The corridor was suffocatingly narrow, walls pressing in as though the city itself wanted to crush them. Veins pulsed dimly, sluggish, like a dying heartbeat. The air stank of iron and rot.
Adam stumbled after the masked figure, every step heavy, his legs trembling from the chase. His lungs burned, but not from running. The shard in his hand seared like molten iron, its glow faint now but insistent, gnawing at his nerves.
He couldn't let go. No matter how many times he tried—his fingers locked around it, muscles refusing to obey.
"Keep up," the figure snapped, their voice echoing against the walls.
"I'm trying!" Adam shot back, more desperate than angry. His words cracked, and beneath the sound of his own breathing, he heard something else—whispers.
At first, he thought it was the masked figure muttering under their breath. But when he slowed, straining to listen, he realized the whispers were inside his head.
Adam.
He froze, back hitting the wall. The shard pulsed warmly, almost reassuringly, like a living thing pressed against his palm.
Adam… you're not like them. You're chosen.
He staggered, clutching his head. "Shut up… shut up…"
The figure whirled, blade half-raised. "What are you doing?"
"It's talking to me," Adam whispered.
The figure's body stiffened. "…The shard?"
Adam looked up, panic etched across his face. "You knew this could happen?"
The figure said nothing, but their silence was all the confirmation Adam needed. His chest tightened.
"You—" His voice broke into a half-sob, half-shout. "You knew, and you let me take it anyway?!"
Before the figure could reply, the walls shuddered violently. The pulse in the veins quickened, a low vibration rumbling beneath their feet.
Something was coming.
The figure spun back around. "Move!"
They sprinted, dragging Adam with them, deeper into the maze. The whispers grew louder, stronger, until they weren't whispers anymore but a chorus screaming inside Adam's skull.
Power.
Control.
We will not let them cage us again.
Adam stumbled, his vision warping. The corridor twisted unnaturally, angles bending, as though reality itself was bending around him. His legs buckled.
And then—he wasn't in the corridor anymore.
He was in a lab.
Blinding white lights hummed above him. Figures in hazmat suits loomed, their faces hidden behind glass. A woman screamed on a table beside him, her body restrained, her veins glowing with the same light as his shard.
"No…" Adam whispered. He reached out to her, but his hand passed through like smoke.
The shard flared—and suddenly the scene shifted. The woman wasn't restrained anymore. She stood tall, her body radiating light, her eyes burning with inhuman fire. The walls of the lab crumbled, machines sparking and collapsing around her.
And then she looked at him.
"Adam," she said. Her voice was layered, human and something far beyond human. "We will finish what they started."
His body convulsed.
"Adam!" The masked figure's voice cut through the hallucination, sharp as a blade.
He gasped and staggered back into reality. The corridor snapped back into place, the woman gone, the lab gone. Only the shard remained, thrumming against his palm like a heartbeat.
The figure grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. "What did you see?"
Adam's throat was too tight to answer.
The walls quaked again, harder this time. A crack split open ahead of them, and from it poured a swarm of smaller creatures—nothing like the twisted husks from the chamber. These were leaner, faster, their bodies wiry and sharp, with needle-like limbs that clattered against the stone as they crawled.
They didn't screech. They clicked. Hundreds of mandibles snapping in unison, a grotesque rhythm that made Adam's skin crawl.
The figure shoved him aside and raised their blade. "Stay behind me."
But the shard in Adam's hand flared again—hot, wild. His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, spreading from his wrist up his arm. His vision sharpened, every detail of the swarm crystal clear. He could hear their breathing, feel their hunger.
And deep down… he felt something else.
He could fight them.
"No," Adam whispered, shaking his head. "No, no, no…"
The shard pulsed harder, urging him forward. His muscles tightened, coiled like springs. For the first time since the world had fallen apart, he didn't feel weak. He felt unstoppable.
The swarm rushed them.
The masked figure met the first wave with ruthless efficiency, slicing limbs and heads in clean arcs. But there were too many—dozens spilling from the crack, their clicking deafening.
Adam's body moved on its own.
He thrust out his hand, shard blazing. A shockwave of energy erupted, slamming into the swarm. Creatures screeched as they were hurled backward, their bodies cracking against the walls. The air burned, the corridor reeking of ozone and charred flesh.
Adam staggered, gasping, staring at his hand in horror.
The figure froze mid-strike, turning slowly toward him. "…What did you just do?"
"I—I don't know," Adam stammered, voice trembling. "It—it made me—"
The shard pulsed again, brighter, feeding on his panic, on his fear.
The swarm hissed and surged again, undeterred. Adam felt heat rise in his chest, pressure building like a storm. His vision blurred red.
The shard's voice roared in his skull:
MORE. GIVE US MORE.
Adam screamed, thrusting both hands forward. Light exploded outward, a torrent of energy ripping through the swarm. Bodies disintegrated into ash, walls cracked, veins burst, spraying dark ichor.
When the light died, silence followed.
The corridor was littered with remains, the swarm obliterated. Smoke curled from the stone.
Adam collapsed to his knees, chest heaving. His skin glowed faintly, veins burning under the surface like molten threads.
The masked figure didn't move. Their blade was lowered, but their stance was rigid, wary.
Finally, they spoke. Their voice was quiet, but edged with something Adam hadn't heard before—fear.
"You're changing."
Adam looked up, eyes wide, sweat dripping down his face. "No. No, I'm not—I didn't mean to—"
But even as he spoke, he knew they were right. He could feel it. The shard wasn't just a weapon. It wasn't giving him power.
It was consuming him.
And deep down, some part of him—traitorous, terrifying—wanted it to.
---