I couldn't stop running.
The weight of power surged through my veins with every step, but it wasn't the strength I had hoped for. It wasn't the clarity I'd been promised. It was a gnawing darkness, an insatiable hunger that grew stronger with every soul I consumed. My breath was ragged, my hands trembling, but it wasn't the exhaustion that gripped me—it was the feeling that something was watching. Something was pulling the strings.
The city felt alive with decay. Not just the undead, but something older. Something watching from the shadows.
I darted through alleyways, past burned-out cars, and through the wreckage of what was once a thriving metropolis. The air was thick with ash and smoke, the smell of burnt flesh and rot clinging to everything. I could feel the heat of the fires, but the cold in my chest—the emptiness where humanity once was—was colder than anything the apocalypse could throw at me.
I reached a collapsed building on the edge of the city. It was an old warehouse, crumbling under the weight of time and neglect. I slipped inside, barely pausing to catch my breath. The doors slammed shut behind me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to stand still. I tried to force the hunger down. I tried to focus, but it was always there, clawing at me from the inside.
A sound—soft, like a whisper—echoed in the silence.
I froze.
Not the dead. No. This was different.
I stepped deeper into the warehouse, the smell of mildew and dust thick in the air. The shadows stretched long and twisted, but it wasn't the darkness that unsettled me. It was the feeling that something was waiting, lurking just out of sight. I wasn't alone.
And then, I saw it.
In the far corner of the room, near a stack of broken crates, something moved. It wasn't human. It wasn't undead. It was too still, too quiet, and yet, I could feel it looking at me. I could feel its presence like a weight pressing down on my chest.
The air in the warehouse shifted.
"You've tasted it now," a voice whispered, low and guttural, like the rumble of thunder in the distance. It wasn't a voice I could place, and yet I knew it, deep in my bones. It was ancient. It was power. It was… a god.
I spun toward the sound.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure. It was humanoid, but the edges of it seemed to blur like smoke in the air. Its face was obscured, but its eyes… they burned with an otherworldly light. Eyes that saw everything.
"You're wondering what you've become," it said, its voice like the rustle of dead leaves. "Wondering why you feel the pull, why you hunger for more."
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Fear clamped down on my throat, thick and suffocating. I took a step back, my heart pounding.
"Don't be afraid," the figure continued, its voice lilting like a lullaby from hell. "You are a tool, nothing more. You've already been chosen."
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Chosen by who?"
The figure's smile—or what passed for a smile—was cruel. "By the gods, of course. You have awakened something far older than you realize. The dead are not just mindless hunger, as you think. They are guided. And you, child, are the key."
I staggered backward, my mind reeling. "The gods? They've abandoned us. They—"
The figure's eyes flickered with something sharp, something deadly. "They have abandoned you, yes. But not because they have forgotten you. They have abandoned you because they no longer care."
It moved closer, its form flickering in and out of focus, like a mirage in the heat of battle. "The dead are only a piece of the puzzle. The true destruction lies in you, in your soul. It is you who will bring the end of all things. Whether you realize it or not, your power is a beacon. And it calls to them."
I felt my chest tighten, as though the air itself had thickened and wrapped itself around my ribs. "Who are you?" I gasped.
"I am what remains," it answered. "I am the echo of the old gods, the ones that still watch, from the dark corners of existence. I am the last trace of their power, their will. And now… I am here to make sure it is fulfilled."
Its eyes glowed brighter, the light intensifying until it filled the entire warehouse. I tried to look away, but the light was inside me now. It was everywhere.
"You are not human anymore," it said softly, almost pityingly. "You are an instrument. The dead have risen because of the ripples you've caused, because of what you have become. You will lead them. Or you will become one of them."
I felt my body shaking, my mind reeling. The hunger clawed at me, urging me to consume, to take more power, to grow stronger, but something—something deeper inside me—rebelled.
"I'm not… I'm not like them," I muttered, though my voice was shaking.
"You are," the figure whispered, its voice now soft, coaxing. "You already are. The gods chose you. You will either bend to their will or destroy everything in your path."
The room around me seemed to pulse, as though the very walls were alive, trembling with the power of the being before me. "What do you want from me?" I asked, barely able to keep my voice steady.
The figure's lips twisted into a grin, and I felt my skin crawl. "I want you to understand. The end is coming, child. And you are the one who will bring it. The dead are only the beginning. They are the vanguard. You…" It paused, its eyes narrowing. "You are the final act."
The shadows around me seemed to deepen, the darkness pressing in from all sides. I could feel the hunger intensifying, the pull of the souls in the air. The figure was right—I wasn't human anymore. I had become something else. Something dark.
The figure stepped forward, its form flickering again. "I have given you this power. But it comes at a price."
Before I could respond, before I could even move, the figure vanished. The air grew still, and the room was filled with a deafening silence.
But I knew—knew—it wasn't over. The hunger hadn't faded. It was only growing stronger. And the gods? The old gods? They were watching. And I had already made my choice.