The alley was still except for Ethan's ragged breathing. He pressed his back to a wall slick with rain and soot, lungs rasping like torn paper. His heartbeat thundered in his ears—proof he was alive while the city beyond screamed itself apart.
Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. Somewhere else, metal screamed as cars collided in blind panic. The air tasted of ozone and blood. He could smell burning plastic, copper, and the faint sweetness of leaking fuel.
For a long moment he did nothing but breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. Only the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the faint hiss of far-off fires.
Then he noticed his arm.
The claw wound that had ripped through him was gone. Not bandaged—gone. Smooth, unbroken skin stretched where blood had poured seconds ago.
A chill rolled through him. He touched the spot—nothing. Perfect.
His veins still pulsed faintly green beneath the skin, the glow ebbing like phosphorescent tides. Each heartbeat sent another ripple of light through his flesh.
And then he saw it.
A faint bar of light hovered just under the skin of his right forearm, numbers burning above it like a projection from his bones:
> [Essence : 98 / 100]
Ethan blinked. He rubbed at it. It didn't fade. It was inside him, coded into his blood.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
The voice answered instantly, sliding into his head like smoke under a door—metallic, ancient, absolute.
> "Mortal, you have chosen your oath. Every ability you wield draws from the fire within you: Essence."
"A scratch will cost you little. A wound, more. To heal another, more still. To halt corruption, much."
"When your Essence runs dry, you will not die, but collapse—helpless before your enemies."
The bar pulsed once, faint as a heartbeat.
> "Spend wisely. Burn recklessly, and your flame will gutter before its time."
Then the voice was gone, leaving him shaking in the silence.
He stared at the numbers again. 98 / 100.
"Two points," he muttered. "For healing my arm."
So that was the price. Every miracle had a meter.
The realization hit like a weight in his stomach. This wasn't divine mercy—it was accounting.
His throat tightened.
Lena. Ellie.
He pressed his palms to his face. His sister's weary smile flickered behind his eyelids, her nurse's badge crooked as always. Ellie's laughter echoed with it—the sound of a plastic sword hitting his leg while she shouted "Knight me, Uncle Ethan!"
Were they alive? Did Ellie even get a choice when the countdown appeared?
He yanked his phone from his pocket. The screen was spider-webbed with cracks, but it lit up. No signal. Only the wallpaper remained: Ellie mid-grin, ice-cream melting down her arm.
"Hold on, kid," he whispered. "I'm coming."
He shoved the phone back and looked again at the bar. 98 / 100. Two points gone already.
What if he burned it all before finding them?
He needed to understand this power.
Ethan drew his small pocketknife—the one he carried every shift. He hesitated, then pressed the blade lightly across his palm. A thin red line welled up.
The bar flickered but held at 98.
He focused, willing the same force that had sealed his earlier wound.
Emerald light gathered at his fingertips, spreading across the cut like mist. The blood hissed away, skin knitting until it was smooth again.
> [Essence : 96 / 100]
A faint rush filled his head, like standing too quickly. The glow beneath his skin dimmed for a heartbeat, then steadied.
"Okay," he breathed. "That's… that's real."
Two points for a scratch. Maybe four for someone else. Ten or twenty to stop a mutation. His hand curled into a fist.
He pictured the man in the street whose body had torn itself open. Could he have saved him? Maybe—at a cost. Dozens more? No. He'd collapse before he reached his family.
The guilt twisted inside him, but he buried it. Survive first.
He pushed off the wall and stepped to the mouth of the alley.
The city had become a graveyard of lights. Cars burned in silence, windows flickering with orange reflections. Streetlamps buzzed and died in sequence, one by one, until only firelight remained.
A billboard across the avenue showed a frozen face mid-smile; static crawled over it like mold. Somewhere a siren wailed, rose, and choked into silence.
Ethan slipped onto the street. The smell of smoke hit him like a blow. Glass crunched beneath his boots. A toppled bus blocked the intersection, its interior smeared with dark handprints.
He moved between abandoned cars, careful not to jostle doors. Shadows jumped and swayed in the light of spreading fires.
On the hood of a taxi lay a man whose timer had already hit zero. His skin stretched too tight; bones pushed upward, eager to burst free. Ethan looked away. He couldn't waste Essence—not yet.
A noise—a soft scrape of claw on metal—made him freeze.
He crouched behind a delivery van and peered around it.
A mutant wandered the intersection, thin and trembling, joints twitching like a puppet's. Its eyes were milk white, its mouth frothing. Claws clicked against the pavement as it sniffed the air.
It wasn't hunting with purpose. It was lost. Hungry.
Ethan held his breath, pressing into the van's cold metal side. The creature shambled closer, head jerking, nostrils flaring. It stopped less than ten feet away.
He could smell it: iron, decay, and something chemical—like burnt hair.
For a full five seconds the world hung still. Then the thing lurched onward, staggering down another street.
Only when it vanished did Ethan breathe again. His lungs burned from holding still.
He glanced at his arm. 96 / 100.
Four points gone, and he already felt like he was gambling with his life.
He straightened, every muscle trembling. Instinct begged him to hide, to find a corner and wait for help. But there was no help coming.
The gods had said it plainly: This world is our playground.
And playgrounds didn't have rescue teams.
"Lena," he whispered, voice barely sound. "Ellie. I'll find you. Whatever it costs."
A distant explosion rolled through the streets. Power lines crackled overhead, raining sparks. Somewhere far off, the skyline pulsed with the same emerald hue that lived in his veins—others choosing, others changing.
He turned toward it, toward the promise that maybe someone else was still fighting.
The city stretched before him, burning and alive with monsters. His Essence glowed faintly at his wrist, a heartbeat of light counting the cost of every step.
He started walking.