The sky was bleeding rust and ash, torn open by the fury of a dying sun and something far more violent brewing behind them. The world had turned hostile—flat land stretching for miles in every direction, nothing to hide behind, nothing to save you. Just cracked highway, choking dust, and the low, rising growl of the end.

VRRRRRRRROOOM.

Shadow’s motorcycle thundered beneath him, snarling against the broken road as he pushed it harder, faster, past what the machine was ever built for. No helmet. No gear. Just the cold wind slashing against his face, quills whipping wildly behind him, red eyes narrowed like fire against the storm.

You were behind him—pressed tight to his back, arms wrapped around his waist like a lifeline, like if you let go, you’d be lost to the sky forever. Your head was tucked against his spine, your breath shaky, heart pounding like a second engine roaring with the rhythm of fear.

⸻

Behind you, a monster chased.

A tornado—massive, black, screaming—devoured the horizon. It twisted across the earth like a godless thing born of fury and regret, pulling the sky down with it, erasing towns and time. Everything it touched vanished. Trees exploded. Signs twisted midair. And you could feel its hunger—it wanted you.

But Shadow never looked back.

He didn’t need to.

His face was a mask of stone, lips pressed in a grim line, jaw set like steel. The glow of his crimson eyes caught the flicker of lightning overhead, burning like coals under the weight of the storm. Every movement was sharp. Focused. Purposeful. Not just because he wanted to live—but because you were on the bike with him. And he’d never let it take you.

⸻

The wind howled like a banshee, tearing at your clothes, your hair, trying to rip you both from the seat. But your arms only tightened around him, and that mattered more than any map or compass ever could.

BOOM.

The sky cracked open, lightning splitting the heavens right above you. Thunder followed, a cannon blast rolling through your bones. The ground shook. The tornado growled louder, too close now, flinging pieces of some dead town into the air—shingles, glass, twisted fences. One shattered against the road just a few feet to your right. Shadow didn’t flinch.

He just leaned in, pushing the bike harder, the engine roaring in defiance of the chaos snapping at his heels. His quills whipped in the gale, black and wild like smoke pulled from the fire. The wind carved lines into his face, but his expression didn’t break. He was the eye of a storm all his own.

⸻

The road turned rough—cracked blacktop giving way to gravel and grit. The motorcycle skidded once. You gripped him harder, heart leaping into your throat. His hand shot out, adjusting the balance, sliding into control like he knew this dance better than anyone alive or dead.

Your body pressed tighter into his back, cheek against his shoulder blades, clinging not just for survival… but because in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just escape.

This was defiance. A declaration.

⸻

Shadow breathed hard, but steady. He could feel the tornado breathing down his neck, pulling at the world like a vacuum. Trees groaned and snapped behind you. The sky was a smear of gray and blood and lightning. But his grip didn’t loosen. His control didn’t falter. And your arms? Still around him. Still holding on.

He didn’t speak. He never did in moments like this. Words weren’t his weapon. But the message was clear.

“I’ve got you.”