The storm did not leave the city.
For three days and nights it lingered, thunder rumbling like the growl of something alive. Rain washed over the streets until gutters overflowed and rivers snaked between buildings. The people muttered about bad weather, about climate change, about coincidence. But Ethan knew better.
It was not weather. It was a warning.
Every night, when lightning slashed the sky, Ethan saw it—the faint silhouette of the figure looming above the skyline. A shadow the size of mountains, faceless yet staring, watching him. Others could not see it; he knew that now. The Red Stone had opened his eyes, and with them came the torment of sight.
He barely slept. Barely ate. The stone burned constantly against his chest, as if it too sensed the villain's advance.
And the whispers never ceased.
The infinite devours.
You are too small.
Give it back.
Sometimes they came in his own voice, mocking his weakness. Other times they were the villain's, vast and suffocating. And still, beneath them, another pulse: the stone itself, whispering faintly of defiance, of resistance, of fire.
Ethan felt himself tearing in two.
At school, he was no longer mocked. The day after he had lashed out behind the gym, Travis and his friends avoided him entirely. Whispers spread, but not the kind that once crushed him. Students watched from a distance, unease etched in their faces.
They had seen something. They didn't understand what. But they knew Ethan Marlowe was no longer the same broken boy.
And that terrified them.
Ethan felt no triumph in their silence. Only dread. Power had not freed him; it had chained him more tightly than ever.
He sat alone at lunch, staring at his untouched food. His hand trembled when he picked up his drink. In the glass reflection, his eyes glimmered faint red for the briefest second. He set it down quickly, heart pounding.
The stone was consuming him.
That evening, he returned to the grove. It felt inevitable, like gravity pulling him back to where everything had begun. The skeletal trees swayed under the storm, branches clawing the air. Mud sucked at his shoes as he entered the clearing.
He pulled the stone from his pocket. It pulsed brighter than ever, veins of fire running through its surface.
"Why me?" he whispered into the storm. "Why choose me? I can't fight this. I'm nothing. I've always been nothing."
The whispers surged.
Because you are empty enough to hold it.
Because you are broken enough to break again.
Because defiance is born from weakness.
Ethan fell to his knees, clutching the stone to his chest. "I can't." His voice cracked. "I can't stop him. He's infinite. He's—"
The storm split with thunder, deafening. Lightning carved the sky, and for an instant, the shadow's full form towered above him, vast beyond comprehension. The trees bowed as though in worship.
The voice filled his skull, shaking him to his core.
"You cannot stop me. The earth will fracture. The sky will bleed. You will watch them all fall."
The ground shook violently. Branches snapped. Ethan staggered up, clutching the stone. The hum inside it blazed into fire, searing his skin. His vision blurred red.
And then, for the first time, he felt not fear—but fury.
"Then I'll fight you," he whispered. "Even if I break."
The stone answered.
A shockwave burst outward, splitting the mud, toppling trees. The storm above screamed, clouds parting into a spiraling wound of crimson light. Ethan gasped, collapsing to his knees. His body trembled, blood dripping from his nose.
The storm closed again, but the mark remained—an unnatural red scar stretching across the night sky.
The world had felt his defiance.
The next day, the city woke to chaos.
News anchors shouted over footage of the "impossible phenomenon"—a crimson fissure that stretched across the clouds like a wound. Scientists called it atmospheric distortion. Politicians promised investigation. People whispered of the end times.
But Ethan knew the truth. The villain was pressing harder, reality itself cracking under the weight of its presence.
And it was only beginning.
That night, he tried to rest, but sleep dragged him back into the visions.
He stood in the heart of the city. The streets were empty, the buildings hollow shells. The sky above was not sky at all but endless black, stars drowned in shadow. From the horizon, the infinite figure approached, every step shaking the ground.
Ethan turned to run, but his legs gave way. The chains of red light bound him again, pulling him to his knees.
The villain's voice shook the ruins. "You defied me."
Ethan spat blood. "I'll keep defying you."
The shadow leaned low, its presence crushing. "You are a boy holding fire. You will burn. And when you do, the fire returns to me."
The chains tightened, digging into his flesh. He screamed.
But the stone pulsed, its warmth cutting through the pain. The chains cracked, splintering into shards of light. Ethan gasped, staggering to his feet. For a moment, the shadow faltered.
And in that heartbeat, Ethan saw it—the tiniest sliver of truth.
The infinite villain was not invulnerable. It recoiled from the stone's fire, from the raw defiance it carried.
The hope was razor-thin, but it was enough.
---
He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his sheets twisted around him. The stone pulsed on his desk, brighter than ever, casting his shadow long against the wall.
His body ached. His veins burned. His head throbbed as though splitting. But in his chest, beneath the terror, a spark burned.
If the villain could recoil, even for a moment, then it could be resisted.
The cost would be unbearable. The whispers warned him every day that he was not strong enough, that the fire would consume him.
But he had no choice.
Because the sky had already cracked. And the end was coming
The following evening, Ethan stood on the rooftop of his apartment building, staring at the horizon. The scar in the sky glowed faintly even as the sun set, a wound refusing to heal.
The world below continued on, unaware of how fragile it had become. Cars moved, people laughed, televisions blared. They did not see the shadow that Ethan saw, vast and waiting just beyond the veil of perception.
The whispers filled his mind again, louder than ever.
You cannot win.
You will burn.
Give it back.
But beneath them, faint but resolute, came another:
Fight.
Ethan closed his eyes, clutching the stone tight. His hands shook, his breath ragged. He was nothing, he had always been nothing.
But nothing was all the stone required.
He opened his eyes. The glow of the Red Stone burned in them, defiance etched into his stare.
The final battle was coming.
And when it did, Ethan would face infinity itself.