The town did not wake up quietly.
It woke up screaming.
Helicopters cut through the morning sky before the smoke had even settled, rotors whipping ash and debris into spiraling clouds. Emergency sirens wailed nonstop, blending into a constant, nauseating hum that echoed through the ruined streets. Rescue crews poured in from neighboring cities, then neighboring regions, then the capital itself.
No one knew what to call what had happened.
They just knew it wasn't natural.
Jack Storm watched from the hills above town, coat hanging loose around him, blood dried dark against his knuckles. His body felt like it had been hollowed out and filled with lead. Every breath scraped. Every movement lagged a fraction behind his thoughts.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
The infernal core pulsed—heavy.
Not unstable.
Overloaded.
"You really outdid yourself," Jack muttered.
The core did not disagree.
THE MEDIA EXPLOSION
By midmorning, the footage was everywhere.
Shaky phone videos of streets collapsing inward. Cars sliding sideways without engines running. A towering shape moving through the town like a walking disaster zone.
And then—
Him.
A figure leaping through distorted air. Catching debris mid-flight. Holding buildings together long enough for people to escape. Standing between a school bus and annihilation.
Blurry. Overexposed. Half-silhouetted.
But unmistakable.
BREAKING NEWS: Unidentified phenomenon devastates northern town — hundreds displaced
EXPERTS BAFFLED as gravity distortions recorded across multiple districts
WHO IS THE MAN IN THE COAT?
Jack turned off the burner phone and tossed it onto the grass beside him.
"That didn't take long."
For years, incidents had been buried. Written off as gas explosions, mental breakdowns, terrorist attacks, freak accidents. But this—
This had happened in daylight.
With witnesses.
With children pulled from rubble.
Governments could spin a fire.
They couldn't spin gravity collapsing an entire town.
THE GOVERNMENT MEETS REALITY
Deep beneath a concrete-and-steel complex, a room full of powerful people stared at a paused video frame.
Jack mid-punch.
The B-rank demon's core collapsing inward.
Silence hung heavy.
Finally, a man at the head of the table spoke.
"This is no longer a containment issue," he said flatly. "This is a global threat scenario."
Screens lit up around the room—data feeds, satellite imagery, thermal distortions, electromagnetic anomalies.
"B-rank," one analyst said. "Confirmed. That puts us beyond our previous projections."
Another swallowed. "And he killed it."
Eyes shifted back to the frozen image of Jack.
"It killed it," someone corrected.
"No," Director Mercer said quietly. "He did."
She leaned forward, hands clasped.
"And he saved civilians while doing it."
That complicated things.
CROWE'S REPORT
Commander Crowe stood alone in a smaller briefing room, replaying the footage at half speed. Every frame. Every movement.
Jack running into gravity distortions instead of away from them. Holding a building together. Choosing the children over the clean kill.
Crowe exhaled slowly.
"He's injured," Crowe said.
An aide looked up. "Sir?"
Crowe pointed to the screen. "That hesitation before the final strike. The imbalance in his landing. He won, but it cost him."
The aide hesitated. "Shouldn't that make him… less dangerous?"
Crowe shook his head.
"No," he said quietly. "It makes him desperate."
Crowe turned away from the screen.
"And desperate men take risks."
THE COST HITS
Jack didn't make it far before his body gave out.
He made it down the hillside, into the tree line, and then his legs folded without warning. He hit the ground hard, breath blasting out of him as pain finally caught up all at once.
He lay there, staring up at the sky through branches.
"Okay," he wheezed. "That's new."
The infernal core surged—and then stalled.
Not broken.
But strained.
Jack felt it clearly now: microfractures along the metaphysical structure that housed his power. Not damage Hell could patch instantly. Not something brute force could ignore.
He laughed weakly.
"Guess I'm not invincible."
The laughter turned into a cough.
Blood stained the leaves beneath him.
HELL COLLECTS
The world around Jack darkened—not abruptly, but gently, like a curtain being drawn.
He didn't fight it.
He barely had the strength.
Hell received him softly.
The platform rose beneath his body, catching him before he hit the ground. The Infernal Broker appeared instantly, its fractured brass skin glowing brighter than ever.
"You survived," it said.
Jack groaned. "I'm sensing a theme."
The Broker gestured.
The air filled with weight.
Jack's infernal core opened.
And Hell paid him.
The sensation was overwhelming.
Souls flooded in—thousands of them—compressed, screaming, heavy with the authority of a B-rank entity. Jack arched involuntarily as the weight slammed into him, his core expanding painfully to accommodate the influx.
Soul Points gained: 48,000
Jack choked. "…That's a lot."
"Yes," the Broker replied smoothly. "B-rank demons do not fall cheaply."
More shapes emerged.
Coins.
Not one.
Not two.
Five Silver Soul Coins, heavy and sharp-edged, radiating raw upgrade potential.
And then—
Two Gold Soul Tokens.
They hovered above Jack like twin suns.
Permanent.
Final.
Jack stared at them, heart pounding.
"…Two," he whispered.
The Broker smiled.
"You exceeded expectations."
Jack forced himself upright, ignoring the screaming in his core.
"And the damage?"
The Broker's smile softened—not kindly, but honestly.
"Your core is stressed," it said. "Not broken. But if you continue at this pace without compensation…"
It traced a claw slowly across the air.
"…you will tear yourself apart."
Jack exhaled shakily. "Figures."
CHOICES STACK UP
Symbols ignited—more than Jack had ever seen at once.
Entire upgrade branches unfurled.
Advanced Force Control.
Violet Flame Mastery.
Soul Compression.
Regenerative Stabilization.
Perception Beyond Time.
And buried beneath them—
Gold-tier evolutions that pulsed ominously.
Jack didn't touch them.
Not yet.
He reached for something else.
"Can I keep fighting?" he asked quietly.
The Broker studied him.
"Yes," it said. "But not without consequence."
Jack nodded slowly.
"That's always been the deal."
THE WORLD DECIDES
Back on Earth, officials stood before cameras with practiced calm and manufactured certainty.
"There is no evidence of supernatural involvement."
"This appears to be an unprecedented geological anomaly."
"We are investigating all possibilities."
Behind them, classified briefings told a very different story.
They weren't asking if demons existed anymore.
They were asking how many.
And how long before the next one appeared.
JACK STORM — BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
Jack sat on the edge of the infernal platform, head bowed, surrounded by impossible wealth of power.
Enough souls to reshape himself.
Enough coins to become something terrifying.
Enough attention now that the world would never look away again.
He looked at his hands.
Still shaking.
Still human.
"…One town," he murmured. "That's all it took."
The infernal core pulsed heavily in response.
Above him, Hell waited.
Above that, the world prepared.
And Jack Storm stood exactly where he always ended up—
Between disaster and the people who couldn't fight back.