The sky above the ruins bled crimson as the sun dipped behind fractured towers. Wind howled through shattered glass and rusted steel, whispering secrets of the world that once was. Valen Creed stood atop a crumbling rooftop, his long coat whipping behind him like a shadow. His black eyes—too cold for someone so young—stared out across the ruins.
In the distance, the Riftborn nest pulsed with otherworldly light.
"Valen," Kira called, her voice tense behind him. "This is suicide. You sure about this?"
Valen didn't turn. His voice was calm, quiet.
"They're changing. Faster. Smarter. We don't strike now… we won't get another chance."
Behind them, the rebels adjusted their gear, checking blades, rifles, and scavenged grenades. The team was small—just five. But after the last attack, there weren't many left to count.
And fewer still who trusted Valen.
The Mark of Extinction on his arm had grown. Darker. Brighter. Alive.
It pulsed now, matching the glow of the Riftborn nest.
The entrance was buried deep beneath an old train yard, beneath steel beams twisted by past battles. What used to be a subway tunnel had become something else. Flesh grew over concrete. Bones jutted from the walls like decorations.
The smell hit first—burnt ozone, wet iron, and something… alive.
"Stay sharp," Valen muttered, summoning a flicker of his Echo in his palm. The black energy flowed like smoke, curling into a short blade.
They descended slowly, boots crunching over bone and ash. The further they went, the more the air changed—denser, humming. Valen's Mark burned hotter with each step.
Lira, walking just behind him, leaned closer. "You feel that?"
He nodded. "It's awake."
The chamber wasn't built. It was grown.
Twisted columns of Riftborn biomass stretched to the high ceiling. Giant egg-like structures pulsed along the walls, filled with glowing fluid—and silhouettes. Human shapes. Some whole. Some… not.
Valen stepped forward, the Echo blade still in hand.
In the center of the room stood a figure—taller than any Riftborn they had seen.
It looked human.
But its skin was plated in bone-like armor, and its face was hidden behind a cracked mask. The thing's eyes glowed red, and its arms had morphed into curved, living blades.
Kira raised her gun. "That's not a drone."
"It was human once," Valen said. "Not anymore."
The creature didn't move.
It spoke, and the words echoed from every wall.
"Welcome, Echo-bearer."
Valen's breath caught. The voice wasn't alien. It sounded… familiar. Too familiar.
"You remember me. Don't you?"
"No," Valen said flatly. "I don't remember corpses."
The creature took a step forward. Its blade-arms scraped the floor. "You will. I was like you. I fought. I died. Then I saw the truth."
Kira's finger twitched on her trigger. "Stand down or we open fire."
The creature smiled—no lips, just a twisting of the mask.
"Fire."
The room exploded into chaos.
Kira opened fire. The bullets sparked off the creature's armor. Lira hurled two grenades—smoke and flash. Valen leapt forward, summoning a twin blade of Echo energy in each hand.
He met the creature mid-strike.
The clash shook the entire chamber.
Valen twisted low, his foot sliding across slime-covered stone, and slashed upward. The creature parried with an inhuman scream, knocking him back. Sparks of Echo burst between them.
Behind him, one rebel screamed—cut down in a blur of motion. Blood splattered the eggs on the wall.
Valen's fury rose.
He shouted, the Echo pulsing violently around him. The blades in his hands merged, becoming a jagged greatsword of dark light. He lunged.
The creature met him again, and again. Slash for slash. Blow for blow.
Then—pain.
A burning spike drove through Valen's side.
He gasped.
The Mark flared.
And in that moment—he saw everything.
Time stopped.
Visions poured into his mind—like a flood of shattered memories and futures.
He saw the apocalypse unfold again, differently. In one version, the Riftborn destroyed everything. In another, humanity became them. In another still… he joined them.
Led them.
The creature's voice whispered through his skull.
"You are meant for more. This world cannot be saved. But it can be reborn. Through us."
"No," Valen grunted, clutching his head. "I saw this once. I lived it. I died in it. I won't become you."
"You already are."
The vision cracked.
Valen dropped to his knees—but not in defeat.
The Echo answered his rage.
It surged.
Dark wings of energy burst from his back, lashing out. The Riftborn reeled. Valen rose, his shadow growing, twisting into new forms—spears, whips, chains.
With a cry, he sent them forward.
Dozens of Echo-constructs struck the creature at once, pinning it to a column. Valen ran, sword blazing, and plunged the blade into its core.
The Riftborn screamed—not in pain.
But in triumph.
"It's begun…"
Its body exploded in a flash of red.
Silence.
Ash drifted through the air like snow.
Kira limped over. "Is it over?"
"No," Valen said. "That was just a messenger."
He pulled the torn remains of his shirt aside.
The Mark of Extinction had changed.
No longer a glowing tattoo—it had spread across his chest like a crown of thorns. Alive. Pulsing. And burning.
"They know who I am now," Valen said. "And I know what they're doing."
"They're not just killing us," Lira said softly. "They're making more of themselves."
Valen nodded. "They want to replace humanity."
Kira looked at him. "Then we don't just fight to survive."
"No," he said, staring into the dark. "We fight to stay human."
That night, alone in the rebel camp's war room, Valen stood before a cracked mirror.
He raised his hand.
A ripple of Echo bloomed from his fingers.
Not a weapon.
Not a shield.
A figure.
It looked like him—same height, same face—but hollow. Empty-eyed. A shade of himself made entirely from Echo.
It bowed slightly, then vanished.
Valen didn't flinch.
His power was changing.
Not just adapting.
Preparing.
He turned toward the exit.
"The war's just started."