Chaos. Pure chaos.
The city, beneath the pitch-black midnight sky, was torn apart by a mysterious upheaval.
People scattered in terror, shrieking, searching desperately for shelter as though death itself was chasing them.
The ground shook violently. The ocean churned with unnatural rage. Waves roared as if they longed to devour every living thing, while the winds howled, awaiting the strike of lightning to tear the heavens apart.
Buildings collapsed one after another, crumbling to dust and rubble, swallowed by the earth.
Amid the suffocating panic, a young man stood still—grinning wide, facing the opposite direction of the frantic crowd fleeing for their lives.
His hair, black with a crimson sheen, fell neatly around his head. His eyes, a dark brown so deep it nearly glowed red, gazed unwaveringly forward. His skin was ordinary, human, yet the aura he exuded set him apart from the rest. He wore a black-and-red robe traced with golden circles along its edges, simple dark trousers, and soft black shoes that made no sound.
Still smiling, he strode forward, cutting through the chaos. His voice, calm and mocking, rose above the storm.
"Tonight… what chaos. Far more dreadful than usual."
Without hesitation, he accelerated, his body darting like an arrow. His feet landed against the wall of a tall building, sprinting upward as if gravity had no claim on him, until he reached the rooftop.
From that height, his eyes locked upon the source of the calamity—a monstrous figure ravaging its surroundings without mercy.
The creature towered as tall as the rooftops themselves. Four horns jutted from either side of its head, twisted like cursed roots. Its maw split wide, jagged teeth jutting outward, spewing a stench as foul as rotting carrion. A single eye burned crimson, veins around it throbbing as though ready to burst. Its arms were long, saw-like blades sharp enough to cleave steel, while its legs writhed like grotesque tentacles.
The young man bent low, poised himself, then leapt. His body soared into the air, slicing through the rushing wind.
From within his coat, he drew forth a weapon—a gleaming silver-and-gold firearm, its metallic sheen glinting defiantly against the darkness.
"Time to put on a show."
His grin widened, crimson hair scattering wildly in the rushing gale.
He pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The shot echoed across the city. In an instant, the creature's sole eye exploded. Its skull shattered, bursting into a bloody mist that rained down upon the ruins below.
The monster staggered, then collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the earth. Debris and dust billowed upward, choking the air with the stench of blood.
The fleeing crowd froze. Some turned in disbelief, others cheered with fleeting relief, thinking the nightmare had ended.
But the young man remained still upon the rooftop, lowering his weapon. His smile faded, replaced with sharp wariness.
Because he heard it.
A whisper.
Not from humans. Not from the dying beast.
It seeped through the air, burrowing directly into his mind.
"One has fallen… a thousand more await."
The night grew darker, swallowing the moonlight whole. From the coiling fog, new silhouettes emerged—looming figures with crimson eyes flickering to life one after another, like infernal candles lit all at once.
The young man chuckled under his breath, cocking his gleaming firearm once more.
"Looks like… this night will be a long one."
Below, the city screamed.
And then—
The sky itself split.
A crimson void spread wide. His body burned with unbearable heat, as though his blood had begun to boil. Breath ragged, he realized the ground beneath him was gone. He was no longer standing.
He was floating. Suspended between earth and sky, without control.
Panic seized him.
"What… what's happening!? Why is this happening!? Give me back my footing!" His cries were swallowed whole, vanishing into the void.
The heat grew worse, suffocating. His body trembled.
"Why… why can't I control it this time!?"
And then he saw it.
From the cracked sky, a colossal silhouette descended. His ears rang, a shrill pain as though his eardrums would rupture. The searing heat clawed at him.
And there—
A single, enormous eye glared from the heavens. Crimson, throbbing, veins stretching outward like dark roots across the sky.
Its voice thundered—not in the air, but directly into his soul.
"Do not interfere with our purpose.
This world needs no savior.
Let this apocalypse linger, endlessly delayed.
And you… foolish human… dare not set foot in this world again, unless you wish to die."
The voice was overwhelming, dreadful, a sound so lethal that any ordinary human would perish instantly upon hearing it.
The eye drew closer, gaze penetrating deep, stripping his soul layer by layer. His body froze, locked in place.
And then—
Everything vanished.
The voice ceased.
The light died.
The heat was gone.
He drifted now in an empty void. No color. No sound. No end.
Darkness so complete, he no longer knew if he still had a body, or only consciousness adrift in nothingness.
The silence swallowed him. Slowly, surely, as though he had never existed.
Within that abyss, his heart nearly stopped. His soul strained, screaming to tear itself free. And yet—by luck or some unknown force—he broke away.
"Haah… haaah… haaah…"
Zafrien Al-Fateh jolted awake, gasping for air like a drowning man bursting to the surface. His body drenched in sweat, sheets soaked through as if he had been dragged from the bottom of a storm.
"What… what was that? This… this wasn't like the usual… ahh—"
He groaned weakly, voice hoarse, as if clawing back from death's grip.
"That… it felt so real. Too real…"
He rubbed his drenched face with trembling hands, then whispered shakily,
"Thank God… only a dream."
Dragging himself free from the blue blanket, he planted his feet on the cold floor and staggered toward the wooden table in the corner.
His hand found a bottle of water. With shaky fingers, he twisted the cap open and drank greedily—like a wanderer lost in the desert, clinging to the last sip of life.
"I usually have perfect control over my lucid dreams… until I decide to wake up. But this time, it was like a nightmare I never chose."
He paused, sighing heavily. "Strange… could it be some kind of outside interference? Hah, ridiculous, Zafrien. This is the real world." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
Such was his nature—thoughtful, imaginative, forever peering outside the box of common sense.
"Morning already, huh? Guess I'd better wash up and head to work. Hahhh… work again. When will I ever get to be a superhero?"
He muttered, setting the bottle back on the table, then grabbed a plain white towel from his wardrobe.
After a quick shower, Zafrien returned to his wardrobe and dressed himself: a crisp black dress shirt, charcoal slacks, and a fitted jacket with polished silver buttons. Black leather shoes gleamed faintly under the morning light.
Standing before his mirror, he slicked back his crimson-black hair, flashing a cocky grin at his reflection.
"Ready to face another boring day, handsome Zafrien," he declared, pointing finger guns at his own image and winking proudly.