow.

Then, without warning, a faint glow shimmered before her eyes. A translucent panel hovering midair, filled with strange symbols and lines she couldn't quite read.

Her name.

Her status.

And then a phrase that stopped her heart for a beat: Steel Endurance.

What was this? A trick? A warning? 

Anya's brow creased in confusion. The panel—its glow, the strange symbols vanished before she could touch it, leaving only the cold night air. She blinked, wondering if exhaustion was playing tricks on her.

Her footsteps faltered, then resumed, heavier now with the weight of the unknown. As she passed a shuttered storefront, flickering light caught her eye.

Inside, a dusty old TV cast a pale glow through the cracked glass.

She stopped.

The screen showed a grainy news broadcast.

"…government officials declare a state of emergency as mysterious 'rifts' continue to open across the city. Citizens report sightings of strange creatures, some resembling figures from myth and legend. Authorities urge caution and advise staying indoors…"

Images flickered on the screen.

A hulking beast covered in scales, eyes glowing unnaturally bright.

A man in tattered clothes, his hands crackling with electric blue energy, shouting orders to a crowd.

Another clip showed soldiers armed with weapons firing on shadowy shapes emerging from shimmering tears in the sky.

The anchor's voice continued.

"Reports of people manifesting unusual abilities—calling them 'awakened'—have increased sharply. Scientists and military personnel remain baffled by the phenomenon. Meanwhile, containment efforts are ongoing, but the situation remains volatile."

Anya's eyes narrowed.

Awakened.

Her mind flashed back to the panel, the strange symbols, the phrase Steel Endurance.

What was happening to this world? The pain in her arm pulsed again, sharp enough to pull her back to the immediate. She looked away from the screen, heart pounding. The city around her was no longer the place she had known, it was becoming something else. Something dangerous.

-

Anya limped toward a small convenience store a few blocks away, the sting in her arm flaring with each step. She needed bandages, something to stop the bleeding before it got worse. The city was quieter now, but that only made every sound sharper: distant shouts, the scrape of debris, and a low growl that didn't belong.

Pushing open the cracked door, she slipped inside, eyes scanning the cluttered aisles. The flickering overhead light hummed weakly. 

Suddenly, voices erupted outside—tense, sharp, desperate.

Anya's head snapped toward the window.

A small group of people were trapped in a narrow alley just beyond the street. They huddled close, backs pressed against the crumbling brick walls, faces tight with fear. Surrounding them were several creatures. Not quite human, but not fully beast either.

Their bodies were lean and covered in mottled, scaly skin. Sharp claws scraped the pavement. Long snouts revealed jagged teeth. Their eyes glinted with cunning intelligence, reflecting the dim light like shards of shattered glass.

The humans brandished makeshift weapons—pipes, broken boards but it was clear they were outmatched. One creature darted forward, swift and low, lunging with a hiss.

The group scattered, a woman screaming as she stumbled. Another swung a pipe, connecting with a snarling face, but more creatures closed in. The humans had no chance. Makeshift weapons were no match for claws and teeth sharpened by some cruel design.

Then, like a thunderclap slicing through the tension, the alleyway's far end exploded with motion.

A figure emerged. A tall man wrapped in faded shorts, his lean muscles coiled like springs. His skin glistened with sweat despite the cool night air. His eyes burned with fierce calm, an ancient fire.

The crowd around him parted instinctively.

Without hesitation, the man stepped forward, a ghost of a grin flickering over his lips.

He cracked his knuckles and lowered his stance, a practiced rhythm pulsing through his movements.

The nearest creature lunged, claws extended.

He caught it midair with an elbow strike so precise it echoed like a bell. The beast's body slammed against the brick wall, crumpling.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Another came at him from the side.

A spinning elbow. A knee strike. The creature was airborne, crashing hard to the ground, twitching but still alive.

The man's fists and feet became a blur. Strike after strike, a whirlwind of controlled power. Every hit landed with the thud of a sledgehammer and the grace of a dance.

The creatures faltered, disoriented by the ferocity and precision.

One tried to claw his face but caught a rising knee instead, blood spraying as it yelped and collapsed.

In less than a minute, the alley was silent except for ragged breaths.

Anya's eyes widened as the man wiped sweat from his brow and glanced over the shaken humans, nodding once, sharply.

They called him Somchai—the legend of Bangkok's Muay Thai scene. Stories of his unmatched skill and iron will had been whispered in the gym where Anya had grown up, a name she'd chased in every punishing drill and fight.

Somchai exhaled through his nose. No celebration. Just calm, measured steps as he moved past the broken bodies and into the store.

Anya stood beside a rack of dusty canned goods, her left sleeve torn and her bicep slick with blood. He spotted the first-aid kit still unopened on the shelf beside her, walked over, and took it without a word.

She didn't move as he opened it and ripped open an alcohol pad. "Sit," he said.

Anya hesitated, then lowered herself onto a crate, jaw tight. The sting hit sharp and clean as he cleaned the wound.

"You're lucky." He started wrapping with tight, efficient loops, no wasted motion, no need for words. "Didn't hit the artery."

She grunted, her muscles flinching once before going still. "Didn't feel lucky."

Somchai finished the last loop of the bandage and tied it off. His hands were steady. Efficient.

"I saw what you did out there," he said. "You move well. Sharp hips. Good balance."

Anya blinked. It wasn't praise, at least not the way others gave it. There was no flattery in his voice. Just observation, like a trainer calling out corrections from the edge of the ring.

"Thanks," she said, finally. Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Somchai stood, adjusted the tape on his fingers, and walked to the shattered doorway. He scanned the alley again—twice, like he expected something else to come. His posture never loosened. Even now, his weight stayed on the balls of his feet.

"How long's your arm been like that?" he asked, still looking out.

"Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty."

"Then we move. Before it stiffens."

Anya stood, testing the limb. The pain was dulled now, still there, but no longer screaming. Her hand flexed slowly, deliberately.

Somchai glanced back at her, giving her one more full look, as if deciding something.

"They've set up zones. Military control. Reinforced perimeters. One near Victory Monument," he said. "Safe enough, for now. Food. Medical. Shelter."

Gunfire cracked in the distance, rapid bursts punctuated by the deep thud of heavy artillery. Explosions bloomed like deadly fireworks far beyond the broken skyline, sending flares of orange and black smoke curling into the air. Sirens wailed intermittently, blending with shouted orders and the sharp clang of metal.

The city was still alive with violence, unrest, and desperation.

Then the smell hit her.

Sour, meaty. Not quite decay, not fresh either. Somchai stopped cold, and Anya slowed behind him, eyes scanning the ruined street. Her breath caught as something huge shifted from between two buildings ahead.

The shape that emerged was nearly twice the height of a man, with arms thick as tree trunks and skin like cracked obsidian. Its lower jaw jutted forward, tusks curling past its lips. Its eyes glowed faintly green. Aware.

An ogre.

Or something close enough to the name.