The world tilted.
Riven's body sagged against the broken stones, his blood dripping steadily into the cracks. He tried to steady his breath, but the exhaustion hit him harder than any monster.
The fog thickened—denser, darker.
And then it shifted.
Not outward, but inward.
His vision blackened. The ruins dissolved. The air grew heavy, crushing.
When Riven opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Gate.
He stood in an endless void.
A sky of shattered glass stretched above him, fragments suspended in darkness, each reflecting glimpses of alien worlds — oceans burning green, skies torn by storms, cities of bone, forests of living flame.
The ground beneath his boots cracked like dried earth, bleeding faint crimson light.
The hunger in his veins pulsed violently, as though the void itself resonated with it.
Riven clenched his fists. His knife was gone. His spark of fire flickered faintly across his palm, dim against the vast emptiness.
Then the whispers began.
Not words, not exactly. But meanings. Echoes. Promises.
Devourer.
Chain or be chained.
All origins begin as hunger.
The glass above him shifted. One shard descended, spinning slowly.
Inside it, he saw himself — a reflection.
But not him as he was now.
Older. Stronger. His veins lit like molten rivers, his eyes burning with power. Shadows of worlds bent around him. His presence was monstrous, divine, unrecognizable.
The reflection raised its hand.
The mark on its arm glowed brighter, expanding, twisting, reshaping into something vast.
Riven's chest tightened.
He reached for the shard—
And it shattered.
The void shook with a roar.
Monstrous shapes moved in the distance, colossi towering in the darkness. Their forms were half-hidden, too massive to comprehend. Wings, horns, blades, fire, shadow. Countless eyes turned toward him, burning with hunger.
The whispers grew louder.
Consume.
Or be consumed.
Your path is chosen. Walk it, or die hollow.
The ground cracked beneath him, swallowing his legs. Crimson light surged upward, devouring his body.
Riven gasped awake.
He was back in the ruins, collapsed against the stone. His body burned, blood still dripping, but the vision clung to him like chains.
Seraphina stood nearby, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp.
"You twitched like a dying rat for a while," she drawled, but her eyes lingered on him with faint curiosity. "Dreaming, were you?"
Riven coughed, spat crimson, then wiped his mouth. His voice was hoarse but steady.
"No dream."
Seraphina tilted her head, amused. "Then what?"
Riven's eyes were cold, sharp, unyielding.
"Warning."
The fog stirred again, as if listening.
And somewhere in the Gate, something vast and patient smiled.
--terrain, trapping Riven and Seraphina deeper inside.
The fog shifted.
Riven's hand tightened around his knife as faint footsteps scraped against the stones. He pushed himself upright, his body trembling from exhaustion but his gaze sharp and unyielding.
Shapes emerged from the haze.
Humans.
Survivors.
Half-starved, clothes torn, weapons crude and rusted, but alive.
They froze the instant they saw him.
A young man gagged and stumbled backward. A woman's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream.
Riven followed their eyes.
The smoking corpse of the hulking beast. The trail of blood leading straight to him. His arms still glowing faintly with cracks of light, his face streaked with crimson.
To them, he didn't look like salvation.
He looked like another monster.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a dented shield, lifted his weapon shakily. His voice cracked.
"Stay back!"
Riven didn't move. His gaze swept over them once, cold and unreadable.
He recognized some faces. People who had fled when the Gate first descended. People who had left others to die in their panic.
Now, they stared at him like he was the threat.
Whispers broke out among them.
"…That's him."
"…He killed the others."
"…Look at his arm… it's not human."
"…Monster…"
The word cut sharper than steel.
Monster.
Riven's jaw clenched, but his face remained calm.
If they wanted to see him as a beast, so be it.
"Pathetic."
Seraphina's voice sliced through the silence. She stepped forward, crimson hair spilling like flame, emerald eyes gleaming with amusement.
The survivors froze again, their fear deepening. Compared to her, Riven's cold presence was almost human.
She smirked, folding her arms beneath her curves.
"You cower behind rusted steel while this boy bleeds himself dry to keep the Gate from devouring you all. And what do you offer him? Fear? Hatred? A knife in the back?"
Her tone was mocking, but her gaze sharp.
"Tell me—who here is the real monster?"
The shield-bearer faltered. His grip trembled. But another survivor, a thin man with wild eyes, spat on the ground.
"He's not like us! People don't glow! People don't… don't eat monsters! He'll turn on us next. You'll see!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, though none dared step closer.
Riven's voice was quiet, flat, deadly.
"Try me."
The silence that followed was heavy. His cold stare pinned them like insects. Not rage, not shouting — just certainty.
If they crossed the line, they would die.
The shield-bearer finally lowered his weapon, sweat dripping down his face.
"We… we'll go."
One by one, the survivors backed away into the fog, their whispers fading.
"Monster…"
"…Don't look at him…"
"…We're all dead anyway…"
And then they were gone.
Riven stood alone again.
The hunger whispered in his veins. The vision of the void still clung to his mind.
Seraphina's soft laugh broke the silence.
"My, my. So cold. So ruthless. They'll tell stories about you, little Devourer. Even if you don't want them to."
Riven wiped the blood from his mouth, his gaze unshaken.
"I don't need their stories."
Seraphina smirked, her emerald eyes gleaming with interest.
"No. But perhaps the Gate does."
.