The world spli in two long before it split on Jack Storm.
It split when the first possession incident was explained away as a murder.
When the second was called a mental break.
When the third was buried under paperwork and forced silence.
It split because pretending was easier than admitting the universe had teeth.
But Jack made pretending impossible.
And once the world couldn't deny demons…
It began arguing over the devil that saved it.
1. THE PEOPLE WHO WORSHIP THE STORM
They started as comments.
Short messages under shaky footage.
"He saved that bus."
"He held the building long enough."
"He didn't run."
Then the comments became threads. The threads became groups. The groups became meetups. The meetups became organizations.
The first real movement called itself Stormwatch.
Their symbol was simple: a single red eye inside a circle, painted on cardboard signs, spray-painted onto walls, stitched onto hoodies. A protest that didn't feel like a protest—more like a vigil.
They gathered outside hospitals and shelters. They handed out food. They escorted families home when rumors of possessions spiked again. They shared maps of safe zones and evacuation routes. They treated the world like it was already at war.
A young woman with an ash-stained jacket stood before a crowd beneath a bridge.
"None of you were there," she said, voice shaking, "but I was. The B-ranks came like gods. Everyone was going to die. Everyone!"
She raised her phone and showed a blurred clip: Jack standing in an intersection, eyes glowing red, demons falling around him.
"And he didn't destroy the city. He didn't erase us with them. He controlled it."
Applause broke out.
Someone shouted, "He's our shield!"
The woman lifted her chin.
"He's not perfect," she said. "But he's real. And the rest of them—our governments, our leaders—have been lying to us for years. If they won't protect us, we protect each other. And if Jack Storm is the only thing standing between demons and our kids…"
Her voice cracked.
"Then we don't let them kill him."
The chant started soft and then grew until it shook the bridge:
"STORM LIVES! STORM LIVES!"
2. THE PEOPLE WHO WANT HIM DEAD
The other side didn't need organization at first.
They had grief.
They had the crater footage.
They had the four blocks that were no longer on maps.
The first anti-Storm movement was born in a town hall where a man slammed his fist into a table hard enough to split the wood.
"My sister was there," he shouted. "My niece! Four blocks—gone. And you're telling me we should be grateful?"
People shouted over each other. Anger, pain, fear.
A woman stood up, eyes red from crying.
"He's a weapon," she said. "Even if he means well, he's a weapon with a mind of its own. No one should have that kind of power."
Someone else shouted, "He's attracting them!"
Another voice: "He's part demon!"
And then the phrase that would spread like fire through the frightened half of the world:
"He's the bigger threat."
They called themselves Humanity First.
Then Storm Must Fall.
Then the darker splinters began—groups that didn't protest but trained. Groups that didn't hold vigils but built weapons. They shared leaked footage frame-by-frame and drew lines on screenshots like investigators studying a serial killer.
They didn't want explanations.
They wanted an end.
3. THE GOVERNMENT'S LIE COLLAPSES
The official statements became shorter.
Less confident.
More carefully phrased.
"We are investigating."
"We do not currently have evidence of—"
"We advise citizens to remain calm."
But calm didn't exist anymore.
Inside secure bunkers, calm was replaced by math.
How many D-ranks can we neutralize?
How many soldiers die per D-rank?
How many cities can we lose before society collapses?
At an international summit disguised as an "infrastructure conference," the real presentation began behind locked doors.
A large screen showed ranked silhouettes:
D — manageable, high casualties
C — borderline uncontrollable
B — city-threatening
A — national threat
S — ???
An analyst cleared his throat.
"Our best suppression systems can barely hold a D-rank. A C-rank engagement exceeds acceptable casualty thresholds unless the entity is isolated and contained."
He clicked.
Footage of a D-rank pinned by a grid. The grid flickered. The demon tore a man apart. Then another. Then finally collapsed.
A minister whispered, "And Jack?"
The analyst hesitated.
"He killed five B-ranks in under four minutes," he said. "Without city-level collateral."
Silence.
Someone at the far end of the table said what everyone was thinking:
"That means he's the only countermeasure we have."
Another voice, colder:
"That means if he turns, we're finished."
Director Mercer, seated quietly with her hands clasped, spoke at last.
"You're discussing him like a missile," she said. "He's a person."
A general looked at her like she'd spoken nonsense.
"Not anymore," he said.
4. CROW E'S UNWANTED TRUTH
Commander Elias Crowe sat in a smaller room after the summit, staring at an internal directive stamped BLACK.
INTERNAL PRIORITY: Neutralize Jack Storm if opportunity presents.
A "bounty" disguised as contingency.
It was cleanly worded. Professionally written. Cold as a scalpel.
Crowe felt something sour rise in his gut.
He hated Jack once because Jack was becoming necessary.
Now he hated the world because it was proving him right.
An aide entered quietly.
"Sir," the man said, uncomfortable, "they want you to lead the contingency."
Crowe didn't look up.
"Of course they do."
"Should we accept?"
Crowe's jaw tightened.
He thought of the crater.
Thought of the kids Jack saved.
Thought of two A-ranks erased at a price no human would ever pay.
He finally looked at his aide.
"We accept," he said.
The aide blinked. "Sir?"
Crowe's voice turned to steel.
"If we refuse, they'll send someone worse. Someone who'll provoke him until he breaks."
He stood.
"And if Jack Storm breaks… we don't get a second chance."
5. JACK HEARS THE WORLD'S FEAR WITHOUT LISTENING
Jack watched his own legend through a cracked shop window in a half-abandoned district.
A news anchor stood beneath a banner: THE STORM QUESTION
"Is he savior or threat?" she asked, voice trembling. "Government sources refuse to comment on rumored directives—"
Jack turned away.
The Nether Core pulsed, steady and dark.
He should have felt anger.
He should have felt hurt.
He should have felt something human.
Instead, he felt the same thing he'd felt in the crater, staring at what he'd erased:
A quiet certainty that the world would do what it always did.
It would fear what it couldn't control.
And it would try to destroy it.
Jack stepped into an alley and looked up at the sky.
"Hell," he said softly. "I need upgrades."
The pull came like a sigh.
6. HELL'S PLATFORM OF JUDGEMENT
Jack landed on a platform that didn't float over fire anymore.
It floated over an abyss filled with slow-moving stars and screaming echoes, like Hell had stitched a piece of the void into its infrastructure. Chains hung from nothing, each link etched with contracts so old they looked like scars rather than writing.
The Infernal Broker waited.
It looked more cracked than before, purple-black light leaking through its seams.
"You are famous," it said.
Jack's eyes glowed red.
"Lucky me."
The Broker's smile was thin.
"Your humanity is under debate."
Jack snorted. "So is everything."
A wave of symbols ignited in the air—dozens, then hundreds—branching upgrades that felt like a living tree.
Jack felt the economy of Hell shift. The Nether Core was no longer just a container.
It was a status.
A statement.
"You fought A-ranks," the Broker said. "You lived. You self-destructed and returned."
Jack's jaw tightened.
"You watched."
"Hell always watches," the Broker replied. "And now… Hell invests."
Jack's chest tightened.
"I don't want your investment."
The Broker leaned closer.
"You already accepted it."
7. UPGRADE: DEMON WINGS
The first branch didn't ask.
It offered inevitability.
Wings — Nether Manifestation (Tier I)
Cost: soul points + two silver coins
Jack stared.
"You want me to look like them."
The Broker's voice was almost gentle.
"You already do, to humans."
Jack didn't answer.
He thought of civilians backing away. Guns pointed at him. Children whispering about his eyes.
He swallowed.
"Do it."
The coins dissolved.
Pain erupted as if his spine was being split open by an invisible blade. Jack dropped to one knee, teeth grinding, as bones formed and tore through flesh. The sensation was both biological and metaphysical—like Hell was building a new organ that existed partly in reality, partly in symbol.
Wings unfurled.
Not feathered like an angel.
Not leathery like a beast.
Something in between—black-red membranes threaded with void-violet veins, edges shimmering with contained force. Each flap moved the air like pressure rather than wind.
Jack stood slowly and rolled his shoulders.
The wings responded like limbs he'd always had.
He hated how natural it felt.
The Broker whispered, "The sky will no longer limit you."
Jack stared at the abyss.
"…Great."
8. UPGRADE: NIGHTMARE POSSESSION
The next upgrade branch made Jack's core tighten.
It wasn't physical.
It was psychological.
A tree of black symbols bloomed in the air like ink spreading through water.
Nightmare Possession
Illusion weaving
Fear projection
Mind invasion
Nightmare loop imprisonment
Trauma manifestation
Jack's voice dropped.
"This is torture."
The Broker's smile widened slightly.
"This is war," it replied. "And war does not ask permission."
Jack clenched his jaw.
He thought of the two A-ranks. How close he'd come to losing. How many people would have died if he had.
The worst part was the quiet voice inside him that said:
They'd die anyway.
Jack flinched at that thought.
Then, with resentment, he said:
"Do it."
The upgrade slid into his Nether Core like a thorn.
Jack's vision blurred.
For a moment, he saw himself as a child—mean, angry, pushing someone just because he could. Then he saw the car. The kid. The moment he died.
He blinked hard.
The images faded.
But the feeling stayed:
He could now take someone's mind and turn it into hell.
A part of him didn't mind that at all.
9. THE BOSS: THE WINGED JUDGE
Hell didn't reward growth.
It tested it.
Reality above the platform split.
A presence descended like a verdict.
A towering demon with six wings of burning sigils, carrying a blade forged from condensed hellfire and force. Its eyes were ancient, cold, and utterly certain.
"I am the Winged Judge," it thundered. "Prove you deserve the sky."
Jack's wings unfurled fully.
His red eyes narrowed.
"Gladly."
10. SKY WAR IN HELL
They took to the air.
The first collision shattered the atmosphere of Hell.
Wings slammed together with enough force to ripple the abyss below. The Judge's blade cut through space itself, leaving lines of absence that tried to swallow Jack whole.
Jack twisted mid-flight, force manipulation bending the blade's trajectory just enough that it missed by inches.
He counterpunched.
Absolute transmission hit the Judge's ribs.
The armor cracked.
The Judge didn't flinch.
It smiled.
"You rely on impact," it said. "You are still human in the way you fight."
Jack snarled and drove forward.
The Judge's blade flashed.
It cut through Jack's wing.
Jack roared as the membrane split and pain shot through his spine.
Then the wing regenerated.
It stitched itself back together in seconds.
The Judge's eyes widened slightly.
"…Regeneration."
Jack grinned, feral.
"Yeah."
He slammed into the Judge again, punching, twisting, collapsing force around the demon's joints to disrupt flight. The Judge retaliated with a burst of pressure that hurled Jack into a chain hanging from the abyss.
Jack smashed through links thicker than buildings.
Then stopped midair.
He hovered.
Wings beating slowly.
The Nether Core pulsed.
Jack's eyes glowed brighter.
The Judge's voice echoed:
"You are not meant to evolve."
Jack's voice came back calm.
"Neither are you."
11. NIGHTMARE POSSESSION UNLEASHED
Jack didn't want to use it.
That was the lie.
The truth was uglier.
A part of him wanted to see if it worked.
Jack reached outward with his mind.
Not like grabbing a soul.
Like opening a door.
The Judge froze midair.
For a fraction of a second, its wings stuttered.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
He pushed.
The Judge's mind snapped into a nightmare.
Not random fear.
A tailored loop: ancient failures, lost dominions, beings stronger than it tearing its wings off one by one, forcing it to kneel in an endless cycle of humiliation.
The Judge screamed.
Not with sound.
With mind.
Jack flinched at the flood of terror—then steadied.
He held it.
Long enough.
Then he moved.
He crossed the distance instantly and drove his fist into the Judge's chest.
Absolute transmission collapsed the core.
The Judge's wings flickered.
The blade dropped.
The demon fell.
Jack caught it mid-fall and erased it with void-violet flame—clean, precise, complete.
The body ceased to exist.
The air became quiet.
Jack hovered alone above the abyss.
Breathing slow.
Wings steady.
And inside him, that cold part whispered:
That felt… good.
Jack closed his eyes.
"…No," he whispered. "No it didn't."
But the whisper didn't go away.
12. HELL ACKNOWLEDGES HIM
The Infernal Broker appeared beneath him on the platform, looking up like a priest watching a god.
"You are acknowledged," it said.
Jack descended slowly.
"Don't," Jack said. "Don't make this into worship."
The Broker's smile was thin.
"It isn't worship," it replied. "It's accounting."
The air shimmered.
Jack felt the reward—heavy soul points, several silver coins, and one gold token that pressed into his core like a sleeping knife.
But before Jack could ask—
Hell shuddered.
The abyss below rippled.
The Broker's smile vanished.
"…No," it whispered.
Jack's eyes snapped open.
"What?"
The Broker looked up—not at Jack.
At something beyond.
"An S-rank moved," it said.
Jack's blood ran cold.
"Another one?"
The Broker's voice was quiet.
"Yes."
"And it's not the one that broke you."
13. RETURN TO EARTH — AND THE SKY SPLITS
Jack returned to Earth at sunset.
He emerged midair now, wings already deployed, hovering over a coastline where the sky glowed orange and purple.
He felt the world's fear immediately.
Not from humans.
From the planet itself.
The air pressure shifted.
The ocean stilled.
Clouds burned away as a vertical scar tore across the horizon.
Reality split.
And something descended from above the sea like a sun walking down.
An S-rank.
Not void-dark.
This one radiated white fire so intense it made the clouds evaporate around it. Its form was humanoid, elegant, and terrifyingly calm.
It looked at Jack Storm as if reading a flawed equation.
"Jack Storm," it said. "You should not exist."
Jack's wings spread wider.
His red eyes burned.
"Yeah," Jack said. "I've heard."
The S-rank drifted closer, each movement warping the sky.
"You have crossed thresholds you do not understand," it said.
Jack's Nether Core pulsed—steady, dark, ready.
"I understand one thing," Jack replied. "If you came to kill people, you'll go through me."
The S-rank tilted its head slightly.
"No," it said softly. "I came to correct the system."
The ocean below trembled.
The sky brightened.
And Jack Storm hovered in the air, wings spread like a demon, red eyes burning like warning lights—while the world watched, split between worship and terror.