The collision sent Hunter Zolomone's skateboard clattering into the storm drain. He didn't curse. He just stared at the water swirling below, murky with discarded fast-food wrappers. Rain plastered his hood against sharp cheekbones. "Move it, loser," a kid yelled from a passing bus, fogging the window with breath. Hunter kept staring. The drain swallowed sounds like his hood swallowed light.
He walked. Midtown High loomed ahead, all brutalist concrete slabs under bruised evening clouds. Hunter's worn sneakers didn't make echoes in the emptying courtyard. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed. Locker doors slammed. Laughter echoed too loud. Gwen Stacy's red hair flashed past as she argued with Felicia Hardy near the trophy case. Hunter didn't turn his head. He slid into his usual shadowed alcove beneath stairwell B, pulling the hood lower. Fabric scratched his jaw. Perfect muscles beneath stayed coiled, silent. Invisible.
Outside, rain intensified. Wind rattled the chain-link fence. Hunter waited until halls emptied. He walked thirty-seven blocks northeast. Past bodegas with flickering neon, past alleys smelling of wet garbage and ozone. He stopped before a crumbling brownstone sandwiched between a laundromat and a boarded-up pizza place. Mortar wept black streaks down brick. To anyone else, it looked abandoned. Rat-infested. Condemned. Hunter stepped through the peeling front door like it wasn't there. The air shimmered faintly. Like heat haze off asphalt.
Silence. Thick velvet silence. The foyer swallowed sound. Hunter shrugged off his soaked hoodie. His manor unfolded before him—vaulted ceilings lost in gloom, marble floors cool under bare feet. He didn't flick a switch. Light bloomed anyway. Not electric. Daylight. Impossible daylight streamed from a vast circular skylight high above, though outside was deep dusk. Below it, his sanctuary sprawled: five university-studio-sized spaces merged into one impossible garden. Jungle-thick ferns brushed his shoulders. A snow leopard watched from a mossy boulder, golden eyes unblinking. Parrots shrieked in a kapok tree heavy with orchids. Magic herbs glowed softly beside mundane monstera deliciosa. Humidity kissed Hunter's skin. He inhaled deep. Soil. Blossoms. Peace. Here, nothing reached him. Not even gods.
He walked deeper. Past a koi pond where bioluminescent fish darted beneath floating lilies. Past a sleeping Komodo dragon curled beside a geothermal vent. Vines draped heavy overhead. This was his armor. His 'weaker immunity' thrummed softly beneath his skin—a low-grade hum warning of nothing. Yet. He settled onto a stone bench warm from the embedded heating runes. A pangolin trundled over, nudging his ankle. Hunter scratched its armored back absently. Outside this bubble? Chaos. Midtown High crawling with future heroes he avoided like plague vectors. That collision… Gwen Stacy's startled gasp, Felicia Hardy's sharp laugh echoing off lockers. Irritation pricked him. Why did he skate that route? Stupid shortcut. A deliberate detour tomorrow.
A chime echoed—soft, crystalline. Not audible. Resonating inside his skull. The Shop System interface shimmered into existence, hovering translucent before his eyes. Text scrolled: *Daily Maintenance: Feed Garden Animals. Reward: 15 SP.* Simple. Beneath him. Hunter didn't move. The pangolin chirruped. A tiny spider-monkey dropped onto his shoulder. Demanding. They weren't pets. They were… anchors. Proof this wasn't just a cage. He stood. The angel-back scars beneath his shirt tingled faintly. Not pain. Awareness. Something tugged at the periphery of his enhanced senses. Distant. Insistent. Like radar pings bouncing off Manhattan's steel canyons. Trouble? Probably. Not his trouble. Ignore it. Feed the gibbons. Ignore the city screaming. Ignore the god who dropped him here. Just… maintain. The Shop glowed brighter. Options shimmered tantalizingly: *Exotic Seeds (Rainforest Biome): 200 SP. Basic Telekinesis Module: 500 SP.* Patience. Finish the chore. Earn the crumbs. Build. Hide. Survive.
The air near the eastern wall thickened visibly. An oily swirl, like gasoline on water. Hunter froze mid-step toward the fruit bins. His immunity surged—not defensive. Alert. Warning. This wasn't a stray pigeon breaching the shield. The shimmer contorted, stretched upwards, forming a crude vertical oval. Through it, Hunter glimpsed pouring rain… and flashing emergency lights. Sirens wailed faintly. A distorted figure stumbled inside the distortion—too tall, limbs bent unnaturally—before collapsing onto his sacred ferns. The rift snapped shut. Silence crashed back. Hunter stared at the intruder sprawled amidst crushed orchids.
Rainwater pooled beneath the figure. Female. Long, tangled black hair plastered against tactical gear shredded by… claws? Lightning? Hunter inhaled sharply. Burnt copper. Ozone. Fear-sweat. Beneath that, something metallic and wrong. Her gear pulsed with unstable energy residue—familiar tech. Stark Industries. Her gauntlet flickered, sparks dancing across cracked housing. Then Hunter saw her face beneath the grime and blood. Angela Del Toro. White Tiger. Hero. Earth-11's version. Her chest barely rose. Ragged, wet gasps. A deep gash on her thigh seeped viscous, green-tinged blood onto the moss. Poison. Or worse.
His sanctuary recoiled. Bioluminescent fish dove deep. Snow leopard vanished into ferns. The koi pond bubbled angrily where her poisoned blood dripped. Hunter's Shop System blared an alert: *Unauthorized Spatial Incursion Detected! Source: Dimensional Breach Device (Damaged). Threat Level: Moderate (Environmental Contamination). Contained? Unknown.* SP options flickered: *Biohazard Cleanse (Localized): 120 SP. Neutralize Unknown Toxin: 300 SP.* Too expensive. Too loud. He crouched, pressing fingers lightly against her carotid. Pulse thready. Fever-hot. Angela's eyes fluttered open—glazed, pupils blown wide with pain and shock. Recognition? Impossible. Her cracked lips moved. A whisper, thick with blood. "Run… They're tearing… tearing through…"
Outside, through the manor's shielded walls, Hunter felt it. A tremor. Not seismic. Ripples punching through dimensional layers. Hungry ripples. Then came the sound. A wet, tearing screech echoing from the storm drains beneath Manhattan. Close. Moving… northeast. Toward this brownstone. Toward him. Angela's trembling hand grasped his wrist with surprising strength. Her Stark gauntlet sparked violently. Raw energy seared Hunter's skin—not broken by his immunity. Pain lanced up his arm. She wasn't attacking. She was desperate. Transferring data? A final warning? Her eyes locked onto his. Terror. Pleading. His angel-back scars ignited—a silent scream between his shoulder blades. Not pain. Wings straining against scar tissue. Warning him. Protecting him. Or welcoming the hunt?
He could dump her back onto the rain-slicked street. Seal his walls tighter. Pretend he heard nothing. Felt nothing. Let heroes handle hero problems. But Angela's poison hissed where it touched his moss. Alien. Wrong. And those screeches… they weren't stopping. They were tunneling. Toward his garden. Toward his peace. Hunter Zolomone looked down at the dying hero bleeding toxic waste onto his sanctuary floor. The Shop System's *Neutralize Toxin* option glowed mockingly, just out of reach. His knuckles whitened. A low growl vibrated in his chest—not human. Feral. Irritation curdled into something colder. Sharper. Why did *his* drain have to become a doorway? Why did *his* shortcut lead to chaos clawing at his only refuge? His perfect muscles coiled. Ready. The hoodie was miles away. Here, beneath impossible sunlight, Hunter didn't hide. He assessed. Calculated. The garden held its breath. Angela's grip weakened. Outside, something massive scraped concrete beneath the city. Drawing nearer. Hunter's gaze hardened. Detour denied.
Hunter's fingers traced the gash on Angela's thigh. The green-black blood pulsed with corrupted energy, eating at her Stark-tech armor like acid. His immunity surged, pushing back the creeping numbness threatening his fingertips. Not poison. Parasitic. Biological warfare spliced with unstable dimensional radiation. He knew without knowing—the Knowledge Wish whispering truths about horrors never meant for Earth-11. His Shop pulsed again: *Emergency Purchase: Bio-Restorative Nanite Swarm (One-Time Use). Cost: 180 SP.* He had 15. Insulting. Her gauntlet sparked again, searing his wrist. This time, data flooded his awareness—not words. Images. Flashes of a crumbling warehouse roof collapsing, of sleek black shapes swarming like armored ants, tearing through reinforced steel. Of Angela activating her breach device seconds before claws meant for her spine found purchase. The intruders weren't crawling *toward* him through drains. They were already *here*. Burrowing *up*. Beneath his foundation. Hunter ripped his hand back. Her data flow ceased. Angela slumped, unconscious. His angel-back scars flared white-hot, mapping invisible paths on his skin—warning vectors. Down. *They* were coming up from below.
The stone floor trembled. Fine cracks spiderwebbed near the geothermal vent, dust sifting onto the Komodo dragon's scales. Hunter didn't hesitate. He scooped Angela up—light despite her gear, her limbs limp. Her blood burned cold against his chest. He pivoted toward the deepest jungle quadrant, the air thick with humidity and the scent of blooming corpse flowers—nature's camouflage. Beside him, a massive strangler fig's roots formed a natural archway leading to a densely shrouded alcove. He laid her behind a curtain of glowing ghost orchids as the first tiles shattered near the vent. Jagged, obsidian-black claws, each longer than his forearm, punched through the cracked marble. They flexed, hooked talons scraping stone with a sound that scraped his bones. Hunter's immunity hummed louder, shielding him from the wave of psychic pressure—dull, relentless hunger amplified by the breach. He needed SP. Now. He turned toward the gibbons' feeding platform, grabbing a sack of figs. *Feed Garden Animals*. Thirty-seven seconds left. Thirty-seven seconds before whatever was climbing out of his floor decided heroes weren't the only prey in this verdant cathedral. He flung figs toward the chattering troop perched high in the kapok tree. Every crumb counted. Every second bought. The claws tore more stone aside. A segmented, chitinous limb emerged, dripping with viscous slime. Hunter's perfect body moved, placing himself squarely between the emerging monstrosity and the unconscious White Tiger. He didn't run. He earned. Fifteen points flashed into existence. Outside, sirens wailed closer. Too late. Inside, Hunter glared at the Shop interface. *Basic Telekinesis Module: 500 SP*. Too far. His fingers curled. Fine. They wanted a shortcut? He'd give them one. The leopard stalked from the ferns behind him, low and silent. Hunter's scars burned. Wings yearned. Eyes narrowed. The gardener was done pruning. Let the pests see the thorns.
Hunter dove sideways just as the creature exploded through the floor, showering marble shards across the moss. It stood taller than the kapok tree—a towering biomechanical horror, part insectoid nightmare, part pulsating reactor-core. Chitin plates overlapped like tank armor, glowing sickly green at the joints where Angela's poisoned blood matched its corrosion. Six compound eyes swiveled, locking onto Hunter. Its mandibles clicked, spraying acidic spittle onto a fern, instantly reducing it to smoking sludge. Hunter's immunity flared, deflecting the corrosive mist before it touched his skin. He smelled ozone and decay, heard the frantic flutter of bioluminescent fish diving deep. The Shop flashed red: *Environmental Hazard Detected! Recommend Purification Field: 250 SP*. Still out of reach. The creature lunged, a blur of jagged limbs aiming to impale. Hunter flowed sideways—slower than he liked. His angel-back screamed a trajectory warning. He wasn't fast enough… yet. Talons ripped through his hoodie's sleeve, grazing the perfect muscle beneath. Fire bloomed—not physical pain. Raw kinetic energy surged through the contact point, bypassing his immunity's core defenses. Shock. Vulnerability. His breath hitched. Angela wasn't wrong. This thing tore dimensions. It understood force on a level his Knowledge Wish only theorized. Behind him, the snow leopard snarled, launching itself onto the creature's segmented back. Claws skittered uselessly against chitin. The creature barely registered it, focused entirely on Hunter. Its core pulsed brighter. Building. Charging. Hunter's Shop pinged: *Hostile Entity Analysis Complete: Designation—"Rift Driller." Primary Weapon: Dimensional Shear Pulse. Countermeasure Available: Stabilize Local Reality Fabric (500 SP).* Hunter bared his teeth. Fine. No shortcuts. Only blood and bone. He planted his feet. The leopard sprang clear. Hunter didn't dodge the next lunge. He met it head-on, wrapping his arms around the cold, thrashing limb. Perfect muscle strained against impossible force. His scars ignited white-hot. Wings fought scar tissue. For the first time since ROB's palace, Hunter Zolomone roared. The gardener became the storm. The sanctuary trembled. Outside, Gwen Stacy's web-line thwipped past the invisible brownstone, unseen. Too late. Again. Inside? War.
The Driller screeched, a sound that shattered glass orchid vases nearby. Hunter's grip held, leverage pouring from the Knowledge Wish—Baki's grappling instincts fused with Lookism's flawless kinetics. He pivoted his hips, driving the creature's momentum sideways. Its razor leg slammed into the koi pond's stone edge, cracking it open. Bioluminescent water flooded the moss, mixing with toxic slime. Creatures scattered. Angela groaned weakly behind the orchids. Hunter ignored the burning cold seeping through his grip where the Driller's exoskeleton burned with unnatural chill. His immunity pushed back, a low, angry thrum beneath his skin. Not enough. He needed space. Time. The Shop taunted him: *Purchase Kinetic Redirection Field (Temporary): 200 SP*. Still short. He saw the core pulse brighter—green light bleeding into violet. Charging its dimensional shear. He released the limb, rolling backward as six barbed spikes shot from the Driller's underbelly. They punched into marble where he'd stood, dissolving stone instantly. Smoke curled upwards, stinging his eyes. Hunter landed beside Angela's hiding place. Her Stark gauntlet sparked erratically. An idea flickered—desperate, fueled by Gwen Stacy's phantom arguments echoing in his memory. He ripped the damaged gauntlet free. Metal burned his palms. Alarms shrieked in its casing. The Driller advanced, mandibles dripping acid onto glowing water. Hunter shoved the gauntlet's sparking power core against the creature's nearest leg joint. Raw energy met corrupted chitin. The explosion wasn't fire. It was a localized warp implosion—silent, violent. The Driller shrieked again, stumbling sideways as its leg buckled, sheared partially off at the joint. Hunter staggered back, ears ringing, hands blistered. Not immunity. Overload. Pain was new. Pain was… irritating. His Shop blinked. *Environmental Cleanup Reward (Emergency Action): +50 SP*. Sixty-five total. Still pathetic. The Driller reared, enraged, its core blazing violet now. Reality warped around it, ferns twisting into impossible geometries. Too close. Angela stirred, whispering, "Shield... frequency... 7.3 terahertz..." Hunter's Knowledge Wish connected instantly. Her breach device's residual signature. The manor's shield harmonics. He smiled. Cold. Sharp.
He didn't have SP for telekinesis. But he had *himself*. He sprinted toward the geothermal vent—the Driller's entry point. His angel-back scars ignited, mapping thermal currents rising from below. Perfect muscles coiled. He leaped. Not away. *Up*. High into the artificial daylight, grabbing a thick vine hanging near the fractured skylight. The Driller's violet pulse fired—a horizontal wave of distorted space ripping toward him. Hunter swung his body sideways, letting the vine carry him parallel to the blast. It missed by inches, sheering through the kapok tree's upper branches. Wood vaporized. Gibbons screamed. Hunter dropped, landing silently atop the Driller's shuddering reactor-hump. He drove his fists down—once, twice—not aiming to break chitin. Aiming to *resonate*. Knowledge Wish guided each strike: precise harmonics, vibration frequencies matching Angela's muttered number. The Driller bucked wildly. Hunter clung, knuckles bloody. The creature's core faltered. Violet flickered. Hunter slammed his palm flat against the glowing surface. He *pushed*—not physically. Mentally. A command ripped from his immunity's core: **Harmonize.** For a split second, his shield and the Driller's disruptive pulse synced. Feedback screamed through the creature. Its core pulsed erratically… then dimmed. Hunter rolled off as it collapsed, twitching, momentarily neutralized. Smoke poured from its joints. His Shop chimed: *Critical Threat Stabilized. Reward: 300 SP*. Finally. Hunter stood panting, staring at the fallen Driller, then at Angela bleeding poison onto his moss. Outside, sirens screamed right outside the brownstone. Gwen Stacy was here. So was Felicia Hardy's mocking laugh, faint beyond the shield. Hunter's scars cooled. Wings settled. He walked to Angela. Kneeled. Bought *Neutralize Unknown Toxin* (300 SP). Golden light washed over her wound. Green-tinged blood faded. Her breathing eased. He tossed the ruined Stark gauntlet into the bubbling pond. It sank, silenced. He looked up toward the invisible shield hiding his world from theirs. They couldn't enter. He couldn't stay hidden. Not anymore. The gardener had thorns. Now Manhattan would learn how deep they went.