The alley reeked of wet garbage and rusted iron. My sneakers splashed through filthy puddles as I ran, my chest burning, my heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out. Behind me, the shouts of the muggers echoed, mingled with the scrape of metal on concrete. My backpack swung heavily on my shoulders, the weight of canned food and a water bottle slowing me down. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
"Riveny! Over here!" Caio's voice cut through the air, hoarse and desperate. My best friend, the guy I grew up with, the one who shared the last dry crust of bread when hunger gnawed at us. He stood at the corner of the alley, waving, his hoodie obscuring half his face. I trusted him. I always had.
I sprinted toward him, lungs searing. The muggers were closing in, their heavy boots thumping the ground like war drums. I heard the click of a knife being drawn, the sound of something sharp and hungry. Caio reached out, eyes wide, and I grabbed his hand, relief washing over me for a fleeting second. Just one second.
"Help me, man, they're gonna—" My voice choked off as cold metal pierced my back. A wet snap, like the world had paused to hear my flesh tear. The pain came after, a fire that erupted from my spine to my chest, stealing my breath. I collapsed to my knees, the backpack slipping off, cans rolling across the ground with a pathetic clatter.
I looked up, dazed. Caio stood there, holding the bloodied knife, his face devoid of emotion. No guilt, no hesitation. Just an emptiness I'd never seen before. He crouched, snatching the backpack, while the muggers stopped behind him, chuckling low like hyenas.
"Why?" My voice came out weak, gurgling. The taste of iron filled my mouth. Blood.
Caio didn't answer. He tossed the backpack to one of the guys and turned away, as if I were nothing. As if all those years—laughter, nights sharing blankets in the cold, promises we'd survive together—meant nothing. Hatred surged like bile, burning hotter than the knife. I wanted to scream, to rip the blade from his hands and drive it into his chest, but my body wouldn't obey. The world darkened, the edges of my vision fraying into gray.
I was going to die. And the last face I saw was his, walking away without a backward glance.
I don't know how much time passed. The alley's chill vanished, replaced by a void that seemed to swallow existence itself. I couldn't feel my body, but the rage was still there, a fire that wouldn't die, even without lungs to breathe or a heart to beat. I was floating, or falling, or neither. Just darkness, thick as oil, and the pulse of my hatred thrumming through me.
"Interesting." A voice sliced through the void, deep, laced with a mocking edge. It wasn't human. It was as if the air itself spoke, vibrating with something ancient and cruel. "So much rage in such a fragile body. So much… promise."
"Who are you?" My voice echoed, even without a mouth to speak. The hatred gave me strength, even in death. "Show yourself, coward!"
A low laugh, like stones rolling in a cave. The darkness before me shifted, forming a silhouette. It had no face, just a shadowy outline with eyes glowing like green embers. It was tall—or maybe it had no size, just claimed the space like it owned it.
"Coward?" The voice sounded amused. "You're dead, kid. Stabbed by your best friend. And you call me a coward?"
The rage flared again, as if the knife were still in my back. "What do you want? To mock me before I fade for good? Go ahead, but don't expect me to beg."
"I don't want your tears. I want your hatred." The silhouette drifted closer, its green eyes boring into mine. "It's… useful. You're useful. Want a chance to make Caio pay? To make them all pay?"
I didn't answer right away. Not because I didn't want to, but because something in that voice made me pause. It wasn't kindness or pity. It was a game, and I was the pawn. But the hatred screamed louder. The image of Caio, the knife, the backpack tossed like my life was worth less than a handful of cans—it wouldn't leave me.
"What are you offering?" I asked, my voice trembling with rage, not fear.
"A new beginning. A world where power is everything, where betrayals like yours are common currency. Gravemarch." The word slipped from the silhouette's mouth like a curse. "There, you can be more than a victim. You can be a predator. But it won't be easy. The system that rules that place doesn't take kindly to… anomalies. And you, Riveny, are one."
"System? Anomaly? Speak plainly, you bastard!" I wanted to punch it, even without a body. The hatred made me feel alive, even dead.
Another laugh, colder. "You'll understand. Accept, and be reborn. Refuse, and fade into the void. Choose quickly. Time isn't kind to the dead."
I didn't trust it. Not the voice, not the words, not the promise. But the thought of vanishing, of disappearing without making Caio feel what I felt, was worse than any risk. I could still hear the echo of betrayal, the sound of the knife, the muggers' laughter. No. I wouldn't fade. Not without claiming what was owed.
"Send me to this Gravemarch," I growled. "And if you're lying, I swear I'll find you and rip those glowing eyes out of your head."
The silhouette didn't laugh this time. Its green eyes narrowed, as if sizing me up. "Brave. Or foolish. We'll see." The darkness surged, swallowing me like an ocean. "Welcome to Gravemarch, Shadow Heir."
And then, everything went black.