The weather is raining very heavily and storm is never going to end.
At least, that was how it felt to him as he stumbled through the night, leaving behind the wreck that should have been his grave. His legs dragged, his ribs burned, and his head spun in fog. Every step sounded wrong, like bones grinding against stone.
Yet he walked.
'I shouldn't be alive. Am I some kind of zombie or ghoul? What am I?'
The thought pounded in rhythm with the rain. Over and over. The truck, the impact, the crash—the memories slammed into him like the collision all over again. His skull had cracked against the glass. His chest had caved under the seatbelt. His last breath should have ended there, spilled onto the asphalt. But death never claimed him.Something else did and changed him.
His reflection in the broken storefront glass told the truth. His eyes weren't human anymore. Pale, glowing faintly like ash caught in lightning. His skin shifted beneath the surface, patterns crawling and reshaping, as though the skeleton itself wanted to crawl free.
'What am I? Am I still a human?'
He stood in front of his house by dawn, soaked to the bone. The little blue door, the chipped paint, the mailbox still dented from last year. It was his house. His family was inside.
His wife. His daughter.
The thought gave him strength. He reached for the doorknob—then froze.
What would they see? A man come home from a crash? Or the thing that now stared back at him in the glass?
Inside, the young voice rang faintly. His daughter's voice, high and bright. It cut him deeper than any wound.
'You can't walk away. Not now. They need you. Even like this… they need you.'
But another voice, darker, whispered from the marrow of his bones: 'No. You'll hurt them. That's what you are now. A predator. A beast. A tool made for death.'
His jaw clenched. He backed away from the door. Not yet. He had to understand this curse first. He had to know why. And then he walked away.
By nightfall, it began. The hunger. Not for food. Not for sleep. For something primal. Something alive.
He staggered into an alley, clutching his stomach as his body contorted again. His shadow warped against the brick, sprouting jagged horns, claws stretching like knives. The Orphnoch form clawed its way out, demanding to breathe.
His mind screamed, but the instincts screamed louder: 'Kill. Hunt. Tear. Feed.'
He roared, the sound splitting the air. A stray dog yelped and fled. His chest heaved. He smashed his claw into the wall, concrete splitting like cardboard.
"No…" he hissed through sharp teeth. "I won't… I won't let you take me."
He fell to his knees, trembling. His family's faces burned in his mind. His daughter's laugh. His wife's tired but gentle smile.
'If I lose to this thing, I'll never see them again. I'll only destroy them.'
The hunger subsided slightly, though it never vanished. It lingered like smoke in his lungs, waiting for him to weaken.
That night, he stood again at the crash site. Rain washed the asphalt, but the scars of the wreck remained. His gaze hardened.
The truck hadn't been random. He knew it in his bones. Someone wanted him gone.
And now—he had the power to find them.
The Orphnoch inside whispered approval, purring like a beast: 'Yes. Hunt them. Make them pay. That is what we were reborn to do.'
His human self flinched. But the logic was cruelly sound. The only way to protect his family… was to become the very monster that threatened them. To eliminate every shadow lurking after him, before they reached his door.
He clenched his clawed fist. Rain hissed against it. "I'll protect them. Even if I have to become monster myself."
From the rooftop across the street, a pair of sharp eyes tracked his every move.
Ryotaro crouched low, hood drawn, the Frog Pod recording in silence. The data streamed back into his Denden Sensor, matching readings with what he already suspected.
"Residual energy spike… Orphnoch signature confirmed," he muttered.
Through the lens, he saw the pale man standing at the site of his death. Half-human, half-bone. He looked broken, but his posture… was determined. Not aimless violence.
"Interesting." Ryotaro's lips curved faintly. "He's fighting himself. Still human enough to cling to purpose."
He tapped his notebook.
Subject survived targeted hit.
Reborn as Orphnoch.
Displays restraint, signs of emotional conflict.
Motivation: Family protection.
Risk factor: High.
He sat back, letting the rain hit his hood. A victim turned hunter. 'A tragedy waiting to burn the city down. And I'm supposed to decide how much of him is still salvageable.'
Then he thought of Kara Danvers. How her pen froze when the accident came up. How her eyes betrayed a knowing weight.
Maybe she was already investigating. Maybe she knew what was stirring in the shadows of National City.
Ryotaro smiled slightly. "Looks like the pieces are moving faster than I expected."
The Orphnoch man stumbled through another alley, chest heaving, the storm never letting up. Inside him, the war continued.
'You are not human anymore. Stop pretending.
No. I am still me. I am a husband. A father.
You are a weapon. A blade. You exist to cut down others like you.
Then I'll cut the ones who came for me. No one else.
Liar. You will cut everything. Even them.'
He slammed his head against the wall, teeth grit, veins glowing faintly under his skin. He wanted to scream but choked it down. His daughter's face rose again, fragile and untouchable.
"I won't… I won't lose her."
The Orphnoch form twitched, shuddered, then receded reluctantly. His human face returned, pale and drenched. For now, he was in control. But he could feel it—like a shadow waiting to overtake him the moment he faltered.
And he would falter. Sooner or later. By the time he reached his neighborhood, the lights inside his house were out. His wife had tucked their daughter into bed. The thought filled him with warmth and dread.
He stood in the rain across the street, watching the windows glow softly. His claws itched. His chest burned with hunger. But his heart whispered: Protect them. No matter what.
He didn't dare go inside. Not yet. Not until he figured out how to chain the monster within.
Far above, on another rooftop, Ryotaro closed his notebook.
"The board is set," he murmured. "But which side of it will he stand on? Protector… or executioner?"
The rain clouds rolled on, merciless as ever.
And somewhere, in the quiet hum of National City, Kara Danvers looked out her own window, eyes narrowed at the rain—like she could sense the storm beneath it.
*********
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