The air was a thick, gray soup of pollutants and something else—something sharp and metallic, like the smell of a freshly opened can of blood. Kwandezi, a name he hadn't heard in years, didn't bother to breathe through his nose. He just moved, a ghost in the urban decay of old Lagos. His faded clothes, once a symbol of his banishment, now served to blend him into the shadows and refuse of the city's forgotten corners. He was a scavenger by necessity, a survivalist by instinct, and a professional killer by contract.
He was on the trail of a low-grade Void-borne, a mindless beast that had slipped through a weak point in the Veil. Its signature was a low, guttural hum that only a trained person, or someone like him, could sense. It was sloppy, a rookie mistake. It had left a trail of butchered dogs and a scent that made the very air feel wrong. The organization had sent a team of two to handle it. Kwandezi watched from the rooftop, a silent observer waiting for his opportunity.
"Why are they so loud?" he muttered to himself, a dry, rasping sound. The two Veil operatives, a male and a female, were moving with the clunky grace of new recruits. Their movements were textbook, their stances perfect, but they had no feel for the city's rhythms. They were searching a narrow alley, their high-tech rifles pointed at every corner. Kwandezi could already hear the beast—it was right behind them, pressed against a wall, its amorphous body mimicking the grimy texture of the concrete. It was a perfect, gruesome camouflage.
He watched, not with concern, but with detached curiosity. This was their mess, not his. He'd only step in if the beast became a threat to his small, quiet existence. His hand rested on the hilt of his shortsword, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that was older than he was. He had no love for this kind of work, no passion for the fight. He did it only to survive, to earn the little money he needed for food and a place to sleep. He was a machine, a function, a tool in a world that had long ago discarded him.
The beast struck with a terrifying, wet sound, its limbs lashing out to pin the male operative against the wall. The female operative's eyes widened with horror, her perfect training giving way to a panic he'd seen a thousand times before. She fumbled with her sidearm, her hand shaking as the beast's razor-sharp claws ripped at her partner's protective suit. The hum of its void-energy grew louder, a chilling symphony of pure malice.
This was the moment. The beast had gone from a problem for two people to a problem for the public, and Kwandezi was not about to let his city get any more corrupted than it already was. He leaped from the rooftop, a silent falling shadow that landed with a soft thud behind the creature. His sword was already in his hand, a line of light that cut through the darkness.
He moved with a speed that was impossible for a human, a blur of motion that stood in stark contrast to his earlier apathy. He was an artist of violence, a martial artist of terrifying skill, and every strike was precise, intentional, and deadly. He didn't fight with brute force; he fought with an understanding of physics, anatomy, and how to put a creature down in the fastest way possible. The beast roared as his blade sliced through its skin, but it was a pointless display. Kwandezi was already moving on to the next cut.
He was a hurricane of steel and flesh, and the beast, for all its monstrous power, was completely outmatched. He stood toe-to-toe with it, dodging its wild attacks with an almost deranged grace. His movements had a certain chaotic beauty, and a hollow, breathless laugh escaped his lips. This was a dance of death, and he was a master of the steps.
He was in the middle of a flurry of blows when the beast managed to get a lucky shot in. Its thick, bladed arm shot out, catching him by the throat and lifting him off the ground. The pressure was immense, crushing his windpipe and forcing the air from his lungs. The female operative, who was just starting to regain her composure, stared in horror as the creature's razor-sharp tendrils began to pierce his heart.
He looked at her, and even in this moment of extreme peril, there was a cynical amusement in his dark eyes. He was about to die, and he didn't even care. The world had discarded him, and he was happy to be rid of it.
But her eyes were drawn to something else. A small, black-and-silver pendant hanging from a simple leather cord around his neck. It was the crest of a phoenix rising from the ashes, the mark of the Six Founding Families. She recognized the specific design; it was the sigil of the Banishers, a family so powerful they rarely deigned to leave their private compounds.
It all clicked into place. The insane skill, the supernatural speed, the apathy that mirrored a cold, detached bloodline. He was the banished "trash," the boy who had been sent away from the family home at age five for an ability that was considered useless, a one-time trick that could only be used to save himself from a hopeless situation.
Kwandezi smiled a bloody, sharp grin. The monster's tendrils dug deeper, reaching for his heart. He grabbed the monster's arm with a strength that shouldn't be possible and whispered a single word, a word that had been a part of him since he was born, a word that was a secret known only to the Banishers.
"Integrate."
The sound was a low, resonant hum, a pure, unending note of the Void. It was a hum that was felt by every powerful individual across the globe, from the heads of the Six Founding Families to the most ancient, powerful monsters. It was the sound of something new, something that should not exist.
Kwandezi's body was wracked with a brutal metamorphosis. His skin turned black, his eyes glowed with a feral purple light, and the Void-borne's body disintegrated, its essence fusing with his own. He was no longer just a man. He was a monster, a host for the Void itself. He was Kwandezi, the banished, the trash, and now, he was a god in his own right.
The power pulsed from him, a violent, overwhelming force that knocked the two operatives off their feet. They stared at him, not with awe, but with the dawning horror that they had just witnessed the birth of something more terrifying than the monsters they fought. And this time, they had no idea what to do.