In the hollow between dimensions—where time bled into silence—four shadows sat upon thrones carved from collapsing stars.
They were not gods. They were what came after gods failed.
A fracture rippled through the void.
One of the shadows leaned forward, its form distorting as if reality itself recoiled from its presence.
"The Seal has cracked," it said, its voice echoing like a funeral bell across infinity.
Another shadow laughed softly. "Impossible. The Abyssal Core was buried beyond causality. Even we cannot retrieve it."
"And yet," the third murmured, fingers tracing glowing sigils in the air, "something has answered its call."
Silence followed.
The fourth throne creaked as its occupant stood. Its eyes—two collapsing suns—turned toward a distant, insignificant world.
"Then one of our creations has reached the edge of despair," it said calmly. "And despair is the only key that opens the abyss."
"Should we intervene?" the second shadow asked.
"No," came the reply. "If the Core awakens… let it choose its bearer."
The void folded inward, and the thrones vanished.
The rain fell like it was trying to erase the city.
Neon lights flickered weakly over broken streets as smoke coiled between shattered buildings. Sirens wailed somewhere far away—but none dared come close.
District Nine was dead.
Bodies littered the alleyways—men in civilian clothes, syndicate uniforms, even children caught in the crossfire. Blood mixed with rainwater, running into drains that led straight into the undercity.
Kael Verain staggered through the wreckage, his breath ragged, his vision swimming.
His left arm hung uselessly at his side. His ribs screamed with every step.
Yet pain was nothing compared to what burned inside his chest.
He had trusted them.
The Iron Serpents—his family, his crew, the only thing that had kept him alive since the slums had swallowed his parents. He had bled for them, killed for them, risen through their ranks for them.
And tonight, they had sold him.
"Drop him here," a voice echoed from behind.
Kael collapsed to his knees as armored boots crunched against broken glass. Figures emerged from the shadows—black coats, silver insignias glowing faintly on their collars.
The Crown Authority.
"You said he'd be alone," one of them muttered.
"He is," replied a familiar voice.
Kael's head snapped up.
Veyra.
She stepped forward, rain sliding down her hood as she met his gaze without flinching. The woman who had stitched his wounds. Who had shared stolen meals and whispered plans of escape.
The woman who had marked him for death.
"Why?" Kael rasped.
Her eyes flickered—just for a moment.
"Because the Core responded to you," she said quietly. "And I chose to live."
The Authority commander raised his weapon. "End it. Before the underworld notices."
Kael forced himself to stand, legs trembling as blood poured from his mouth.
"You think this ends with me?" he laughed weakly. "You think the abyss stays silent forever?"
The commander frowned. "He's delirious."
But Kael could feel it now.
Something beneath the city.
Something ancient—hungry.
The ground cracked.
Black veins of energy surged upward, wrapping around Kael's body like chains made of shadow. Pain unlike anything he had ever known tore through him as screams echoed—not from his mouth, but from his soul.
Veyra stumbled back. "This wasn't supposed to—!"
The abyss answered.
—Do you accept?—
Kael's vision burned crimson.
He thought of the bodies. The betrayal. The city that had chewed him up and spat him out.
"I accept," he whispered.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
And far above, unseen by mortals, something long sealed smiled.