The words lingered in Ethan’s mind long after the shadow fell silent.
The gods you tried to eat.
Not “the shadow.” Not “we.” You.
As if, somehow, the distinction no longer mattered.
Outside, the city continued to groan beneath the weight of its own destruction.
Sirens wailed intermittently in the distance, only to be cut short moments later.
Fires had spread through several neighboring blocks, staining the morning sky with pillars of black smoke.
Twenty-three hours.
That was all humanity had.
Ethan looked down at his shadow.
“Explain.” The silver eyes stared back at him from the darkness at his feet.
“You would not understand.” “Try me.” Silence.
For a moment, Ethan thought the entity had decided to ignore him again.
Then, finally, it spoke.
“Long ago, before your stars were born, there were things that existed beyond gods.” “You’re talking about yourself?” “No.” The answer surprised him.
“I am only what remains.” A chill ran down Ethan’s spine.
“What does that mean?” “I do not remember.” The honesty in its voice was somehow more unsettling than if it had lied.
“You don’t remember?” “I remember hunger.
I remember darkness.
I remember the sound of dying heavens.” The shadow paused.
“And I remember being afraid.” That, more than anything else, made Ethan uneasy.
If something capable of frightening the creature beneath his feet existed, then humanity had never stood a chance.
A soft cough pulled his attention away.
Mrs.
Ortega sat against the wall beside Mateo’s body.
At some point, she had stopped crying.
Her face looked older now, as though the events of the past several hours had aged her a decade.
“You should go,” she said quietly.
“What?” “The city isn’t safe anymore.” “I’m aware.” “No.” Her gaze shifted toward the broken skyline.
“You don’t understand.” She pointed toward the eastern district.
“There are people gathering.” Ethan frowned.
“Survivors?” She nodded slowly.
“They’re calling themselves Awakened.” Of course they were.
Humanity had survived for thousands of years by organizing itself in the face of disaster.
If people had gained extraordinary abilities overnight, it was only a matter of time before they began forming groups.
“How do you know?” “There was a broadcast.” She handed him an old battery-powered radio.
The signal crackled with interference, but a voice emerged between the static.
“…repeating this message to all survivors.
Safe zones are being established at Central Station, Riverside Hospital, and the New Haven Sports Complex…” The speaker paused briefly.
“…individuals with combat-oriented talents are encouraged to report immediately.
Government response teams have suffered catastrophic losses.
Approximately seventy percent of military personnel are confirmed dead or missing…” Seventy percent.
Ethan wasn’t sure whether to be surprised that thirty percent had survived.
“…avoid all black pillars.
I repeat, avoid all black pillars.
Entities emerging from Gates are considered extremely hostile.
Under no circumstances should civilians—” The broadcast abruptly cut off.
A scream echoed through the radio.
Then silence.
“Well,” Ethan said quietly.
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.” Mrs.
Ortega almost smiled.
“You always were terrible at comforting people.” “You remember me?” “You used to carry my groceries upstairs.” Ethan blinked.
“I did?” “When you thought no one was looking.” He looked away.
“I was mostly trying to avoid talking to people.” “Still counts.” For the first time since waking up, Ethan felt something resembling embarrassment.
A distant explosion shook the building.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
The structure wouldn’t survive much longer.
“You should come with me,” Ethan said.
Mrs.
Ortega looked down at Mateo.
“No.” “Mrs.
Ortega—” “I’m eighty-two years old, Ethan.” He remained silent.
“My husband died ten years ago.
My daughter died five years ago.” She gently brushed a strand of hair away from her grandson’s face.
“And now Mateo is gone.” The old woman looked tired.
Not physically.
Existentially.
“I’ve had a good life.” The words caught him off guard.
Most people facing the end would speak of regrets.
Of things left unfinished.
Mrs.
Ortega simply sounded…
content.
“Take this.” She handed him the revolver.
“There are five bullets left.” “I can’t—” “Yes, you can.” Her expression hardened unexpectedly.
“You’re one of the people who survived for a reason.” The statement bothered him.
People like him weren’t supposed to survive stories like this.
He was not a soldier.
Not a hero.
Just a man who couldn’t even keep his electricity on.
“I don’t think that’s how this works.” Mrs.
Ortega smiled faintly.
“Then perhaps the universe has poor judgment.” A loud crash echoed from somewhere below.
The creatures in the building were moving again.
Ethan knew she was right.
He couldn’t stay.
He wanted to say something meaningful before leaving.
Something profound.
Instead, he settled for honesty.
“I’m sorry.” “I know.” He hesitated.
“My mother always said I was terrible at goodbyes.” “Mine said the same thing.” For a brief moment, despite everything, they laughed.
Then Ethan turned and walked away.
He did not look back.
— The stairwell was worse than the hallway.
Bodies littered nearly every floor.
Some belonged to people.
Others did not.
The monsters came in unsettling varieties.
Several resembled oversized insects with human faces.
One looked like a mass of teeth wrapped around a spine.
Another appeared to be a wolf until it stood on two legs.
Each time Ethan encountered one, the system provided the same information.
Level.
Threat.
Condition.
Most were stronger than him.
He avoided as many as possible.
By the time he reached the ground floor, his shirt was soaked with sweat and his wounds had begun to ache with renewed intensity.
The lobby no longer existed.
Half the building had collapsed inward, creating a mountain of concrete and twisted steel.
Sunlight filtered through the wreckage.
Beyond it lay New Haven.
Or what remained of it.
The city looked like a battlefield abandoned by gods.
Military vehicles burned in the streets.
Entire blocks had vanished.
Massive footprints—each larger than a house—scarred the landscape.
Ethan stepped over a shattered bus.
Something moved beneath it.
He froze.
A child emerged from underneath the wreckage.
No older than seven.
The little girl stared at him with wide eyes.
“Are you a monster?” The question caught him so off guard that it took several seconds to answer.
“…No.” She pointed at his feet.
His shadow had grown larger.
Not by much.
Perhaps an inch or two.
“I’ve never seen a shadow like that.” Neither had he.
“What’s your name?” “Lily.” “Where are your parents?” The silence that followed was answer enough.
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
“Do you know where Central Station is?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Mom said to go there if we got separated.” He looked toward the distant skyline.
Central Station was approximately five kilometers away.
Under normal circumstances, that would be an hour’s walk.
Now?
It might as well have been another country.
“Fine.” The word left his mouth before he could reconsider.
“I’ll take you there.” Lily tilted her head.
“Why?” Because leaving a seven-year-old alone in the apocalypse felt morally questionable.
Instead, he said, “Because I’m apparently bad at saying no.” “Oh.” She seemed satisfied with that answer.
As they began walking, Ethan noticed something strange.
The monsters avoided them.
Not all of them.
But enough to be noticeable.
Several creatures observed him from a distance before retreating into the ruins.
“Do they know who you are?” Lily asked.
“I certainly hope not.” His shadow stirred.
“They smell death.” “Whose?” “Yours.” That was significantly less reassuring than he would have preferred.
They had traveled less than a kilometer when they found the first Gate.
The black pillar rose from the center of an intersection.
Up close, it was not truly a pillar at all.
It was a tear.
Reality itself had split open, revealing a swirling vortex of darkness beyond.
Dozens of bodies surrounded it.
Military personnel.
Most appeared to have died attempting to retreat.
A notification appeared.
[Gate Detected.] [Classification: Bronze.] [Recommended Level: 5+] [Dungeon Occupants: 43] [Boss Entity: Unknown.] Lily tugged on his sleeve.
“What’s a Bronze Gate?” “Excellent question.” The system, surprisingly, answered.
[Gates are fragments of neighboring realities.] [Successful completion provides rewards.] [Failure may result in Gate Break.] [Warning: Gate Breaks significantly reduce local survival probabilities.] “That’s not concerning at all.” A loud roar emerged from within the Gate.
Something large moved behind the darkness.
Then came the screams.
Human screams.
There were people alive inside.
“Help!” someone shouted.
“Please!” “Don’t let it—” The voice abruptly cut off.
Ethan stared at the Gate.
“No.” His shadow seemed amused.
“You are considering it.” “I’m absolutely not.” “You are.” He was.
And he hated that.
Objectively speaking, entering an interdimensional death trap while underleveled, injured, and accompanied by a small child was a terrible idea.
Subjectively speaking…
People were still alive.
Lily tugged on his sleeve again.
“My dad used to say heroes are just idiots who don’t know when to run away.” “Your father sounds like a wise man.” “He died trying to save our dog.” “Ah.” That explained a lot.
The screams came again.
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Of course.” “You are going in?” “No.” “Your heartbeat says otherwise.” “My heartbeat is an idiot.” He looked down at Lily.
“Stay here.” “Okay.” “Hide if anything happens.” “Okay.” “And if I die—” “Can I have your jacket?” Ethan stared at her.
“…That’s what you took away from that conversation?” “It looks warm.” For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, he laughed.
A genuine laugh.
“Kids are terrifying.” “They tell me that a lot.” Ethan approached the Gate.
The darkness within shifted.
Something on the other side was watching him.
The system message appeared immediately.
[Would you like to enter Bronze Gate #7713?] [Warning: Survival Probability: 8.7%] He really disliked those odds.
“Any advice?” he asked the shadow.
A long pause followed.
Then: “Try not to die.” “Helpful.” “It has worked for us so far.” Us.
The word did not escape his notice.
Ethan took a deep breath.
He had spent twenty-four years trying to avoid trouble.
Apparently, the apocalypse had other plans.
“Fine.” He placed a hand against the darkness.
The world disappeared.
And somewhere deep within the Gate, something ancient opened its eyes and whispered a name that had not been spoken in billions of years.
“The Devourer has returned.”