Coker's breath came in short bursts. The damp alley felt like it was closing in, brick walls leaning toward him, shadows curling like smoke. His knuckles ached from clenching his fists too tightly, but he couldn't loosen them—not after what had just happened.
The streetlamps ahead flickered. One by one, they died, leaving the night to swallow the road in chunks. A cold wind whispered through the narrow space, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood.
It wasn't his blood.
At least, not yet.
Footsteps followed him, too slow to be normal, too heavy to be human. The sound echoed off the walls like a drumbeat from the underworld. Coker's back itched, his instincts screaming at him to run, but his legs felt locked in place.
The voice came again—deep, sharp, almost amused.
"You can't hide from me, boy."
It was the same voice from before. The one that had whispered into his head when the world had turned red. The one that promised him power.
Coker swallowed hard. "I didn't ask for you."
A laugh drifted through the dark, low and almost human—but not quite. "You didn't have to. You called me the moment you wanted to live."
The words slid under his skin like a blade. Coker turned sharply, his heart hammering against his ribs. The shadows ahead thickened, and from them, a figure stepped out.
Tall. Wrapped in tattered black robes that seemed to drink the light. No face—only a shifting mask of darkness.
Coker took a step back. "What are you?"
The figure tilted its head, like the question amused it. "I am what you'll become, if you live long enough."
Before Coker could speak, the air split with a screech. Something massive leaped from the rooftop and landed between them.
It wasn't human. Not even close.
Its body was long, stretched unnaturally, covered in slick, black flesh that pulsed like it was alive. Its mouth was too wide, full of jagged teeth, and its eyes—its eyes glowed like molten gold, staring straight into Coker's soul.
The thing let out a guttural roar. The force of it hit Coker's chest like a hammer.
"Move," the robed figure said calmly.
Coker's feet finally obeyed. He dove to the side just as the creature lunged, claws carving into the wall where he had been standing. Bricks cracked, dust exploding into the air.
The robed figure didn't move at all. It simply raised a hand. The shadows around its arm solidified into a long, jagged spear.
It drove the weapon forward.
The creature howled as the spear went through its shoulder, but instead of retreating, it turned on Coker. It was fast—too fast.
Coker barely had time to throw up his arms. The claws slashed through his jacket, tearing into skin. Hot pain ripped through him, his breath leaving in a sharp cry.
The taste of iron filled his mouth.
Somewhere deep in his mind, something stirred.
The voice again.
*Do you want to live?*
Coker gasped, pressing a hand to his bleeding arm. "What… what are you talking about?"
*Say yes, and I'll give you the strength to kill it.*
The creature was already moving again, its body a blur.
Coker didn't think. He screamed into the night, "Yes!"
The world slowed.
Cold spread through his veins, flooding every nerve, every bone. The pain in his arm vanished, replaced by something heavier—something alive. His vision sharpened until he could see the smallest cracks in the creature's claws, the tiny pulse in its throat.
His hands burned, not from pain, but from power.
The shadows around him bent toward his body, curling up his arms, solidifying into jagged, claw-like shapes that felt like an extension of himself.
The robed figure's voice came one last time, low and satisfied.
"Then kill it."
Coker moved. Faster than he thought possible.
The creature lunged. He met it head-on, driving his shadow-claws into its chest. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it touched the ground. The thing screeched, but Coker didn't stop. He kept striking—again, and again, and again—until the roars turned to gurgles and the gurgles to silence.
When it finally collapsed, the shadows slipped from his arms, fading like smoke in the wind.
Coker stood there, chest heaving, covered in black blood. His heart was still racing, but not from fear.
From the thrill.
He had felt it—the rush of being stronger than death itself.
The robed figure stepped closer, its presence towering over him. "Now you understand."
Coker looked up, his voice hoarse. "What… are you making me?"
"Not making," the figure corrected. "Unveiling."
Before he could ask what that meant, the figure began to fade, its form dissolving into the air. "We'll meet again. And next time, you'll beg for more."
The alley was suddenly silent.
Coker stood alone with the corpse of the monster at his feet. He stared at his hands, the faint black smoke still curling off his skin.
He didn't know what this power was. He didn't know if it was a gift or a curse.
But he knew one thing.
He would never be the same again.