The last thing he remembered was the sound of glass breaking. A scream—his own, or someone else's—swallowed by the roar of metal grinding against concrete. Then, silence.
Darnell's eyes snapped open.
The world above him was wrong. The sky bled with two suns, one pale and veiled in ash, the other burning a violent red. No clouds—only smoke. Black spires like shattered teeth jutted from the horizon, their edges glowing faintly as if molten veins pulsed within. The air stank of iron and wet stone, thick enough to scrape against his throat.
He staggered upright. His body ached, though not in the way it should if he had died on that road. No blood, no broken bones. His reflection in a shallow pool nearby was… off. His eyes burned faintly violet, and a thin scar ran across his throat—a scar he did not remember earning.
"Where… is this?"
His voice cracked against the silence, swallowed instantly by the heavy air. No cars. No people. No sound, save for a distant, hollow chanting.
Something was watching him.
The pool rippled though no wind stirred it. For a heartbeat, he saw not his reflection but a skull crowned in black flame. Its jaw opened, and though no sound came from the water, words carved themselves into his skull:
Chosen.
Darnell stumbled back, clutching his head. His pulse raced. None of this was real—couldn't be. He had been… he had been alive. He had a life. A job. Bills he never paid on time. He wasn't supposed to be standing in the ruins of some nightmare world.
But the world didn't care.
From the smoke ahead, figures emerged—shadows wrapped in rags, their bodies hunched and twitching like broken marionettes. Where faces should have been, there were only hollow sockets glowing faintly blue. Each dragged a blade rusted black, scraping against stone.
The chanting grew louder.
He froze. Instinct screamed run, but his legs wouldn't obey. One of the creatures lifted its head, sockets locking onto him, and with a rattling hiss it lunged.
Time slowed.
Something snapped inside his skull, not pain but pressure, like a dam breaking. His vision blurred with violet light. He raised his hand to shield himself—and the shadow was torn apart mid-leap, its body scattering into ash with a scream too human to be forgotten.
Silence followed. His hand shook, glowing faintly with threads of violet flame that burned without heat.
"…What… did I just do?"
The others hesitated, no longer charging. They didn't retreat either. They circled. Studying him.
And then the chanting ended.
From beyond the spires came a voice—not human, not whole, but layered, like several speaking at once:
Rise, outcast. Your death was a birth. Your weakness is gone. You walk the first step toward divinity, whether you wish it or not.
Darnell's throat tightened. His heart hammered in his chest. His body trembled, not from fear but from something far more dangerous.
Excitement.
The shadows closed in again, and this time, he didn't think of running.