Dust: A Romantic Apocalyptic LitRPG Novel

Blix: Bodies

Blix pushed herself up to a sitting position.

The dust had completely unraveled Alf's clothes and was twisting the threads into thick, ropey knots.

She reached out and swiped her hand through the swirling cloud. The threads of Alf's jeans vibrated across the fingertips like harp strings. Ephemeral cords of dust retreated before her touch like a timid beast. Trailing a finger across the smooth skin of Alf's back, she looked down at the tangle of threads shimmering and twisting around her own skin and then tried to catch his eye.

But he refused to look at her. A miracle had happened—the kind of thing most guys could only dream of, and he had turned away in disgust. She was being ridiculous, of course. The world was falling apart around their ears, and she was obsessing over the opinion of a stupid guy. But her boobs were her best feature. And he didn't have the decency to look.

Whatever...

The floor jolted beneath her. She could hear cement crumbling all around her, but all she could do was stare at the cloud enveloping her body as it wrapped her in coarse fibers, weaving them in and out like she was some kind of three-dimensional loom.

Their clothes slowly transmogrified into Renaissance-Faire-looking tunics. It was crazy. Even Alf's sneakers were changing. What were those things supposed to even be, Birkenstocks or something?

And then she noticed the screaming. It was coming from downstairs.

"Alf?" she shouted to make herself heard over the rumbling building.

He shook his head, not bothering to even look at her.

"We should keep moving," she said, impatience coloring her voice.

"Why?" He sounded dead. "What does it even matter?"

"That's the depression talking." She forced even more of an edge into her voice. "I know it doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. But we're not going to figure it out by sitting in a stairwell."

He didn't move.

"I heard screams somewhere below us. Someone might need our help."

"Like we could do anything about—" he motioned vaguely at the cloud of threads still twisting around his torso.

"Alf, please..." She pitched her voice to an irritatingly feminine whine. She knew she was being manipulative, but the guy was starting to lose it. He needed all the manipulation she could dish out.

His shoulders rose and fell. Then he turned and looked her in the eye. No anger, no revulsion, no totally impressed glances at her body. "Okay," he sighed and hoisted her back into his arms.

The dust tickled against her skin where her body pressed against his. It felt like swarming ants. Thank God, they weren't the biting kind.

"You're going great." She forced a tired smile. "You've got this."

He grunted and carried her down the stairs, his breath coming in ragged blasts.

"Thanks, by the way. You're a good guy. Most people would have left me to fend for myself." She pressed her arm down against his shoulder, trying to take as much of her weight as possible.

Finally, they reached the first floor. He wedged her against the wall to catch his breath, and then, slinging an arm under her butt, pulled the door open and staggered out into the hallway.

And almost tripped over a body.

Dozens and dozens of bodies, stretched out on the floor like a battalion of fallen soldiers in a field hospital.

The body at Alf's feet twitched as a network of pulsing cords appeared beneath sickly green skin. Dust streamed into the guy's nose and mouth. The arms jerked and spasmed. The snap and crackle of breaking bone.

It was growing.