Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

The Glade was a war zone.

Screams filled the night air, tangled with the screeching of the Grievers and the thunderous sound of their metallic limbs crashing through the village.

The moment the first Glader was yanked from the grass, their scream piercing and short-lived, panic set in like wildfire.

"Stay down!" Thomas's voice rang out over the chaos.

Everyone crouched, disappearing into the tall grass, but the second I felt Newt slip from my grasp, my heart seized in terror.

"Newt!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with panic.

"No.." I reached blindly for him, but the sea of bodies moving, scrambling, pushing past made it impossible. The night swallowed him whole, and I was left gasping, the sheer weight of fear pressing against my chest.

All around me, the chaos raged on.

Gladers were yanked from the grass one by one, their terrified cries cutting off in sickening bursts. I could hear the snapping of bones, the wet, guttural sounds of bodies being torn apart. My breaths came in sharp, panicked gasps, my vision blurring as tears streamed down my face.

Then, the mechanical whir of a Griever's tendril sliced through the air.

I turned just in time to see it pierce straight through a Glader's chest, lifting them effortlessly into the air before yanking them into the darkness. Their scream turned into a gurgle, then silence.

A cry of horror tore from my throat.

"Run!" someone screamed.

We didn't need to be told twice.

Bodies crashed into me as everyone bolted toward the village, desperation overtaking reason. People shoved, stumbled, pushed each other aside, the only goal being survival. I kept running, my legs burning, my heart pounding in my ears.

The Blood House came into view, and we skidded toward it, nearly collapsing inside.

Jeff and another Glader were struggling to hold up Alby, his dazed eyes scanning the room in confusion.

"What's going on?" he rasped.

I stepped forward, my whole body shaking.

"They're here, Alby." My voice was nearly breathless, broken. "The Grievers."

Thomas nodded grimly, his face pale and stricken with terror. "We have to keep moving."

Screams echoed from outside.

We turned just in time to see another Glader being ripped away, their arms clawing at the ground as they were dragged into the night.

The reality of it all was suffocating. We were trapped, hunted, and there was nowhere safe.

"Run, run, run!"

We sprinted, but just as we reached another building, a massive Griever crashed through it, reducing it to splinters.

I skidded to a stop, stumbling backward.

My breath caught as the creature loomed over us, its slick, fleshy body glistening in the firelight, metal limbs twitching, preparing to strike.

Then, in a flash, something flew through the air.

A glass jar, filled with burning fire, smashed against the Griever's side, flames licking up its grotesque body.

"Yeah, atta girl!" I shouted, realizing it was Teresa who had thrown it.

The Griever screeched, its body convulsing as flames spread across its limbs. It thrashed violently, crashing into another building, giving us just enough of an opening to sprint past.