John watched from an upper window as the manor and its surrounding grounds transformed into a hive of frantic activity. People rushed around every corner of the estate, conversations bubbling up in clusters, bodies moving with newfound purpose. The decision to evacuate had been made barely an hour ago, yet already the nascent resistance seemed to have collectively decided that standing still meant dying.

  He supposed that was fair enough. The System had made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t going to tolerate them staying here.

  The decision to leave hadn't been unanimous, of course. There had been grumbling, some pushback from the survivors who didn’t want to uproot themselves immediately after finding what had appeared to be relative safety. But Doug had handled the dissent with with gruff bluntness, and the few holdouts had eventually conceded the point.

  Watching the chaos unfold below filled John with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and discomfort. Satisfaction because people were taking initiative, preparing themselves for survival. Discomfort because he knew, with absolute certainty, that if he stayed, they'd entrench themselves here and wait for the System to obliterate them. The resistance's fate was tied to his decisions in a way that made his skin crawl.

  Just another thing I never asked for, he thought, turning away from the window.

  John descended the stairs and stepped out into the courtyard between the manor and its outbuildings. The scene that greeted him was pandemonium. People rushed about with purpose, hauling supplies, stripping the manor of anything that might prove useful on the road. Furniture was being dismantled. Shelves were being emptied. Someone had even started prying up floorboards in search of hidden storage spaces.

  A few people noticed John and immediately straightened, their expressions shifting to something between respect and awe. One man actually gave him a small bow before hurrying past with an armful of blankets.

  John hated it, but he couldn't exactly tell them to stop, because the Aura gains from having so many people impressed by him were substantial, and he was going to need every point he could get. So instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, adopted his usual aloof expression, and walked toward the manor's eastern wing like he owned the place.

  +8000 Aura

  Right then. Time to fill my Inventory.

  Cremating Curtis, Claire, and Marian had freed up almost two hundred and fifty kilograms of capacity that had been occupied by their corpses. Human bodies, reduced to inventory weight, haunting him every time he'd opened his menu.

  Now that space was ready to be filled with something useful instead of guilt and grief.

  His Inventory capacity sat at just over nine hundred kilograms these days, the result of his body weight multiplied by his Strength stat. At Level 10 Strength, he could carry nearly a tonne of supplies without breaking a sweat. The sheer utility of it still amazed him sometimes.

  John started in the manor's kitchen, methodically stripping it of anything remotely useful. Knives went into his Inventory. Pots and pans. Utensils. He found a collection of spices and dried herbs that looked like they'd been expensive once upon a time, and those went in too. Cooking oil. Salt. Sugar. Flour. Rice. Pasta. Tinned goods stacked high in a pantry that someone had clearly been hoarding.

  People gave him odd looks as he moved through the manor, touching items that would then simply vanish into thin air. But nobody questioned him. Nobody dared. They just watched, whispered amongst themselves, and continued with their own looting.

  From the kitchen, John moved to what had once been a study or library. Most of the books had been destroyed, torn apart by monsters or used as kindling, but he found a few intact volumes that looked like they might contain useful information. Survival guides. First aid manuals. A collection of maps that covered the greater London area in impressive detail.

  All of it went into his Inventory.

  He worked his way through the manor systematically, room by room, taking anything that might prove valuable. Blankets and bedding. Towels. Clothing in various sizes. Medical supplies from a bathroom cabinet. Tools from a workshop he discovered in one of the outbuildings. Rope. Tarp. Batteries. Torches. A camping stove. Gas canisters.

  Eventually, someone mentioned that there were several ruined commercial buildings on the Micklefield Hall estate, tucked away beyond the formal gardens. Shops that had serviced the manor back when it had been a functioning estate, John supposed. Or maybe more recent additions that predated the apocalypse by decades rather than centuries.

  Either way, they needed to be ransacked.

  John gathered a small group of survivors for the expedition. Not because he needed the help, necessarily, but because it seemed like the kind of thing a leader would do. Delegation. Shared purpose. All that bollocks.

  The group consisted of eight people whose names John couldn't remember. They all looked at him like he was about to lead them on some grand quest instead of a simple looting run.

  Fuck me, this is exhausting.

  The commercial buildings were in even worse shape than the manor. One had been a small grocery shop, though "small" was relative. The shelves had been mostly cleared out already, probably by previous survivors or looters, but John found crates of preserved goods in a back storage room that everyone else had missed. Tinned vegetables. Jarred sauces. Packets of dried fruit. More pasta and rice.

  Another building had been some kind of general store. John found tools, hardware, gardening supplies, paint tins, and an impressive collection of nails and screws that went straight into his Inventory despite their relatively small individual value. You never knew when you might need to repair something, and his menus could make use of raw materials.

  A third building looked like it had been a small warehouse or distribution centre. Pallets of goods sat wrapped in plastic, some damaged by weather and monsters, others relatively intact. John tore into them with help from his impromptu crew, sorting through boxes of random merchandise.

  Clothing. More tools. Camping equipment. Sporting goods. Electronics that probably didn't work anymore but might contain useful components. Batteries by the dozen. More tinned food. Bottled water.

  The survivors worked efficiently, carrying items back to the manor or simply pointing out things John should take. By the time they'd finished ransacking the commercial buildings, John's Inventory sat at eight hundred and twenty kilograms. Ninety-ish percent full. The weight of survival compressed into an extradimensional space attached to his soul.

  He dismissed the group with a curt nod, ignoring their grateful thanks, and made his way back toward the manor house proper. The day had passed in a blur of looting and preparation.

  John's mind felt distant, detached. People had been deferential to him throughout the entire endeavour, treating him with a respect that bordered on reverence. Stepping aside when he approached. Asking permission before taking items he'd marked for his Inventory. Looking to him for approval or guidance even when he had no fucking idea what he was doing.

  He'd fallen back on his usual coping mechanism, maintaining the aloof, mysterious persona that his Aura system seemed to reward. He acted cold, distant, unaffected by the chaos around him. The untouchable badass who had everything under control.

  The performance had earned him Aura, of course. Thousands of points throughout the day as people watched him work.

  But it had also driven a wedge between him and the other survivors. They didn't see John Woods, the anxious twenty-year-old who was barely holding himself together. They saw the myth. The legend. The man who'd destroyed Watford's portals and saved them all from certain death.

  And myths didn't have friends. Myths stood alone.

  John found himself wandering toward the back gardens, seeking solitude. The formal hedged areas had been trampled during the siege, hedges burned or torn apart, and the fields beyond were barely recognisable. Wild grass and scattered trees reduced to mud and mulch stretching toward the horizon.

  He spotted Lily at the edge of the gardens, standing alone, looking out at the devastated landscape.

  The burning sky seemed to illuminate her red hair, making it look almost like fire itself. She'd removed her chainmail, wearing just her grey jumper and scuffed jeans, and there was something contemplative about her posture that made John hesitate.

  She looked beautiful, standing there in the hellish light. The thought hit him before he could suppress it, followed immediately by a wave of embarrassment as he remembered the hugs they'd shared. The comfort she'd offered. That kiss on the cheek back at the farm, before he'd gone on his crusade through Watford.

  Don't be a fucking idiot, he told himself firmly.

  But the memory of her warmth, her gentle understanding, lingered anyway.

  John forced himself to approach, his boots crunching on scorched grass. He came to stand beside her, maintaining a respectful distance, and followed her gaze out across the fields.

  The landscape was utterly devastated. Craters from his Planetary Devastation spell pockmarked the earth. Scorch marks from various fire abilities blackened the grass. The frozen remnants of his Dark Side of the Moon spell still lingered in places, chunks of crystallised monsters that hadn't fully thawed yet.

  They stood in silence for a long moment. John could feel the anxiety building in his chest, familiar pressure that came with being near another person without a script to follow. He should say something. Anything. But what?

  Luckily, Lily saved him from his spiral by speaking first.

  "What are your goals, John?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Like, long term. Beyond the resistance and all this survival stuff. What do you actually want?"

  The question caught him off guard. He'd been expecting small talk about the upcoming exodus. Something simple and safe that he could navigate without too much mental gymnastics.

  Instead, she'd gone straight for the existential.

  John swallowed. His mind raced through possible responses, weighing each one for how "cool" it would sound, how his Aura system might react. But looking at Lily's profile, seeing the genuine curiosity in her expression, he found himself abandoning the performance.

  "I want to get to Dagenham," he said simply. "That's where my family lives. My parents, my gran, my little sister Sophie. I want to find out if they're okay. If they made it through."

  Lily's expression softened. "Tell me about them?"

  So he did. The words came haltingly at first. John wasn't used to talking about himself, about his life before the apocalypse. But Lily listened with an attentiveness that made it easier.

  He told her about his parents. His mum, who worked in retail and always worried too much. His dad, who did manual labour and came home exhausted every night but still made time to ask about John's day. How they'd never had much money, but they'd made it work.

  He told her about his gran, who lived nearby and made the best roast dinners in East London. How she'd been the one to teach him to cook, back when he'd been a kid who thought following recipes was boring.

  He told her about Sophie, his younger sister. How she was sixteen, but her birthday was March 18th, so she might be seventeen by the time he got there. How she'd always been brighter than him, more social, more confident. How he'd felt like a disappointing older brother sometimes, but she'd never made him feel that way.

  "It's not that far from here, really," he said again, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Maybe fifteen, twenty miles as the crow flies. But it might as well be across the ocean, for all the portals and monsters between here and there."

  Lily smiled, but the expression didn't quite reach her eyes.

  "That's a good goal," she said. "A worthy one. Finding your family, making sure they're safe. That's... that's what matters, really."

  John looked at her more closely. There was a tightness around her mouth, a faint tremor in her hands as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was holding herself together, but only just.

  And suddenly he understood. Lily's family was in Florida. An actual entire ocean away. The distance that separated her from the people she loved made his own journey to Dagenham look like a pleasant afternoon stroll.

  The thought of her never seeing her family again, never knowing if they were alive or dead, made something twist in John's chest. He knew things were contentious with her folks, just from the snippets she’d given up, but there had to be plenty of people she cared about, back on the other side of the pond.

  He'd been so focused on his own problems, his own goals, that he hadn't really considered what Lily must be going through.

  "We'll find a way," John heard himself say, "to cross the ocean. To get you to Florida so you can check on your family. On anyone else you care about."

  Lily's head snapped around, her green eyes wide with shock.

  "I've got Dragon Wings," he interrupted, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. "They're not sustainable for long-distance flight yet, but I'm getting stronger. The System keeps throwing new abilities at me, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that everything's possible if you're willing to grind for it. Maybe I’ll be able to Enchant a plane, if we can find one that weighs less than 900kg."

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tears welled in Lily's eyes. "That's... you can't promise something like that. It's thousands of miles. There'd be monsters over the ocean, weather, a million things that could go wrong."

  "I don't care," John said, and he meant it. "You've been there for me. For all of us. You showed me kindness when I didn't deserve it. So yes, Lily. When this is all over, when we've secured Heathrow and built something sustainable, we'll find a way to get you home. That's a promise."

  +2000 Aura

  The tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks in twin streams. Lily let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, and then she was moving, closing the distance between them and pulling John into a fierce hug.

  John's anxiety spiked hard. Physical contact. Unexpected. His mind immediately began cataloguing all the ways this could go wrong, all the awkward things he might say or do to ruin the moment.

  But Lily was crying into his shoulder, her body shaking with the force of emotions she'd probably been suppressing for days, and John found himself responding on instinct rather than calculation.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held on.

  It felt nice, hugging Lily. The warmth of another person, the simple human comfort of contact. For a moment, John allowed himself to acknowledge that fact without immediately feeling guilty or anxious about it.

  Then his treacherous brain supplied the observation that this was the third time they'd hugged, and all three times had been because one of them was upset. A pattern. A negative correlation. Comfort only coming in moments of distress.

  It was a bit disappointing, really. John immediately tried to squash that thought down.

  Lily's your friend, and she's going through hell just like everyone else. Don't make this weird by developing feelings or whatever the fuck your brain thinks is happening here.

  It would only lead to disaster. It always did with him. He'd learned that lesson thoroughly back in school, back when he'd been stupid enough to think someone might actually be interested in him as more than a source of homework answers or pity or sadistic torment.

  Lily eventually calmed, her sobs subsiding into hiccupping breaths. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  "Sorry," she said, her voice thick. "I didn't mean to fall apart on you. Again. Fuck, that’s twice now."

  "Don't apologise," John said.

  Lily laughed, a watery sound. "God, what a fucked up situation we're in."

  "Yeah," John agreed. "Pretty fucked."

  She looked up at him, and there was something in her expression that John couldn't quite read. Gratitude, certainly. Maybe affection, though that thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

  "Thank you, John," she said softly. "For the promise. For listening. For being... you. You're genuinely a good guy."

  +1000 Aura

  The Aura gain felt wrong somehow. What had been badass about that?

  "We should probably get back," Lily said after another moment. "People will be looking for you. The great and powerful leader."

  She said it with a teasing lilt, but there was truth underneath the joke. John grimaced.

  She squeezed his arm once, then stepped back and started walking toward the manor. John watched her go, something warm and uncomfortable settling in his chest.

  The others, he thought. I should check on them too.

  The realisation hit him that he'd been so focused on survival, on grinding Aura and maintaining his persona, that he hadn't really taken the time to see how his core team was doing. They all had their own struggles, their own goals and fears.

  John headed back toward the manor, determined to find his team and have the conversations he'd been avoiding.

  ~~~

  He found Doug in the courtyard between the manor and its outbuildings, deep in conversation with several survivors. The old man was gesturing broadly as he spoke, his voice carrying that authoritative tone he could summon when needed. People were listening, nodding, asking questions.

  John watched for a moment, seeing Doug in his element. The leadership role suited him in a way it would never suit John. The old man had probably spent decades doing this kind of thing, long before the apocalypse had forced him to dust off those old skills.

  When there was a lull in the conversation, John caught Doug's eye and lifted his chin slightly. A wordless signal: Can we talk?

  Doug's weathered face broke into a knowing smile. He said something to the survivors that John couldn't quite hear, then excused himself and followed John toward the gardens.

  They walked in silence until they were well away from the manor, the sounds of activity fading to a distant murmur. Finally, John stopped beside one of the ancient oak trees that dotted the grounds and turned to face the old man.

  "How are you doing?" John asked.

  Doug raised an eyebrow. "That's my line, kid. You're the one who's had the roughest go of it lately."

  "Maybe," John said. "But our friendship has been pretty one-sided so far when it comes to talking about stuff. You're always asking how I'm doing, always ready to listen. But I've never really asked how you're holding up."

  Doug's expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features. Then something softer settled there, something almost fond.

  "That's how it's supposed to be," Doug said gently. "The old helping the young. I don't mind our dynamic one bit, John. Really."

  The smile on his face was warm, genuine. But then it shifted, becoming something more complex. Softer around the edges but weighted with experience.

  "That said," Doug continued, "I appreciate you asking. It's been... hard. Won't lie about that. But my whole life's been a long run of hardships, and I'll overcome this one just like I did the others."

  John studied the old man's face. There were new lines there that hadn't existed before the apocalypse, deeper grooves around his eyes and mouth, even while his skin gained new life and youth. The stress of leadership, of constant survival.

  But there was also strength there. Resolve. Doug had lived through things that would have broken lesser people, and he'd come out the other side still standing.

  "Do you… have people?" John asked. Then added hastily: "From before all this. People you might want to go and find."

  Doug was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant.

  "I've got children. Grandchildren, too," Doug said. "Maisie and her sprogs were based in Brighton, before all this, and Drew was in Cornwall with his family."

  He paused, and John saw his jaw flex slightly.

  "Yeah, I want to check on them," Doug continued. "Make sure they're safe. Or if they're not..." He trailed off, but the implication was clear. If they weren't safe, Doug would move heaven and earth to make them safe. Or avenge them if it was too late.

  "But I need to be strong enough to make the journey," Doug said. "Brighton’s a long way from here, and God knows what's between us and there. I can't just go charging off half-cocked. Need to level up, get stronger, make sure I can actually survive the trip."

  John nodded slowly. "I'll help you," he said. "Whatever you need. Training, gear, backup for the journey. Just say the word, and I'm there."

  Doug's hand landed on John's shoulder. The old man's grip was firm, warm.

  "I know you will, kid," Doug said. "And I appreciate it more than I can say. But remember what I told you before: you can't carry all of us on your back forever. We need to get strong enough to stand on our own."

  "I know," John said. "But until you are, I've got your back. That's what friends do."

  +500 Aura

  Doug's expression warmed further, and for a moment John thought the old man might get emotional. But he just clapped John on the shoulder one more time, nodded, and headed back toward the manor.

  John watched him go, feeling that same uncomfortable warmth in his chest that Lily had left him with. Connection. Friendship. Things he'd never really had before the apocalypse, and now they were blooming in the midst of hell itself.

  What a fucked up world, he thought, but there was less bitterness in the observation than there might have been a few days ago.

  ~~~

  Finding Jade was no trial, either. She was in the manor house's main hall, using the enchanted healing necklace he'd given her to tend to minor injuries. The Biomancy-infused item glowed faintly green as she worked, her hands moving with confidence as she healed a nasty gash on someone's arm.

  John hung back, watching her. The trauma of what she'd endured was still there, visible in the tension in her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes. But there was also a fragile kind of peace there.

  When she finished with the current patient and sent them on their way, John approached.

  "Feeling better?" he asked.

  Jade's face lit up in a genuine smile, the first real one John had seen from her since… well, he didn’t know he’d ever seen one that looked so real on her lips. "John! Yes, actually. Loads better."

  She held up the necklace, the green glow reflecting in her grey eyes. "Being able to help people without having to fight and kill is... it's an indescribable relief, man. Fuckin’ hell, I don’t even know how to put it into words."

  She might not have been able to find the words, but John could hear the desperate gratitude underneath them.

  "I'm glad," John said, and meant it.

  Jade's smile softened. "Thank you for this. For the necklace, for understanding. I know I was... intense this morning. But I was drowning, John. And you threw me a lifeline."

  "You're my friend," John said simply. "And friends help each other."

  The words felt awkward coming out of his mouth, too sincere and vulnerable. But Jade's expression showed they'd landed well.

  "I’ve been thinking… do you have people you want to find?" John asked after a moment.

  "Inverness," she said without hesitation. "That's where I'm from. Small town near there, actually. My family's there. Or was. I don't know if they're still alive, but…"

  Scotland. In the opposite direction from Dagenham, and considerably further away, to put it lightly. Another impossible journey that would require strength and planning and resources.

  "I'll help you get there," John promised. "When the time comes, we'll find a way."

  Jade's eyes glistened, but she blinked the tears back. "You keep making promises like that, people are going to expect you to keep them."

  "Then I'd better keep them," John said.

  +600 Aura

  They stood there for a moment, the sound of activity echoing through the manor around them. Then Jade nodded, squeezed his arm once, and turned back to her healing work.

  John left her there, feeling the weight of another promise settling on his shoulders. Dagenham for him. Florida for Lily. Brighton and Cornwall for Doug. Inverness for Jade. Each one a commitment, a responsibility.

  The resistance wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about getting everyone home.

  ~~~

  Finding Chester took considerably more effort.

  John searched the manor house first, then the outbuildings, then the gardens. No sign of the younger man anywhere. It wasn't until he started checking the stables that he finally pushed open the door and stepped into a darkened room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he found Chester sitting on the floor in the corner, his back against the wall.

  He was crying.

  The sound was quiet, almost strangled, like Chester was trying to suppress it even as tears streamed down his face. His broad shoulders shook with the effort of keeping silent, and when he noticed John entering, he scrambled to his feet and hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand.

  "I'm fine," Chester said, his voice thick and trembling. "Just... needed a minute."

  But even as he said it, his face crumpled. The facade of strength he'd tried to put up shattered before it could even finish forming, and the tears came harder.

  John felt his own anxiety spike immediately. This was well outside his comfort zone. He'd barely managed to handle Lily's tears earlier, and that had been in an open garden with an escape route readily available. This was different. Enclosed space. Overwhelming emotion. No script to follow.

  His instincts screamed at him to leave. To make an excuse and get out of this uncomfortable situation before he made it worse somehow.

  But then he remembered the last time Chester had broken down in front of him. Back in that attic on the outskirts of London, before they'd even met Doug. Before Watford. When their group had been new and fragile and none of them had known how to handle the apocalypse yet.

  John had kept silent then. Avoided the situation because he hadn't known what else to do. And the guilt of that abandonment had lingered, a small chip of shame that he’d managed to ignore for all this time.

  He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

  Filling himself with determination, John crossed the room and put his hands on Chester's shoulders. The younger man was significantly taller than him, and far more muscular. But in that moment, Chester looked small.

  John pulled him into a hug.

  It was awkward. Chester's frame didn't fold into John's embrace the way Lily's had. Their heights were wrong, their builds mismatched. John had to bend back at an odd angle to make it work, and his arms barely reached around Chester's broad back.

  But he held on anyway.

  "It's going to be okay," John said, the words feeling inadequate even as he spoke them. "Everything's going to be okay."

  -200 Aura

  Fuck you, John thought, glaring at nothing. He didn’t let go.

  Chester made a choking sound. His whole body was shaking now, tears soaking into John's shoulder.

  "I think everyone I knew is dead," Chester whispered. "I overheard some of the survivors talking. About how Chelsea's completely fucked. How the whole area's been torn apart by monsters and portals and fighting."

  John's throat went tight. The same fear that had been eating at John for days. The terror that his own family might already be gone. That Dagenham had fallen. That he was fighting his way through hell for people who were already dead.

  "You don't know that," John managed. "Chelsea's a big place. Your siblings could have survived. Could be holed up somewhere safe, just like we were. Hell, they could have escaped."

  "They're dead," Chester said, his voice flat with certainty. "I know they are. The only people who ever gave a shit about me, and they're fucking dead."

  The despair in his voice was absolute.

  John squeezed Chester tighter, unsure what else to do. Words felt useless in the face of that kind of grief.

  "We'll go see for ourselves," John said finally. "When we've secured Heathrow, we'll make the journey to Chelsea. And if your siblings are alive, we'll save them. We'll bring them back to the resistance and keep them safe."

  Chester didn't respond. Didn't seem to hear. Lost in his own private hell.

  "And if they're not," John continued, his voice hardening, "then we'll make sure every last monster pays for it. We'll purge Chelsea of every portal, every creature, every threat. We'll burn it all down and salt the fucking earth."

  That got through. Chester's sobs quieted slightly, and John felt him shift, the taller man's arms coming up to return the hug with crushing force.

  "If they're really dead," Chester whispered, his voice taking on a dark edge that John had never heard from him before, "I won't stop until every last monster is purged from Earth. I'll kill them all. Every. Single. One."

  The venom in those words was shocking coming from Chester, who'd always been the anxious one, the one who hated conflict. But grief could change people, he supposed. Could forge them into something more dangerous. He could only hope it wouldn’t need to.

  They stayed like that for a long time, two young men hugging in a dark stable, surrounded by the ruins of the old world. Eventually, Chester's tears slowed, then stopped. His grip on John loosened.

  When they finally pulled apart, Chester's face was blotchy and swollen, his eyes red. But there was something else there now too. A cold determination that hadn't existed before.

  "Thank you," Chester said, his voice hoarse. "For not leaving. For... for being here."

  "That's what friends do," John said for the third time that day.

  Chester managed a weak smile. "Yeah. I guess it is."