The silence that followed Eobard's brutal takedown of the mutated Rottweiler was more terrifying than the beast's snarls. It was the silence of shock, of a world holding its breath. Priscilla clung to her younger sons, her face still pale, but her eyes fixed on Eobard, a complex mosaic of fear, relief, and bewildering awe. Ethan and Derick, wide-eyed, stared at their older brother as if he were a stranger, a formidable, terrifying force that had just materialized in their living room. Shawn, though, was practically vibrating, a mix of horror and raw fascination in his gaze.
"We need to barricade this," Eobard rasped, his voice still rough, his throat raw from the guttural sounds he'd made. His hands, still stained with his own purged blood, trembled faintly, not from fear, but from the residual power coursing through him. He glanced at the splintered doorway, then to the heavy, overturned dining table. "Help me."
Priscilla, snapping out of her daze, moved first. "Yes, son.
Quickly." Her practical nature, forged by years of hardship, asserted itself. Together, they heaved the table, its legs scraping loudly against the linoleum, and wedged it against the ruined doorframe. They piled old chairs, a worn mattress, anything they could find, creating a flimsy but symbolically reassuring barrier. Each creak and groan of the old building, each distant shriek from the street below, sent fresh waves of anxiety through them.
As the immediate adrenaline faded, a new kind of pain settled in Eobard's body. It wasn't the agonizing, transformative pain from moments ago, but a deep, pervasive ache, as if every cell had been rewired. His muscles felt dense, heavy, yet strangely responsive. He could still feel the raw power thrumming beneath his skin, a volatile engine he didn't know how to control. He tried to relax, to settle, but his heart pounded a chaotic rhythm, and a strange hunger began to gnaw at him, a deep, unsettling emptiness that had nothing to do with food.
He caught his reflection in the darkened windowpane. His eyes seemed to glow faintly in the gloom, reflecting the ethereal light of the realm above. His frame, once lean, felt broader, his features subtly sharper, more defined. He looked like himself, yet utterly alien. What have I become? The thought was a cold dread in his stomach. The brilliance of his mind, which once dissected complex theorems, now grappled with the terrifying, inexplicable reality of his own body. He clenched his fists, feeling the immense, untamed power vibrate. Could he turn it off? Could he ever be normal again? The answer was a chilling, resounding no.
The first night was a sleepless vigil. Huddled together in their small living room, the family listened to the terrifying symphony of the new world: distant roars, terrified screams, the shattering of glass, the eerie, shifting hum of the realm above. Priscilla clutched her rosary, whispering prayers. Ethan and Derick huddled silently, their faces buried against her, their childish innocence shattered. Shawn, ever restless, kept trying to peer through the gaps in their barricade, a morbid curiosity battling his fear.
Eobard sat by the window, not for curiosity, but for vigilance. His heightened senses picked up every sound, every tremor. The faint scent of ozone still hung in the air, mingling with the stench of decay and something indefinably other. He felt the Primal Hunger intensifying, a gnawing demand for Qi that made his teeth ache. He found himself unconsciously drawn to the spot where the mutated Rottweiler had fallen, a strange, dark energy lingering there. He recoiled from the thought, from the monstrous implication of what his body seemed to crave. He was a protector, not a predator. He had to be.
The second day brought a terrifying realization: they were isolated. No power, no phone signal. The radio was dead. The city, once a buzzing network of millions, was now fragmented, individual pockets of terror. Hunger gnawed at their stomachs, but the primal one in Eobard's gut was far worse, a constant, low-grade thrum that made him restless, agitated.
"We need food," Priscilla said, her voice thin but resolute. "And water. Our tap ran dry this morning."
Eobard knew she was right. Their small reserves wouldn't last another day. The thought of venturing out sent a cold wave of dread through him, but his family's hungry faces spurred him on.
"I'll go," he said, his voice flat. He looked at his hands, remembering the effortless power. He was their only hope.
"Eobard, no!" Priscilla grabbed his arm, her eyes pleading. "It's too dangerous. What if… what if you can't control it?"
"I have to, Mama," he insisted, his gaze hardening. "For us."
He left his family huddled together, their anxious faces etched into his mind. Stepping into the stairwell was like entering a different dimension. The air was heavy, the silence broken only by the drip of unseen water and the occasional, distant wail. The remnants of destruction were everywhere – splintered doors, overturned furniture, a growing layer of dust and grime.
He emerged onto the street, the humid New York air suddenly feeling alien, charged with an unseen energy. The street was a graveyard of abandoned cars, some smashed beyond recognition, others simply left mid-traffic, doors agape. A single, overturned bus lay on its side, its windows shattered like vacant eyes.
The silence was punctuated by sporadic, horrifying sounds: a guttural growl from an alley, a frantic scream swallowed abruptly, the distant, eerie thump-thump-thump of something large moving unseen.
Eobard moved cautiously, his heightened senses on full alert. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every rustle of trash made him tense. He saw small, mutated rats scurrying through debris, their eyes glowing faintly. He sidestepped a bloated, iridescent pigeon corpse, its feathers replaced by oily scales. The city was dying, piece by agonizing piece.
He spotted a small bodega across the street, its front gate twisted and half-open, a potential source of food and water. As he approached, a figure emerged from the alley beside it – a man, perhaps in his late twenties, wielding a jagged piece of rebar like a club. His eyes were wild, his clothes torn. And then Eobard saw it – a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer around the man's hands, a raw energy radiating from him.
"Stay back!" the man snarled, his voice hoarse, his rebar raised defensively. "This is my territory!"
Eobard held up his empty hands. "I just need supplies for my family."
"Family?" The man scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "There's only survival now. And this... this is mine." As he spoke, the shimmer intensified, and the rebar in his hand began to glow with a faint, angry red. A wave of heat emanated from him. He was an early Fire-elemental awakened, consumed by fear and territoriality.
Eobard tensed. He could feel the Qi within himself respond, a surge of raw, untamed power urging him to unleash. The Primal Hunger pulsed, demanding resolution. He fought against it, trying to think, to analyze. He couldn't risk a direct fight; he needed to conserve his strength, to understand his abilities, for his family's sake.
Just then, a terrifying screech echoed from behind the bodega. A creature, resembling a spider but with chitinous plating and multiple glowing red eyes, scuttled out, much larger than any arachnid Eobard had ever seen. It was fast, its movements jerky and unnatural. It lunged directly at the Fire-elemental man.
The man screamed, swinging his rebar with desperate fury, but the spider-creature was too quick. It slammed into him, knocking him off balance. The man instinctively unleashed a burst of flame, searing the creature's leg, but it only seemed to enrage it.
Eobard saw his chance. The man was preoccupied. He didn't want to fight him, but he couldn't just stand there. He had to get to the supplies. As the man struggled, Eobard darted past them, his movements unnervingly swift, an almost animalistic grace. He felt a fleeting jolt of fear from the fire-wielder as he passed, a momentary sense of empathetic feedback from his own bloodline feature, confirming the man's terror. He ignored it, focusing on the bodega.
Inside, the chaos was evident. Shelves overturned, goods strewn across the floor. He quickly located the bottled water and canned goods. He filled a worn backpack he found, working with a frantic efficiency, his heightened senses making him acutely aware of the struggle just outside.
As he turned to leave, another figure stumbled into the bodega, a young woman, perhaps in her late teens, clutching her stomach. Her face was pale, streaked with grime, and her clothes were torn. She swayed on her feet, but Eobard noticed something else – her skin was mottled, her complexion an unsettling grayish hue, almost like stone. As she moved, the floor beneath her foot shifted, a small crack appearing in the concrete. She was an early Earth-elemental awakened, though clearly weak and starving. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the store, seeing the food, the water.
She saw Eobard, her eyes narrowing with desperate hunger. "Water," she croaked, her voice raspy. "Please."
Eobard hesitated. The primal hunger in his own gut roared, urging him to take everything, to prioritize his family alone. But looking at her, her desperation mirrored his own, stripped bare. His family needed this. But he couldn't deny her entirely. He quickly uncapped a bottle of water and held it out to her, then added a can of beans to her hand.
"Take it," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Be careful out there."
She stared at him for a moment, a flicker of bewildered gratitude in her eyes, before she snatched the items and stumbled out, not even glancing at the ongoing fight. The city had already broken empathy for many, replacing it with raw survival.
Eobard slipped back out, the fighting still ongoing, the Fire-elemental man screaming as the spider-creature inflicted more wounds. He moved quickly, his senses already picking up new dangers. He heard more distant shrieks, closer this time, and the unmistakable sound of something large crashing through an apartment building.
As he ran through the maze of abandoned cars and debris, he realized something profound. The city hadn't just broken; it was being reforged. Humanity was cracking, revealing dormant powers, but also shedding its old civility. And he, Eobard Peterson, the genius, the scholar, was now a part of this terrifying, bloody genesis. His mind, even amidst the chaos, instinctively began to observe, to analyze the patterns of mutation, the desperate actions of others, already trying to learn the rules of this new, brutal world. He had to. For Priscilla. For Ethan, Derick, and Shawn. They were his reason, his anchor in this terrifying, transforming reality. His brilliant mind, his monstrous strength, all dedicated to their survival.