GTS Syndrome Vol 2 Ch 18: A World Of Red & Ash!

(Penelope- The World Of Red And Ash)

I felt like I was floating.

Not falling. Not rising.

Just suspended in something thick and endless—like red smoke drifting through a sea of nothing. It swirled around me, choking out the stars, the sky, the world. I couldn't feel my limbs. My heart pounded faintly somewhere far away. My skin was hot, too hot. My thoughts were slippery, tugged in a dozen directions at once.

And in the distance, as if carried on a breeze I couldn't feel, a name echoed.

"Braden?"

I turned my head slowly—if I even had a head anymore. The red haze parted just enough to show me things I didn't want to see.

Men, small and defenseless. Running. Screaming. Blood soaking the sand.

And me—towering, ruthless, unstoppable.

Boots crashing down. Hands gripping bodies like they were nothing. My own lips curved in a smirk as my teeth closed around one helpless man's upper half, his scream muffled before it even finished. The others tried to flee. They never got far as they became red stains under my hands and feet.

Chains, Collars decorated the necks of men as they were lead to our Cities. Men marched through the gates, not as citizens but as property. There was cheering. I was cheering. Laughing, even.

I should have been horrified, horrified of the blood stained teeth of my sisters making a meal out of the inferior species that were men, horrified by tiny limbs ripped off of their small bodies.

Instead—I smiled.

"Yes..." I whispered. The word tasted like heat and metal. "This is right. This is the truth."

It felt like fire in my veins. Like justice.

"This is no longer their world," I said louder, standing tall in that misted dreamscape. "It's ours!"

I laughed. I laughed so hard my chest ached. And the mist responded—curling tighter around me like it was alive. Like it was proud.

But then—his face.

Braden.

Just a flicker at first. Green eyes wide. Dirt smudged across his face, but brave. Always brave. Even when afraid. Even when I wasn't myself.

My laughter died.

"What about him?" I asked. The heat dulled a little. "What is his fate?"

The red fog answered me with new images. Braden, lying injured. Braden, screaming as my fingers closed around him. Braden... crying. Crying because of me.

I staggered.

"No, I..." My voice cracked. "I didn't mean to..."

I saw his hand reaching up to me. Not with hate. Not even with fear.

With hope.

"Braden, I—" I stepped toward the image, but it shimmered, slipped away like smoke in wind. "Please don't look at me like that," I whispered.

My heart was hammering now.

U"This isn't me," I muttered. "This isn't me." I cried. "T-this is not what I want!"

***

(Penelope)

(Real World)

The red mist broke apart like shattered glass, and I gasped.

The air hit my lungs like a rush of wind after drowning. The heat, the sun, the feel of sand beneath my knees—everything came crashing back all at once. I blinked, and the haze in my mind began to clear.

Then I looked down.

Braden.

He was pinned beneath my hand—my enormous, stupid hand—and his body was twitching from the pressure I must have put on him. His face was twisted in pain, and his right arm... oh no. His other hand was trapped between my fingers like a twig in a clamp.

A sound broke in my throat.

"Oh my god—"

I yanked my hand back like I'd touched fire.

Braden sucked in a shaky breath, then slowly, agonizingly, pushed himself up from the ground. I could see the pain in every movement. The grit of his teeth, the way he cradled his arm. His body was covered in dust and bruises. That was me. I had done that to him.

"You finally back to normal?" he said, coughing a little. Then—he laughed. Just a little one, low and dry, but still somehow... lighthearted.

I didn't deserve that.

The tears came before I could stop them. Blurred my vision, slid down my cheeks and hit the sand like tiny droplets of guilt. I tried to speak, to explain, to beg him to understand.

"Braden, I'm..."

But he cut me off. "You're back. That's all that matters."

And just like that, his knees buckled. He stumbled forward, his strength giving out.

I caught him.

My hands—still trembling—moved faster than my thoughts. I wrapped my fingers around him with all the gentleness I could manage, lifting his small, battered body off the ground and into the crook of my arm, cradling him against my chest. His head rested right above my heart, and I could feel the faint beat of his own, rapid but steady.

He was warm. He was alive.

I hugged him closer, afraid he might vanish if I didn't.

"Braden..." My voice cracked again. "Thank you."