The deeper they descended, the more the city faded.
Not physically. The buildings still stood—charred husks, twisted steel bones jutting from collapsed towers—but reality itself began to fray. Colors dulled. Sounds muffled. Their shadows no longer moved in sync. Wraithfall wasn't just a dead city.
It was unmaking.
Ezra led the way with a bone lantern, its necrotic flame flickering cold blue. The closer they drew to the SpireCorp site, the stronger his Hollow Core pulsed—like a heart calling home.
Kael walked behind him, rifle drawn, her usual sarcasm long gone.
Galen brought up the rear, axe held low. Even the Death Knight looked nervous, his runes flickering in silent protest.
They were in the Eye now.The very heart of Zone 13.
And at its core lay the old subway—a forgotten rail line lost before the Surge. Wraithfall had swallowed it whole. No Federation maps. No satellite images. Just buried whispers in blacksite data.
Ezra pressed his palm to a glyph-stamped access panel half-buried in rubble.
To his surprise, it lit up.
[Biometric Match: Hollowborn Detected][Access Granted – Welcome Back, Subject 07]
Kael stiffened. "Subject seven?"
Ezra's hand trembled. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Seems I wasn't the first."
The door groaned open.
What lay beyond was not a tunnel—but a facility.
Intact.
Ancient lighting flickered to life along the ceiling. Walls lined with arcane glass pulsed faintly, revealing cryopods long shattered and containment cells grown over with black vines. The air tasted stale, thick with dust and lingering mana.
Kael stepped forward slowly. "This place is still alive…"
Ezra didn't reply. He moved forward, drawn by something deeper than memory. His steps felt guided, like he'd walked this path before.
They passed a mural painted across the wall.
Children.In white gowns.Their faces obscured by smiling masks.
Behind them stood a woman in a lab coat. Silver hair. Crimson eyes. The exact image Ezra had seen in his dreams.
Kael pointed. "That's her, isn't it? The one the survivor saw."
He nodded. "My mother… I think. I still don't know her name."
Below the mural was a plaque:
Project Hollowborn – Salvation Through DeathLead Geneticist: Dr. Lys Varelle
Kael squinted. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
Ezra's breath caught.
Varelle.
It had been the last word the shrine spoke before it exploded.
...Varelle Protocol: Engaged...
He moved faster now, past rusted labs and collapsed stairwells, until he found the control chamber. Monitors blinked to life one by one, revealing biometric data, schematics, and research logs.
Galen sealed the doors behind them.
Ezra approached the main console. A holo-interface flickered open.
[Welcome, Subject 07][Do you wish to access Memory Record?][Y/N]
He didn't hesitate.
The world shifted.
Suddenly, he was small—barely six, maybe seven. Wearing a white gown. Sitting in a cold room filled with humming machines.
Across from him sat the woman.
Dr. Lys Varelle.
She smiled faintly, brushing a hand through his messy hair.
"You're strong, Ezra. Stronger than the others."
He didn't reply.
"Your affinity… it's not just necrotic. It's adaptive. Reactive. You were born in death, but you bend it. Mold it. Like it's clay."
Her eyes gleamed.
"We're going to make them pay, you and I."
The image shimmered.
Now he was older—maybe ten. Screaming as something was injected into his chest. Lights flared. Bones cracked. His screams turned into howls.
Lys watched, unmoved.
"This pain is the forge. You'll thank me one day."
The memory shattered.
Ezra dropped to his knees, gasping.
Kael rushed over. "Hey—what happened?"
He gritted his teeth. "She wasn't just my mother. She made me. I was an experiment. A weapon."
Galen's voice, low and grave, broke the silence.
"Then you were born from war."
Ezra stood slowly.
He looked back to the console.
More files. Unlocked now.
He opened one labeled Subject Roster.
It listed twelve children. Hollowborn 01 through 12.
All marked Deceased—except him.
Ezra Vale – Subject 07 – Escaped Containment During Surge.
Status: Alive.Classification: Anomaly.Designation: World Threat Potential.Priority: Terminate or Control.
Kael stared in disbelief. "They wanted to kill you."
Ezra didn't answer. His knuckles whitened on the console edge.
He wasn't a person to them.
He was a failed test. A threat.
Suddenly, the facility's lights dimmed.
Sirens wailed—a low, hollow chime that echoed like a funeral bell.
[WARNING: Containment Breach Detected][Specimen: WRAITHCLASS OMICRON – Escaped][Facility Lockdown in 60 seconds]
Kael swore. "What the hell is Omicron?"
Ezra turned, eyes glowing.
"Something they kept buried for a reason."
They ran.
The ground trembled beneath their feet. Walls cracked as something massive stirred below.
Doors slammed shut behind them as they reached the main lift—thankfully still functional. Ezra slammed the panel, sending them upward.
Galen turned toward the dark stairwell just as something slithered up through the cracks.
A long, pale limb with too many joints.
A mouth opened along its forearm and screamed.
Kael fired three rounds into it—explosive shells—each one detonating with a thunderous burst.
The limb vanished.
But the scream echoed.
Even through the reinforced lift, Ezra felt it in his bones.
[You have been Marked by WRAITHCLASS OMICRON][Hollow Affinity Resistance: 3%][Passive Effect: Hunted – Until cleansed, subject will be tracked by Wraith-class entities in all zones.]
Kael read the message and paled.
"You just got cursed by a named-class wraith."
Ezra nodded grimly. "Guess that means we're doing something right."
They emerged into daylight—or what passed for it in Wraithfall. The sky was black, bleeding red lightning across the horizon.
Smoke curled from the eastern quadrant.
The facility collapsed behind them, the ancient lab devoured by the thing it once imprisoned.
Ezra stared back.
He knew this wasn't the end of it.
He hadn't gotten the answers he wanted. Not yet.
But he had direction now. A name. A bloodline.
And a reason to keep climbing.
Kael nudged him. "So… still want to go through with this?"
He looked at her.
Then at Galen. At the wraiths watching from the rooftops. At the crumbling city.
He thought of the child from his dream.
Of his own face—twisted by rage, future loss, and unbearable grief.
"I don't have a choice," he said.
"I was born from the ashes. Now I'm going to burn the truth out of this world."