You'd think after facing down mutant beasts, turning into one myself, and running through explosions like a budget action hero, I'd earned a break. Maybe a warm shower. A sandwich. A nap. Nope.
Instead, I was standing in the middle of an abandoned subway terminal, surrounded by a group of survivors, while a guy with a melted face and a glowing staff tried to convince everyone I was the Antichrist. Classic Tuesday.
"Elias Mercer is the harbinger!" he shouted, waving his staff like a conductor trying to summon an apocalypse orchestra. "His blood is the key to the final corruption!"
"Okay, that's a little dramatic," I said, raising a hand. "Can we all agree that calling someone a 'harbinger' before coffee is just rude?"
Nobody laughed. Tough crowd.
The guy with the face that looked like someone had microwaved it was apparently Brother Thorne, the leader of some fringe group called The Purelight. I knew the name—whispers around survivor camps, paranoid talk about zealots who thought the Scourge was divine punishment. They wanted to purify the world, blah blah fire-and-brimstone, human sacrifice, you get the idea.
"You mock the judgment of the Celestials!" Brother Thorne bellowed. "You, whose veins drip with cursed ichor!"
That part wasn't totally wrong. After all, I had transformed into a howling, muscle-rippling beast capable of tossing tanks like toys. But I didn't ask for it. And I sure as heck wasn't going to let someone use it as a reason to barbecue me in front of an audience.
"You're misinformed," I said, trying to keep my tone casual. "I'm more of a reluctant antihero, maybe a brooding loner with a redemption arc. Definitely not a villain."
The crowd murmured. Some looked scared. Others curious. A few had weapons—not aimed, but ready. I could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to choke on.
Thorne slammed the bottom of his staff into the cracked concrete. A pulse of energy radiated outward, and I felt it in my bones. Dark magic. Ancient and angry.
"I knew you'd resist," he said, eyes narrowing. "So I brought a reminder of your true nature."
The shadows behind him shifted. Something moved. No—many somethings.
Then the growling started.
A dozen beasts padded forward, each one mutated and monstrous—claws like scythes, eyes glowing white, mouths filled with rows of jagged teeth. Hollowed. But these weren't the mindless husks I'd fought before. They moved with purpose. They listened to him.
"I've bound them to my will," Thorne said smugly. "As you should have done."
Yeah. Because playing fetch with flesh-eating abominations was totally on my bucket list.
Adrian stepped up beside me, sword drawn, lips tight. "You've got a plan, right?"
"Absolutely," I said. "Step one: don't die. Step two: punch Thorne in his smug face."
He grinned. "Solid plan."
The first beast lunged. I ducked, rolled, and brought my knee into its chest with enough force to crack ribs. It howled and crumpled. Behind me, Adrian was a blur of steel and fury, slicing through another creature with surgical precision.
The crowd scattered, some screaming, some filming (because apparently even at the end of the world, people had to document everything). I heard a woman yell, "This is better than the trials in Dome Six!"
Priorities, people.
More Hollowed charged. I felt the beast stirring inside me, itching to be let out. But I couldn't lose control. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
So I gave it a little leash—just enough.
My skin shimmered, darkened. Claws pushed through my fingertips. My muscles swelled, and my vision sharpened until I could see the individual hairs on Thorne's scorched eyebrows.
"Let's dance," I growled, and launched myself forward.
The fight was chaos. Roars. Blades. Blood. I moved like a storm, dodging fangs and returning with crushing blows. Adrian stayed close, his back to mine, our movements perfectly synced like we'd rehearsed this in another life.
But Thorne didn't fight fair.
With a flick of his staff, he sent a wave of dark energy crashing into me. I flew backward, slammed into a pillar, and felt something crack. Probably a rib. Or two. Or all of them.
"You resist your purpose," he sneered, striding toward me. "But you can't escape it. You were made for this."
"Yeah?" I coughed. "Pretty sure I was made for pizza and video games, but life's full of surprises."
He raised the staff again.
That's when the ceiling exploded.
Dust rained down as a metal claw punched through the roof. A sleek airship descended, guns blazing. It wasn't firing on me, thankfully, but on the Hollowed and Thorne's zealots.
The ramp dropped open, and a familiar voice shouted, "Elias! Move!"
It was Nyra.
Guess she'd changed her mind about letting me "find my own way."
I didn't argue. I sprinted for the ship, leapt onto the ramp, and turned just in time to see Adrian hurl a dagger into Thorne's staff, shattering the crystal at the top. The resulting explosion flung the cult leader backward into the shadows.
The Hollowed collapsed like puppets with cut strings.
We took off, leaving the wreckage behind. Inside the ship, I collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. Adrian joined me, bloodied but alive.
Nyra stood over us, arms crossed. "You idiots almost got yourselves killed."
I managed a weak grin. "Missed you too."
She rolled her eyes, but I could see the relief on her face. "We have a lot to talk about."
The airship bucked hard as we tore through the sky, trailing smoke and static. I was pretty sure one of the wings had a bite mark in it. Which raised several questions I didn't have the energy to ask.
I sat there, bruised, battered, and smelling like I'd been marinated in Hollowed spit. Adrian leaned beside me, nursing a cut along his cheek that made him look like a grimy action figure—limited edition, Apocalypse Series.
Nyra paced like a caffeinated lion, arms crossed, jaw locked. Not that I blamed her. We had just escaped an underground death sermon delivered by a burn-scarred cult leader and his pack of mutant lapdogs.
"So," I wheezed. "What'd I miss?"
She turned on me so fast I flinched. "You're a complete idiot."
"Technically, I'm a reluctant hero with questionable fashion choices. Idiot is, like, fourth on the list."
She ignored that and jabbed a finger at my chest. "You walked into a trap. With no backup. And decided to partially transform in front of a hundred people."
"They had pitchforks and popcorn. What was I supposed to do? Politely get dismembered?"
"Don't tempt me," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "We were tailing the Purelight convoy. You just... skipped the part where we coordinate like sane people."
"I specialize in improvisation," I said. "Very avant-garde."
Adrian snorted. "You mean reckless."
Nyra ignored both of us and pulled up a holographic map from her wristband. The screen flickered—probably still recovering from the explosion buffet we'd just left behind.
"We intercepted comms from Thorne's people," she said, frowning. "He wasn't working alone."
"Of course not," Adrian muttered. "They never do."
Nyra tapped a blinking red dot. "This was their main base. But there are three more like it. Satellite sites. And guess what? Each one's housing a fragment of a weapon called the 'Godsplitter.'"
I blinked. "That sounds like the kind of thing we definitely don't want falling into cult hands."
"It's worse," she said. "Each site is guarded by genetically enhanced Hollowed—smarter, faster, harder to kill."
"Oh, joy. The deluxe edition."
Adrian sat up straighter, a flicker of interest in his bloodshot eyes. "If we hit all three and get the fragments—?"
"We destroy them," Nyra said. "Together, they form a relic powerful enough to sever celestial bonds. If Thorne gets it first, he could trigger a global collapse of reality barriers."
"Yeah, that sounds bad," I said. "Can we vote for not letting that happen?"
Nyra looked at me like I'd just asked if water was wet. "That's the plan."
Outside, the clouds parted to reveal the jagged skyline of New Aurora—what was left of it. Once a gleaming megacity, now a hollow shell, draped in vines and static. We passed a twisted tower that used to be the central courthouse. A flock of winged Hollowed circled its spire like vultures waiting for a guilty verdict.
"I've arranged safehouse access," Nyra said. "In Sector Nine."
"Wait," Adrian said, eyes narrowing. "Sector Nine? Isn't that—?"
"Home," I muttered.
Yeah. Of course it would be Sector Nine. Because nothing says 'mental stability' like revisiting the place your family disintegrated in front of your eyes.
The airship descended onto a rooftop platform, creaking under its own weight. Nyra didn't wait for landing clearance. She jumped out before the hatch finished opening, weapons drawn. Adrian followed. I took a breath and reminded myself not to puke. My ribs still felt like they'd gone through a meat grinder.
The safehouse wasn't much. Just a bunker hidden behind a defunct billboard advertising toothpaste—which, fun fact, no one used anymore because priorities had shifted from dental hygiene to not being monster chow.
Inside, the lights flickered to life, revealing a cramped space filled with survival gear, weapons, and a half-eaten protein bar on a metal counter. Someone had clearly lived here recently.
"Are we sure this place is secure?" Adrian asked, eyeing the bar.
"Secure-ish," Nyra said. "It's wired with motion sensors and aura traps. If anything Hollowed gets within ten meters, the whole place goes microwave mode."
"Comforting," I muttered.
We all sat, exhaustion settling in like a wet blanket. I peeled off my jacket and winced. My arm was turning a fun shade of purple.
"Let me," Nyra said, already rummaging through a medkit.
She knelt beside me, pulling out a stimpatch and pressing it to my skin. It hissed, and warmth spread through my shoulder.
"You should've called for backup," she said, quieter this time. "We had your back, Elias."
"I know. But if I don't start solving some of this on my own, I'll always be the guy you have to save."
Nyra's expression softened. "You think that's how we see you?"
"Isn't it?"
"No," Adrian said, from across the room. "You're the guy who keeps diving into fires so the rest of us don't burn."
Well. That shut me up.
Nyra stood, arms crossed. "We leave at dawn. First site's twenty miles east—old observatory turned cult fortress. Rumor says they're holding experiments."
"What kind of experiments?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Trying to merge human intelligence with Hollowed physiology."
"Cool," I said. "So we're fighting brainy monsters now. Any chance they come with off switches?"
"Only if you hit them hard enough," Adrian said, grinning.
Sleep didn't come easy. I lay on a cot staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl through the vents. My thoughts chased themselves in circles—about Thorne, the Godsplitter, and the look on those people's faces when I transformed. Half awe, half fear. Mostly fear.
What if Thorne was right? What if I was the harbinger?
No. I refused that. I had choices. I could choose who I became.
In the morning, we rode stolen bikes through the ash fields. The air was sharp, full of static and ozone. Storm clouds brewed above like a bad omen. Perfect weather for fighting horrors beyond comprehension.
The observatory loomed like a dead god's eye—its dome cracked, antennas bent like broken teeth. The outer perimeter was guarded by Hollowed in modified armor. Their eyes glowed through visors. They didn't snarl or charge. They watched.
Adrian pulled out his scope. "No twitching. They're... aware."
Nyra nodded. "They've been trained."
"That's just unfair," I muttered. "Next they'll be filing taxes."
We snuck through a broken fence, hugging the shadows. Adrian took out the first guard with a silenced bolt. I handled the second by introducing his head to a cinder block. We moved like ghosts—no alarms, no reinforcements. Too easy.
Inside, the observatory was a lab of nightmares. Tanks filled with blue ichor bubbled against the walls. One held a creature that looked part child, part spider, part 'please kill me now.'
"They're splicing," Nyra whispered. "Trying to create hybrids."
We found the Godsplitter fragment in the center chamber—floating in a containment field. It looked like a dagger made of obsidian and lightning. Just staring at it made my head ache.
I reached for it—and alarms screamed.
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward. Clad in sleek black armor, with a face that mirrored mine.
"You," I breathed.
It was me. Or a version of me.
The clone smiled, razor sharp. "Hello, Elias. Ready to meet your better half?"
Then it lunged.
The fight was a blur. He moved like me, thought like me, anticipated every strike. We crashed through lab equipment, traded blows that shattered steel. He was faster, crueler, more refined. No hesitation.
Nyra and Adrian tried to intervene, but the clone generated a shockwave that hurled them back.
"You're a mistake," he said, slamming me into a wall. "An unstable prototype. I am the perfected vessel."
I coughed blood. "You're a knockoff with ego issues."
He snarled—and that's when I stopped holding back.
I let the beast rise. Not fully—but enough. My skin rippled, eyes burned gold, claws extended. This time, I didn't resist the instinct. I directed it.
I became the storm.
The clone hesitated. That was his first mistake.
I slammed into him with enough force to crater the floor. Then I drove my claw through his chest—where a fake heart beat out stolen rhythm.
He gasped. "You can't stop it. The Godsplitter... it's meant for you."
"I'll decide what I'm meant for," I growled.
Then I yanked it free.
The clone's body turned to ash. The alarms died. The lab went silent.
Nyra limped over, holding her side. "That... was intense."
Adrian just stared at the dagger in my hand. "We need to destroy that."
I nodded. "One piece down. Two to go."
We left the lab burning behind us. As we walked into the storm, thunder cracked overhead like applause from angry gods.
I didn't care.
I had my friends. I had my will. And I had a plan.
Bring on the rest of the reunion. I was ready.