The First Floor

A woman attempts to stop an obsession with the mysterious tower that entered their world, but the knife in her hand just fits too well.

I must be insane. Theres no other explanation. I must be mad, or I've been cursed for being an idiot, and now I'm going to die here.

The knife in my hand shakes as I look at the sea of monsters. Stories have done this scene wrong, truly, because the floor is shaking under my feet and the monsters are spilling enough intent to kill that I imagine the mass of bodies as the grim reaper. I'm going to die. That is what they're telling me. Beyond language and species and culture, they can communicate, and they want to end my life.

The knife drops from my hand. I never should have come here. First floor of the tower my a*s, this is only the first floor? This barren wasteland, a flat plain of dirt without a speck of green and a grey, sunless sky? The description online doesn't do it justice. It looks like a place you'd go to die.

The sea of monsters coming towards us from a distance roars loud enough to make a young man in front of me stumble, but I can't hear it over my heart beating out of my chest. No, I can hear it, but I can't move.

The monsters come in all shapes and sizes, larger than people but thinner and gangly. Some run on four limbs, others shamble forward on two legs, mouths hanging open and eyes open. Their eyes are wide and upsettingly large with black sclera and white circles in the dead center.

They don't move fast, but the numbers overwhelm us 1:50. With 14 members on this squad, that would make 700. And I can't kill 50.

Because I'm not a Resister. I never awakened as one. I'm as normal as the girls I went to school with. I'm not even above average in strength, I've only been middle or last in the track team in terms of endurance, and all I have is a knife.

I can't kill 50 of these.

I'm going to die.

My hand is tugged suddenly, and I jerk away hard enough for them to almost lose their grip. I look up with dazed eyes. The leader is in front of me.

Pushing my knife back into my hand.

The leader is a kind man. I met him while camping the Squad Hall. He had an aged expression, with smile lines and gentle eyes. I'm not sure why he came up to me but he asked about my health and my reason for being there. I replied, seeing if there's a team that would take a first timer.

I'll admit, he gave me hope, and he didn't disappoint because he accepted me in and gave me an expensive knife for slaying monsters. I expected a recommendation, but he turned out to be the leader.

"Do you want to get out of here?" He asks me. The expression on his face is strict.

I nod my head, dizzy. My sense of reality slips like a disk, leaving me reeling.

He looks me straight in the eyes, squeezing my hand around the knife. I clench onto it unconsciously.

"Then fight."

He leaves with those words. The knife is cold in my hand.

Right. I must have forgotten what a leader in this situation has to do.

He has to ensure the survival of the group. No one can protect me.

Am I... going to die like this?

***

The knife is sharp, I'll admit. Pulling and pushing the blade does all the work for me, taking down the grotesque creatures like they were made of clay, and not flesh and bone. I have no technique, just the instinctual swinging my body moves with to survive. The monsters fall like a clocks hand, tick, tick, tick, one by one.

It's confusing how the bodies fall so easily, and though their deaths bring no satisfaction, I find myself feeling something different.

The fear isn't suffocating anymore. Instead I am left with the rushing adrenaline in my blood and the pounding of my heartbeat. It can almost be mistaken for excitement.

The weak points are easy to see, with their bodies looking like skin stretched over bone and sinew. Any cut I make is a significant wound. Meanwhile, their bodies are too weak to hurt me outside of small scratches from their nails. Even their teeth seem to break when they bite. All they have is their sheet numbers.

My face is flushed but I don't notice as I take down another, another, another, another another another and another. Each kill is a zap of electricity in my mind and it helps me throw myself into the next swing of my blade. It feels like dancing.

I came into the tower to escape the obsession I have over it. I thought that if I could scare myself enough, the danger would dissuade me. I think, dazedly, with my blade dripping in blackish blood, that perhaps I shouldn't have come here.

It isn't long before the monsters are dead.

I pant, standing with my head down and eyes wide. Never have I felt so strong and beautiful than I have in this gruesome and hellish situation. The dust kicks up from a gust of wind and settles on the blood drying on my clothes and skin. The blade remains gripped tightly in my hand. Swallowing, I squeeze the handle. It feels like it's become a part of me.

"You're a natural," a hand falls on my shoulder and I swing without thinking. The old man blocks my attack but I'm too stunned at my own actions.

I turn to look at him, but he's smiling like nothing happened.

"You, my dear, have done an amazing job. It's like you were made for that blade." He pats my shoulder again comfortingly. "-and don't worry about it," he says, referencing my attack on him. "Newbies can be jumpy after their first fight. I nearly took out the healers eye my first time, if my own captain hadn't stopped me."

I swallow. Jumpy? My hand is slightly shaking, but I don't feel jumpy. Still, I take his word for it, grateful that he stopped me from maybe accidentally hurting someone else.

"You look well enough to move on to the second floor. Do you feel ready for that?" The old man asks seriously. "You should rest if you're too tired, physically or emotionally. In this place, it's always better to be safe than sorry."

My hand is still holding the knife tightly. If I leave, I think to myself, I'll have to let it go. I promised myself I wouldn't go inside the tower again if I went inside. I gave myself one chance.

Black blood has dried on my cheek. I look terrible, hair mussed by the wind and movement and clothes tattered with blood and the kicked up dust.

My mouth opens.

"I'd like to continue- sir."

Perhaps this will be a mistake.

Perhaps, on the second floor, I'll end up dying, like I thought I would when I saw the monsters on the horizon and heard their cacophonous screams.

My heart beats in my ears. The handle of the knife has warmed to my own temperature, blending the boundary between hand and handle.

All I know is that...

I can't let go now.

Just one more floor. Then I'll stop.


Even to myself, it sounds like a lie.

Author's Note

Practicing action scenes again but from a different angle than "Nora and Julian." How is it?