The city groaned with violence.
Ethan heard it before he saw it—the clash of steel, the ragged screams, the hollow thunder of gunfire echoing between ruins. Every sound was sharp, hungry, alive in a way that made his stomach knot. The world above ground wasn't dead. It was a battlefield.
Selene moved like she'd known it all along. Her stride didn't falter, her senses sharp, blade already drawn. Her presence was steady, predatory, as though the chaos ahead wasn't a warning but a song she'd memorized. Ethan struggled to match her calm, each step heavier than the last, weighed down by the ghost of his first kill.
He tried not to look at his hands. The faint red veins threading through his skin had dimmed, but he still felt them. The Core wasn't sleeping—it was listening. Waiting.
"You hear that?" His voice cracked against the silence between them.
Selene's reply was curt. "War."
The word landed with finality. He had expected more, some explanation, some guidance. Instead, he got that single note of truth.
They turned a corner, and the street opened into a fractured plaza. Crumbling statues and broken pillars framed the carnage: two factions tearing each other apart. One group was lean, scavenger-like, wielding makeshift blades and guns patched together with duct tape and rust. The other wore fragments of old armor, crimson-marked like trophies, moving with coordinated aggression.
Predators and prey.
Ethan froze at the sight. Bodies lay scattered across cracked pavement, blood smearing into the glowing crimson roots that threaded through the earth. The air stank of rot and fury.
He wanted to run. His body screamed for it. But Selene didn't move. She stood at the edge of the chaos, studying, calculating.
Her silence was worse than words.
Finally, Ethan found his voice. "We should go around. Find another path."
Selene's eyes flicked to him, gray steel unflinching. "No."
"No?" His voice spiked, incredulous. "Are you insane? They'll kill us the second they see—"
"They already have."
And before Ethan could breathe, before he could argue, a gunshot cracked. The ground at his feet burst in sparks and dust.
Dozens of eyes turned toward them.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
The scavengers snarled curses, half in broken language, half in desperate rage. The armored faction stayed silent, their attention sharp and deliberate. But in both, Ethan saw the same truth—neither side wanted witnesses.
Selene's blade gleamed as she lifted it, her face calm, unreadable. "Stay close."
And then the war swallowed them whole.
The first scavenger lunged at Ethan, a jagged machete swinging wild. His instincts screamed, his Core flared. Before he even thought, his body moved—the machete missed by inches, his hand striking out. He felt the Core pour into his arm, his veins burning red. The scavenger's chest burst under his touch, blood spraying hot and wet across his face.
Ethan staggered back, horrified. The man's eyes were wide, empty, body crumpling like torn paper.
His second kill.
And it was easier.
The realization made bile rise in his throat.
"Focus!" Selene's voice snapped like a whip. She was already moving, her blade cutting arcs of silver light through the chaos. She didn't waste motion. Each strike was lethal, precise, ending lives with a grace that felt more like art than violence.
But Ethan wasn't her. He was raw, trembling, torn between the flood of strength in his blood and the horror of using it. The Core whispered louder now, thrilled, urging him to stop resisting.
"More," it hissed. "Take more."
Another scavenger came at him, screaming, swinging a rusted axe. Ethan ducked, his breath ragged, and the Core surged without his permission. His fist met the man's chest—another eruption, another life snuffed out. His ears rang, his vision swam.
He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream. But his body… wanted more.
Selene appeared at his side, her blade cutting down a soldier that had tried to flank him. Blood sprayed across her coat, her cheek, but she didn't blink. Her eyes cut to Ethan, sharp, assessing.
"You're alive," she said flatly, before turning to meet the next threat.
Alive. Was that all he was supposed to cling to?
The battle spiraled around them. The scavengers screamed with desperation, the armored faction pressed with cold brutality, and Ethan found himself in the storm's center. His hands were no longer shaking—they were steady, precise, lethal. Every strike, every kill, fed the Core. His veins lit crimson, brighter with each body.
But with the power came something worse. A thrill. A rush.
And it scared him more than death.
Selene fought like she was untouchable. She never faltered, never doubted. Her blade sang, her movements fluid and deadly. Ethan caught glimpses of her between the carnage—hair wild, coat torn, eyes alight with something he couldn't name. She was destruction and beauty tangled together, and it stole his breath even as it terrified him.
At one point, their backs pressed together, enemies circling. Ethan's chest heaved, blood dripping from his hands. Selene's voice brushed against his ear, low and sharp.
"Don't think. Kill."
Her command lit the Core like fire.
And he obeyed.
When it ended, the plaza was silent.
Bodies littered the ground, the smell of iron and smoke thick in the air. The crimson roots drank greedily, veins pulsing brighter where blood pooled. Ethan staggered, chest heaving, hands trembling with exhaustion.
He didn't know how many he'd killed. He didn't want to.
Selene stood among the bodies like a goddess of war, her blade dripping, her gaze cold and unshaken. She turned to him, studying the mess that was Ethan—bloodied, pale, shaking between horror and exhilaration.
"You survived," she said simply.
Ethan's laugh broke, half a sob. "Survived? I—I don't even know what I am anymore."
Her eyes softened, just for a breath. Then the steel returned. "Good. That means you're beginning to understand."
Ethan met her gaze, chest tight. He hated her calm. Hated her truth. Hated that in this nightmare, he needed her more than anyone.
But most of all, he hated the truth burning in his blood:
The Core was still hungry.
And so was he.
Ethan bent over, bracing his palms against the broken pavement. His lungs burned, dragging air thick with copper and smoke. Every exhale was a cough, every inhale coated his throat with the metallic sting of blood. He could still feel it—warm on his face, drying sticky on his skin, his tongue tasting phantom droplets he swore weren't his.
His stomach lurched. He pressed a fist against his lips, willing himself not to retch.
The Core purred instead, coiling deep in his veins, its whispers like velvet knives.
You're adapting. Faster this time. Don't fight it. Don't fear it. Feed.
"Shut up," Ethan hissed under his breath, though he didn't know if he was talking to the Core or to himself. His knuckles pressed white, the veins in his arms glowing faintly in the dim light.
Selene's boots crunched against rubble as she moved among the bodies. Calm, precise, like she was walking through a gallery instead of a massacre. She nudged one corpse with her blade, checking for signs of life, then crouched to rip a half-broken mask from another. No hesitation. No grief. Just work.
"How—" Ethan's voice cracked, rough. He swallowed hard and tried again. "How do you do that? Just—walk away. Like it's nothing."
Selene didn't look up immediately. She wiped her blade clean on a dead man's sleeve, the gesture chilling in its simplicity. When she finally turned to him, her gray eyes were unreadable.
"Because it is nothing."
The words landed like stones in his chest.
His laugh was harsh, bitter. "Nothing? I just—killed. I killed them. People. And you—" He broke off, his throat closing. His gaze darted to her hands, her blade, her unshaken stance. "You're not even human, are you?"
For a moment, something flickered across her face—amusement, maybe, or annoyance—but it vanished too fast to name.
"Human," Selene said softly, stepping closer. "Humanity is the first thing the Core takes from you. You think you still have it? Look at your hands."
He did. He didn't want to, but he did.
They were steady. Not trembling like before. Not weak. They looked… sure. Strong. And that terrified him more than the blood caked across his fingers.
"I didn't choose this," Ethan rasped.
Her voice was ice. "No one does."
A low groan cut through the silence. Ethan stiffened, his head snapping toward the sound. One of the armored soldiers wasn't dead after all. The man dragged himself along the cracked ground, clutching his side, leaving a trail of dark blood behind. His helmet was split, his face pale and twisted with pain.
Ethan's heart thudded. His first instinct was to help. His second was to run. But the Core… oh, the Core surged with delight.
Weak. Ripe. Finish him.
Ethan staggered back a step, shaking his head. "No. No, I'm not—"
Selene moved faster. She stood over the wounded man, her blade raised. The soldier reached out a hand, his lips moving in some desperate plea Ethan couldn't hear.
And then the blade came down. Clean. Final.
Ethan flinched, bile rising again. "You didn't have to—"
"He was prey." Her voice was steel. "Wounded prey attracts predators. You leave him, you kill yourself later."
The logic cut deeper than the kill itself. Ethan wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that mercy still mattered. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Because deep down, some part of him knew she was right.
That terrified him more than anything else.
---
The plaza quieted again, but not for long. Distant engines rumbled through the city's skeleton, the sound of armored trucks or carriers moving fast. Ethan's head snapped toward the noise. His stomach dropped.
"They'll come looking."
Selene was already moving, blade sheathed, her voice calm as ever. "They never stop."
She started toward the far street, shadows draping her like a cloak. Ethan lingered, the weight of the dead pulling at his feet. His conscience screamed that he couldn't just leave them there, that walking away made him no better.
But the Core pulsed warmly in his chest, thrumming approval.
More will come. Stronger prey. Follow her. Feed.
Selene looked back once, her gaze sharp, almost expectant. "Move, Ethan. Or you'll learn what it feels like to be the weak one left behind."
His throat tightened. His body wanted to collapse, to refuse, to scream that he wasn't like her. That he never wanted to be.
But his legs carried him forward anyway.
Because the Core was right. Because Selene was right.
Because in this world, he wasn't sure if there were humans left at all.
Only predators.
And prey.