CHAPTER 2 — THE RETURN
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Too soft.
The sound barely echoed through the underground corridor, yet something about it felt… wrong. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
Beyond the doors stretched a long hallway—sterile, clinical, its white walls gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights. The floor reflected everything: ceiling lights, moving silhouettes, the polished shine of a place that believed itself untouchable.
The boy stepped out.
Slow.
Silent.
Controlled.
The soles of his shoes tapped lightly against the floor, each step measured, deliberate, as if he were counting the seconds of a future no one else could see.
He didn't look back.
As he walked, the environment subtly changed. The sterile white faded into something more… refined. The corridor opened into a wide underground atrium—marble floors, warm ambient lighting, glass walls revealing offices and labs where scientists worked tirelessly.
Screens flickered with data. Researchers murmured to one another. Attendants moved with tablets in hand, discussing schedules, protocols, results.
Order.
Routine.
Safety.
They didn't notice him at first.
And that was their mistake.
A single motion—almost casual—curved across his lips.
He smiled under the gas mask.
Not friendly.
Not nervous.
Not relieved.
Sharp.
Psychotic.
Playful in the most dangerous way.
The air shifted.
Someone stopped walking mid-step.
Another paused mid-sentence.
A pen clattered to the floor.
They felt it before they understood it—the wrongness, creeping under their skin like a chill. Instinct whispered where logic failed.
Something is wrong.
Eyes turned.
Whispers died.
The boy stopped at the center of the atrium, finally lifting his head.
And then—he spoke.
"I'm sorry."
His voice was calm. Polite, even.
He let the silence stretch, thick and uncomfortable.
"But…"
The word hung in the air, heavy. Tangible.
A few staff members exchanged uneasy glances.
"You made a very big mistake," he continued softly, "letting me come to the surface."
The illusion shattered.
Heartbeats spiked. Breath caught in throats. A man swallowed hard, forcing a laugh that came out wrong.
"This—this is a restricted area," someone stammered. "Security—"
The boy raised his hand.
Slowly.
Methodically.
The resonance tag around his wrist glinted under the lights.
Click.
Resonance activated.
The world responded.
A faint hum rippled through the floor, vibrating through marble, glass, bone. The lights flickered once. Twice.
Blood stirred from the bodies of the researchers and scientists.
Not spilled—pulled.
Drawn like invisible threads, twisting and writhing under his command.
Screams erupted.
Some ran.
Some froze.
Some collapsed where they stood, eyes wide with horror as their strength drained away, bodies paling, limbs giving out beneath them.
Within moments, the ordered hum of the facility collapsed into chaos.
Researchers. Attendants. Scientists.
All brought low.
The marble floor—once pristine—became a silent, crimson stained testament to control. Bodies lay scattered, some unconscious, some unmoving, others trembling weakly as life slipped through invisible fingers.
The boy walked through it all as if strolling through a garden.
Unbothered.
Untouched.
He stopped near the exit, gazing at the devastation as if assessing a completed experiment.
"I promise," he whispered, almost to himself, "the world will feel what I've felt."
His voice softened.
"Fear…"
"That will be their first reaction when they hear my name."
The doors ahead slid open, revealing the night.
Beyond lay the city—vast, glittering, alive with lights and motion. Towers rose into the sky, streets hummed with distant traffic, unaware of how fragile their peace truly was.
The moon hung above it all—cold, pale, indifferent.
He paused.
A memory flickered.One of when he was much younger—13 years
Laughter.
Running feet.
Hands pulling him along.
A younger version of himself—smiling, unbroken—playing with siblings beneath a bright sky untouched by lies.
The smile on his face twisted.
Dangerous.
"As for my dear siblings…"
He chuckled softly.
"They'll get what's coming to them."
He stepped into the night.
The doors closed behind him with a quiet thud.
The wind picked up, carrying faint echoes of screams into the distance—but the boy didn't flinch.
Not even a little.
Above, the city slept.
And somewhere in its shadow, a name—still unknown—began weaving itself into legend.