[A flash into the future]
**
Midnight draped itself over Dice City like a funeral cloth when Markus stepped out of the hotel and into the restless streets. The neon lights hummed weakly, as if exhausted by their own existence, casting sickly colors over cracked sidewalks and abandoned alleyways.
The city breathed differently from home.
"It's not like where I'm from," Markus murmured inside his head, his voice more thought than sound.
He walked, hands shoved into the pockets of his blue vintage jeans, the hotel shrinking behind him until it became nothing more than a dim rectangle swallowed by darkness.
The streets were unfamiliar. Wrong. They carried smells that didn't belong—motor oil mixed with damp cement, the bitter scent of burning trash, and an undertone of something rotten.
Even the air felt thicker here, as though the city refused to let him inhale freely.
"So this is the place?" he wondered.The warehouse looked smaller online.
A whisper slid out of the shadows behind him.
"Welcome to Dice City… where dreams come alive—
And many die."
Markus turned sharply.
A figure stood behind him, half-hidden by darkness. The robe covering the stranger was so filthy it looked like it had crawled out of a grave. What unsettled Markus wasn't the garment—it was the shadow cast by the robe, a shadow so deep it hid the stranger's face completely. It didn't look natural. It clung to him like a parasite, swallowing light.
Markus's muscles tightened.
Friend or foe, it didn't matter. Anyone who approached him tonight would regret it.
He had already lost his home. He wasn't planning on losing his life too.
Markus dug into his pocket, searching for the crystal. Before his fingers even closed around it, the stranger reached beneath his robe and produced a dagger—not from a sheath, but from somewhere deeper, somewhere that made Markus's skin crawl.
The blade shimmered with sickly green illumination. Wisps of green vapor leaked from it, hissing softly as though the weapon whispered to the night.
Markus raised an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from his voice."I see you've got powers too. Terrifying."
He finally pulled out the crystal—a small heart-shaped gem.
The moment it touched the air—
It exploded.
Shards ripped outward in a violent burst. Markus staggered back, staring at his empty hand in shock.
"Was I… scammed?"
He didn't have time to think.
The stranger lunged, the dagger carving through the darkness toward Markus' stomach. Before the blade struck, a tranquil voice descended from above—calm, serene, utterly out of place.
[Time froze]
The world halted mid-breath. Dust hung unmoving in the air. The tip of the green blade rested a hair's width from Markus's skin.
A day before…
Markus hadn't slept again.
After his parents' deaths yesterday, something inside him had caved. Grief came in waves—violent, merciless, unpredictable. Sometimes he curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around himself, sobbing until his throat burned.
"What a loser," he whispered about himself.The words tasted familiar.
He forced himself up from the carpet and attempted five push-ups. His arms trembled by the second one."I have to become stronger."
He collapsed on the fourth attempt, coughing, face pressed into the floor.
But he pushed up again.
"I need to find the ones who killed my parents."
His entire body shook. His chest burned. His vision blurred. He barely made it halfway through his last push-up before crashing down. The impact stole his breath.
"I wasn't born with anything," he thought bitterly. "No strength. No power. Nothing."
He remembered an old educational show he'd watched as a child:
[HOW HEROES ARE MADE]
No "birds and bees."Just science and tragedy.
A mother and father have s**.One or both possess the Power Gene—the genetic spark heroes were built from.
When their child turns twelve, a supernatural ability appears. Not random: a genetic echo of the parents. Sometimes mixed. Sometimes mutated. But always inherited.
Except for the exception.Rare, unpredictable.
Some children gained no powers at twelve…But awakened randomly later in life.
Markus had held onto that hope when he was young. And at thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
Nothing ever happened.
His faith died the same year his depression began.
He had turned eighteen yesterday.
Still nothing.
Ding dong.
Markus looked up. "Did I order another pizza…?"
He dragged himself to the front door wearing his father's slippers. Through the peep hole he saw a man dressed in a black suit, holding a brown suitcase.
A quiet dread slid down Markus's spine.
Someone sent to silence him?
He grabbed his baseball bat from under the TV, inhaled shakily, and opened the door with the bat raised—
"Good morning, sir," the man said politely, unfazed."I'm Mr. Goldwood from the—"
The bat froze mid-air. Markus blinked, disoriented.
"What do you want?" Markus snapped with rude confidence he didn't feel.Sleep deprivation had twisted his brain into strange shapes.
"As I was saying," Mr. Goldwood continued, tone smooth and posh,"I'm from the legal firm that handles your inheritance."
Markus's grip loosened. "Is it… the house?"
"May I come in first?"
"Are you a vampire or what? Just come in."
Mr. Goldwood entered. Up close, he looked almost too clean. Too precise. Perfect posture. Perfect smile. Markus narrowed his eyes.
"You are a vampire," Markus muttered.
A few hours later, the man was gone.
Markus sat on the floor with the brown package in his lap. His hands shook lightly. Inside lay a heavy book and a crystal—the same crystal that would later betray him.
The book's cover read:
THE BOOK OF SECRETS
He opened it.Blank.
Every page.Only dust escaped, drifting into the still air.
The next day…
Markus learned he had one month to vacate the house. His parents' savings were gone. Their home—claimed by debt collectors.
The warehouse in Dice City was the only thing left.
So he packed a bag and boarded the midnight train.
When he arrived, he checked into a cheap motel. Before heading out, he opened the book once more, hoping for anything—guidance, power, answers.
Words formed across the page, ink appearing as if bled through from another realm:
Use the crystal.
It holds powers untold.
Markus stared at the message.
The book felt like his father's voice, reaching out from beyond the grave.
So he took the crystal.
And he went for a walk.
[Time resumed]
The dagger plunged into Markus's stomach.
There was no warning.No cinematic flash.No heroic music.
Just pain.
White-hot. Acidic. Violent.
Markus screamed, grabbing the stranger's arm with pure survival instinct. The blade burned him from the inside. The green substance coating it sizzled as it entered his flesh.
The stranger leaned in close, whispering with manic reverence,"The venom from my blade will cleanse the world."
Markus thrashed. His hand clawed at the stranger's robe, trying to push him away. The venom spread rapidly, corrupting his nerves one by one. His limbs grew heavy. His breath hitched.
His vision flickered.
Colors drained from the world.
He collapsed to his knees.
Darkness seeped inward.
He heard the stranger's voice drifting away, distant and fading,"Your death is necessary."
He tried to shout. Tried to stand. Tried to breathe.
Nothing responded.
The world crumbled around him.
He fell into a suffocating abyss.
That night, Markus died.
**