The world was ending in color. Not red—not flame—but something older. Something crueler. A shade only seen in the final breath of things that remember life too vividly to die quietly.
Smoke clawed at Kael's throat as he ran barefoot through streets that no longer had names, only echoes. Cobblestones split like dried skin. Streetlamps bent as if weeping. The buildings, once proud and square, folded like paper houses in a child's tantrum. Skies wept fire, but even the flames felt tired—drawn thin by whatever had bled this city hollow.
Behind him, the man moved.
Not with footsteps. Not even with sound.
But with intent.
Silent. Starving. Inevitable.
Kael didn't dare look back. He knew—somehow—that if he saw it, if he acknowledged it, something would break.
Not in the world. In him.
Ash clung to his skin like memory, warm and constant, gritty in his mouth. Soot filled the cracks between his fingers. His lungs burned, each breath a gamble.
He was fifteen. Or had been. Time blurred in the endtimes. The city had made him older with every heartbeat, every death-streaked corner. He remembered laughter. He remembered light.
Now there was only sound—distant screams, collapsing stone, and the low, hungry hum of something unnatural chasing his name.
Run, something whispered inside him.
But not from them.
From what you'll become.
Kael's feet scraped raw over shattered glass as he ducked through a shattering archway—once a temple, a school, or maybe someone's home. Now it was only bones: ribs of scorched brick and twisted steel. The ground trembled behind him. Another building fell.
And then—
The man appeared.
It didn't arrive. It was already present.
Like a thought Kael had tried too hard to forget. A nightmare waiting for its cue.
Through the haze of heat, a figure stepped forward—tall, still, and wrong. Dressed in shifting black fractals that pulsed like a void dreaming of structure. Its face had no features—just smooth, glass-like folds that reflected fire without catching it. A mask sculpted from oblivion.
Kael's legs locked. His breath hitched.
The flames around the creature bent away, recoiling. Even fire refused to touch it.
"Designation: Kael Vire," it said.
Its voice was rusted wire dragged through bone.
Cold. Unfeeling. Ancient.
"Return to origin." Then it moved.
Not fast. Just… directly.
Kael's body lifted. No hands touched him. No visible force dragged him. But his limbs were weightless, yanked like a puppet. His ribs screamed. Blood bubbled up through his clenched teeth. His vision blurred as something unseen squeezed the air from his lungs.
He didn't understand. Couldn't scream. Couldn't even fight.
He was breaking.
And then—
From the shadows, a hand yanked him away.
***
They collapsed into a twisted tram shell—once a lifeline for the city's beating heart, now a rusted coffin of molten metal and broken windows.
A girl shoved Kael down hard, then slammed a warped sheet of steel over the opening. The clang echoed like a war drum.
"Shut up and don't move."
Her voice was sharp. Clipped. Older than her face, like she'd outgrown patience a lifetime ago.
She was sixteen. Maybe. Short-haired. Soot-smeared. Her patchwork armor hung loose and torn, stitched with what looked like wire and stubbornness. Her eyes were hollow, but something burned in them—something too fierce to die.
Kael coughed blood. The world spun.
"…Wha—"
"Quiet."
She crouched beside the door, knife drawn. Her fingers didn't tremble.
The metal groaned above them, warped by heat and something worse.
After a long breathless pause, she spoke.
"Name?"
"…Kael," he wheezed.
She glanced back, expression unreadable.
"That figures," she muttered.
Then louder: "I'm Cynthia. You survive five more minutes, maybe I'll start caring."
Kael nodded weakly. It was all he could do.
But they didn't get five minutes.
***
Because the man in pursuit didn't need time.
It reappeared.
No footsteps. No warning. Just presence.
The air thinned. The light dimmed. The tram shell sang—not a tune, but a memory. A cry of metal remembering how it died.
Kael felt pressure like drowning in dry air. Cynthia's eyes snapped wide. She lunged toward the torn tram opening, blade raised.
The shadow-man didn't touch the metal—it just unmade it. Crushed the vehicle inward with a thought. Steel howled and bent like paper.
Cynthia slashed, fast and clean.
The shadow caught her wrist. Effortless. Unconcerned.
Kael screamed—though no sound came. He was lifted again. His blood slicked his neck, his arms dangling like broken ropes. Cynthia cursed, kicked, twisted—
The shadow didn't flinch.
It began folding the air itself—space shivering like a torn cloth. A vertical slit shimmered open behind the creature, humming with impossible light. A portal. A wound in the world.
And then—
Something landed.
Not softly. Like a meteor.
The alley cracked. Flame recoiled. Reality shuddered.
Kael's vision blurred through blood and heat. The shadow-man froze.
A shape rose from a crater of ash—tall, massive, monstrous. Four arms. Skin like molten rock, veins glowing with volcanic fury. Its eyes burned like dying stars, white-hot with knowledge and rage. Fire worshipped it. Moved with it. Curled around its limbs like loyal dogs.
It stepped forward.
Human. And not.
Voidborne. And something beyond.
"Put them down," it said.
Its voice was layered—man, machine, and something older. A voice that didn't just speak—it declared.
The shadow-man didn't reply.
It struck.
Kael flew. Cynthia slammed into the wall. But the beast caught them mid-air—arms moving like practiced violence—and then lunged at the shadow.
Claw met fractal.
Flame met silence.
And reality cracked.
The street split. Windows shattered. The alley groaned as the impact shook the bones of the city.
Kael, dazed and bloodied, blinked through the smoke.
He saw the impossible.
The shadow was reeling. Its form glitching. Fractals tearing.
The creature's fire didn't burn—it corrupted. It stained the void-black cloak with streaks of searing color. New color. Something alien.
The shadow twitched.
Then—
It vanished. Folded backward into the portal it had carved, with a shrieking ripple that sucked the air from the alley.
Gone.
Only silence remained. And the creature.
It turned, breathing heavy. One hand held Cynthia's limp body. Another held Kael, who barely clung to consciousness. Its two free arms curled protectively, scanning the crumbling buildings around them.
Its face was blurred by heat.
But Kael thought he saw it—just for a second.
Sorrow.
"You don't belong to them," it said softly.
Its voice gentled. As if speaking not to a boy, but to something wounded deeper.
"Not yet."
Then darkness claimed Kael.
Like ash on the wind.
----
🜂 End of Chapter One