I gripped the red symbol—Fight—without hesitation.
The instant I did, the world shivered. The street cracked, neon lights bending into jagged shards, and the faceless thing recoiled, writhing as though my decision had struck it like lightning. Its thousand mouths opened wide, producing a scream that wasn't sound, but pressure—something that pressed against my chest and rattled my skull.
The glow in my palm surged. Lines of fire snaked up my arm, searing warmth and sharp intelligence into my veins. I felt something awaken inside me—a rhythm, a pulse that matched the hum, that competed with the hum, that could bend it.
The faceless creature hesitated. It could sense it: for the first time, I was no longer entirely prey.
I flexed my fingers. The red symbol leapt from my palm into the air, breaking into hundreds of letters, each one spinning and twisting, forming words I didn't consciously know how to read—but understood all the same.
"Stop!" I shouted. Not to myself, not to the creature. The command shot from my mouth and soared through the air. The letters became blades, sharp and bright, cutting the world like a knife.
The creature screamed, shattering into pieces of darkness that melted into alleys and reflections. Its hum became a wail of shattered noise, echoing, fading…
And then silence.
The city breathed again. The sky flickered. Pale color returned—gray at first, then hints of red and gold—but something was still wrong. Shadows moved where shadows shouldn't. Lights blinked in impossible patterns.
I sank to my knees, trembling. The red symbol on my palm had vanished, but a mark remained—a scar in the shape of a letter I didn't recognize. Something old, something ancient, etched into me.
A whisper carried on the wind:
"You've fought. But fighting alone is not enough. The words choose again."
And then, above the faintly colored sky, a new letter drifted down. Larger than any before. Glowing white. Silent. Waiting for me to read it.
I knew it was my turn.
The world had changed. And I had only just begun.