18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 341

The haze lifted, and there was a hive of survivors bustling about the town square. Their faces, once masked by pollution, now revealed the weariness of lives lived on the edge of survival.

The endless drone of the emergency broadcast grated on nerves already frayed, a looped reminder of their grim reality. "Instead of that incessant noise, they might as well hand out a couple pounds of rations," one grumbled. "It'd do more good than all this chatter." Fear of acid rain was universal, but what choice did they have?

Outside, the sparse drizzle mocked their urgency. "Come on, really pour! Drown us if that's what you want." But the god played a cruel game, drizzling on and off as if teasing the desperate souls below.

After an agitated wait inside the hall, some of the bolder spirits dashed out beneath makeshift coverings, braving the corrosive drops. One by one, others followed, and soon the square emptied as people scattered to homes and jobs, gambling with the fickle weather. It was getting close to the afternoon, and they were interrupted by the sudden raindrops, so Stella estimated that there wouldn't be many more patients. She suggested closing the stall early and heading back. It could be troublesome if it really started pouring rain. As they gathered their supplies, a scream pierced the air. The rain intensified, transforming from a teasing drizzle to a deluge, pelting the people outside with relentless fury.

Pain erupted on exposed skin-faces, hands, everywhere as if thrown into boiling water. The screams crescendoed as people scrambled for shelter, but with the crowd in a panic, where could they hide?

Those quick enough sought refuge back in the hall. The square became a blur of chaos, some knocked over, others trampled, as the downpour continued its acidic assault.

those caught outside blistered and peeled. Even

rescue the fallen. Faces turned away, unable to witness the brutality

never birthed a child of her own, she had helped Jasper raise

echoed with the torments of a living hell. Those who escaped bore scars that would

hall, their cries for help drowning in the stench of the acid rain mixed

over her shoulder. "Doc, we gotta get out of here,"

healers, they were

copious water, and medical attention they were unequipped to provide.

too. They were doctors sworn to aid, yet now they had to flee,

not that we won't help. It's that

perspective. In such situations, friction could easily occur, and there might have been a risk to life. But logic was lost to

sword she kept for