Ethan stood in the quiet aftermath, the shredded remains of the beast soaking into the mossy earth behind him. His breath came ragged, the air thick with iron and damp rot. And yet… something in him felt different.
Not physically. There was no flash of light, no magical ding or fanfare. But something had shifted—tilted.
A strange warmth pulsed beneath his skin. It wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't relief. It was… growth.
Something had awakened inside him. Like a breath he hadn't realized he was holding for his entire life had finally been released. His muscles didn't feel bigger, and his reflexes weren't sharper—not in any way he could measure—but still, he knew.
He was stronger.
A low tremor in the air snapped him from the thought.
That thing—the towering brute that had chased him before—was still out there.
And now, it shrieked.
Not like a beast.
Like a nightmare being torn apart.
The sound ripped through the trees like a falling star, a guttural blend of metal grinding against bone, of agony and rage and hunger all screaming at once.
Ethan spun on his heel, face pale. "Shit—"
He didn't wait for another clue.
His eyes locked onto the fallen slope he'd seen before—what looked like the skeletal remains of a skyscraper collapsed sideways into the mountain, overgrown with vines and moss, tilted just enough to form a climbing path up toward higher ground. Some parts were metal, others concrete, the structure now half-swallowed by forest and time.
That's my way out.
He sprinted.
His axe-cleaver clanged against his back with each stride, and the jungle passed in rapid green smears. Vines tugged at his boots. Thorny weeds scraped his arms. But he climbed, faster and harder than he thought possible.
His body obeyed without question. That strange warmth inside him—the quiet shift from before—was now a subtle fire in his blood.
And then, breathless and sweating, Ethan crested the final slope of twisted steel and root-stained concrete and stood at the edge.
And the world bloomed.
Before him unfolded a canvas so massive, so impossibly alive, that his breath caught in his throat and refused to return.
It wasn't just a jungle.
It was a world reborn.
The horizon stretched forever, a living tapestry of chaos and grace, where lush canopies collided with scarred lands, and rivers wove through shattered cities like silver veins threading a corpse.
To the far north, colossal mountains rose in jagged rows, their peaks laced with pale snow and lightning that danced endlessly above them like serpents made of light. Each bolt lit up the clouds in violent pulses, casting flickers across ruins built directly into the mountainsides—castles, temples, towers, now claimed by moss and age.
And then he saw it.
A floating dragon's skeleton, suspended by some forgotten force, vast enough to carry a city on its back.
Atop its spine sat a grand medieval citadel, dark stone spires scraping the sky, glowing windows flickering like fireflies from some ancient age. Banners hung, unmoving, as if time had paused. And though it looked abandoned… Ethan felt something watching. Something old.
And alive.
The sky cracked again.
A beam of light, no—energy—shot up from the farthest edge of the continent, piercing the sky with enough force to split clouds and vanish into orbit. It left behind a shimmering trail, visible even beneath the sun's rays.
And yes, the sun shone bright.
But beside it floated three moons—at daytime.
One crimson. One pearl-white. One shattered, like a cracked mirror drifting silently across the blue.
He turned his gaze lower and gasped anew.
An abyss.
A yawning black chasm far to the west, carved deep into the earth like a scar that had never healed. As he watched, something stirred within it—something colossal. A grotesque head, wet and horned, with too many eyes and teeth that spiraled inward like drills, rose from the depths. With a guttural breath, it snatched a flock of airborne beasts, biting them mid-flight before sinking again into the darkness.
All without making a sound.
He stumbled backward, chest heaving.
Just then, another tremor rolled beneath him—not from the thing in the abyss, but from the duel continuing far away.
There, in the far eastern wilds, two titanic beasts—each the size of Everest—still battled. One was serpent-like, glittering with plates of obsidian. The other, shaped like a four-armed ape, hurled entire chunks of mountain like pebbles. Their fists cracked valleys. Their roars made the very air ripple.
Ethan knelt, hands trembling as he touched the ground.
Even here, pebbles danced with every clash.
And still—humans moved across the world.
He saw them.
Some leaping between floating cliffs. Others riding giant birds, or surfing on streaks of glowing energy. One passed close enough for Ethan to see the blue fire burning from their soles as they leisurely walk in air.
In the distance—a wall.
Enormous. Black. Cyclopean.
A settlement, the first true sign of civilization he had seen. The wall guarded a city whose silhouette was jagged with high towers, its gates glowing faintly under the light of the moons. Around it were fields of strange light, shimmering like forcefields or domes.
The last human city?
Nearer, he spotted bunkers—half-buried and broken. Some still leaked light. Others were dark, overtaken by roots the size of buses. And between the mountains and rivers, more ruins—ancient cities, long buried beneath time and leaf and silence. Some of their towers peeked out like crooked teeth. Others were reduced to mere outlines in the grass.
The rivers below were not like Earth's. They sprawled, wide as highways, with waterfalls that fell from floating islands and disappeared into clouds of mist. The sound of rushing water joined the howls, screeches, and growls of unseen creatures.
The world never slept.
The tremors never stopped.
Even the light was strange—gorgeous, layered. Shafts of gold broke through thick canopies in heavenly beams, while colored fogs wafted lazily across valleys—green, blue, pink, and sometimes black, like smoke that didn't rise.
Ethan stood motionless.
Small.
Insignificant.
And yet—
Alive.
He was overwhelmed, yes. But a different kind of overwhelmed.
He was mesmerized.
This… is where I live now.
No going back.
No more dorm rooms or ramen at 2AM.
No more college exams or cheap food stalls with friends.
Friends…
His smile faded. He looked down, to where his cleaver hung heavy at his side.
"Sid… Dianna…" he whispered.
Where are you?
Are you here too?
Are you alive?
He swallowed hard. The ache in his chest returned like an old bruise. For the first time since the white room, he thought about home. About his mom's laugh. The way his dad always smelled like engine oil. His sister yelling from the bathroom to stop hogging the water.
They were all behind him now.
Gone.
And yet, the world stretched on.
Living. Breathing.
Waiting.
A soft wind blew through the ruined tower behind him, carrying with it the howls of beasts, the hum of energy, the call of the unknown.
Ethan stood tall.
"This is my life now," he said.
His voice was quiet.
But steady.
And behind his eyes, something burned.
"I need to find them."