The street looked like someone had taken reality and fed it through a meat grinder.
Cars slammed into each other as drivers panicked or got their faces chewed off. People screamed and ran in every direction, most of them straight into the waiting claws of things that had crawled out of humanity's worst nightmares. Blood painted the asphalt in abstract patterns that would've made any well known artist weep.
Dante burst through the hospital's emergency exit and nearly got trampled by a nurse running like her ass was on fire. Above them, more gates were tearing open in the sky like infected wounds, spitting out horrors that had never seen sunlight and didn't much care for it.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He dodged a chunk of concrete that used to be someone's office building. Twenty years of apocalypse experience, and he was still just as terrified as everyone else. Funny how that worked.
Stop gawking and move! Kairos barked in his head. You know how this plays out. Half these people are already dead, they just don't know it yet.
Dante ran, muscle memory guiding him through the chaos. He remembered this day like a fever dream, every wrong turn, every death trap, every—
He skidded to a stop in front of Murphy's Electronics, the little store where he had hidden twenty years ago. Where he'd watched old man Murphy get turned into chunky salsa by a Razorclaw.
Where the Razorclaw was still hiding, waiting for some dumbass to walk through the door.
"Nope," he muttered, backing away from the storefront. "Not today, you ugly piece of—"
Something snarled behind him.
He spun around to find himself face-to-face with a Prowler, six feet of muscle and malice wrapped in black chitin, with mandibles that could cut through steel and an attitude problem that made angry wasps look friendly.
"Oh, come the fuck on," Dante groaned. "Kairos, a little help here?"
You want help? Figure out how to access your System interface, genius.
"How the hell do I—" The Prowler lunged, and Dante threw himself sideways, hitting the pavement hard enough to scrape skin off his palms. "Status! Menu! Interface! System, you piece of shit!"
Nothing. Not even a flicker.
Try thinking it instead of yelling it like a tourist, Kairos suggested helpfully. And hurry up. That thing's about to turn you into street pizza.
Dante rolled as claws carved gouges in the concrete where his head had been. System, he thought desperately. Status. Anything!
A blue screen flickered to life in front of him, translucent and shimmering like heat mirages.
[SYSTEM STATUS]Name: Dante Ashford
Level: 1
Class: None
HP: 100/100
Mana: 50/50
Strength: 8
Agility: 12
Intelligence: 15
Equipment: Janitor's Uniform, Pocket Knife
Skills: None
Title: The Regressor (Hidden)**
Level fucking one. Eight strength. A goddamn pocket knife.
"Are you kidding me?" he snarled, pulling the three-inch blade from his pocket. It looked about as threatening as a toothpick. "This is what I've got to work with?"
The Prowler circled him like a predator that knew its prey was already dead. Which, fair enough, was probably accurate.
Welcome to being human again, hotshot, Kairos said. No divine power, no legendary weapons, no bullshit protagonist armor. Just you, a shitty knife, and twenty years of experience crammed into a body that couldn't benchpress a feather.
The Prowler attacked.
Dante ducked under its swipe, muscle memory screaming at him to move faster than his body could manage. He got the knife up, managed to score a shallow cut across its arm, but it was like trying to hurt a tank with a butter knife.
The backhanded swipe caught him across the chest and sent him flying into a parked car. His ribs screamed. Blood filled his mouth. The pocket knife went skittering across the asphalt.
Move! Kairos roared.
Dante tried, but his body mocked him, failing to move. The Prowler stalked toward him, mandibles clicking like castanets, taking its time because it knew he wasn't going anywhere.
"Do something!" Dante gasped, tasting copper. "You're a fucking god! Help me!"
I'm a FORMER god, jackass. Right now, I've got about as much divine power as a soggy sandwich. You want to live? Figure it out yourself.
The Prowler loomed over him, raising one clawed arm for the killing blow.
"Shit," Dante whispered. "I'm going to die again, aren't I? On the first fucking day?"
The creature's head exploded.
Blood, brains, and chitin splattered across Dante's face in a warm, disgusting shower. The Prowler's body swayed for a moment, then toppled sideways like a felled tree.
Dante lay there, stunned, wiping monster guts out of his eyes. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear footsteps approaching, measured, confident, professional.
A shadow fell across him.
"You okay down there, janitor boy?"
He looked up and felt his heart do something complicated in his chest. Standing over him, smoking gun still in her hand, was Commander Sarah Chen. Twenty years younger, with both eyes still intact and that cocky smile that had gotten half her unit killed and the other half promoted.
The woman who'd died in his arms during the Siege of Chicago.
The woman he'd never gotten the chance to tell he loved.
"Sarah," he breathed.
She raised an eyebrow. "Do I know you?"
Oh, this is going to be interesting, Kairos said, and Dante could practically hear the smirk in the god's voice. Try not to fuck it up this time, Romeo.