Chapter 1
The end of the world did not arrive with trumpets, prophecies, or divine wrath.
It began with a crack—one thin, jagged fracture of light splitting open the sky above the city like shattered glass.
Jaxon felt it before he saw it.
A pulse.
A vibration deep in his ribs.
A hum threading beneath his heartbeat like a second rhythm waking inside him.
He stumbled in the middle of the street, dropping the wrench he'd been carrying home from work. It clattered on the asphalt, echoing strangely in the sudden quiet. The dawn should've been rising, washing the city in gold and warmth. But instead, a dull ash-gray haze swallowed the horizon. Half the sky was swollen with darkness—thick, churning, alive—while the other side glowed with a pale, divine light that looked cracked, unstable, wrong.
Something ancient was breaking.
Jaxon exhaled, breath fogging even though the air wasn't cold.
What is happening?
The skyscrapers around him—once proud towers of steel and glass—flickered in the strange light. Shadows crawled where shadows shouldn't. Windows reflected things that weren't there. The city felt hollow, like a corpse waiting to collapse.
Then he saw her.
Liora sprinted through the drifting ash, her braids whipping behind her, eyes wide with terror. She had always been the steady one—composed, gentle, unshakeable. But now her face was carved with pure panic.
"Jaxon!" she gasped. "You have to move—right now!"
He stepped toward her. "Liora, what's going on? The sky—"
"They're waking up!" she cried. "People—everyone—they're turning into—"
A sound cut through her words.
A wet, dragging inhale.
Low. Wrong.
Jaxon's blood chilled. From between two fallen streetlights, a man staggered into view. His limbs twitched at unnatural angles, bones creaking under rotting flesh. His skin was gray, stretched too thin, and pulsing with blackened veins.
But it was the eyes that froze Jaxon.
Empty.
Hollow.
As if something had scooped out the humanity inside and left only hunger.
The hum inside Jaxon's chest erupted—deep, hungry, electric.
Then he saw it.
A faint glow hovered above the creature's chest, flickering like a dying candle flame. A pale blue wisp of light swirling inside a translucent sphere.
A soul.
Jaxon blinked hard. "Liora… do you see that?"
She looked, but her expression didn't change. "See what? Jaxon, run!"
He didn't.
He couldn't.
The soul pulsed again—like it was calling to him.
The creature lunged.
Liora screamed. Jaxon tried to move, but the world slowed, dragging like thick tar. As the undead swung its arm, Jaxon raised his own—
—too slow.
Claws raked across his forearm, tearing skin and fabric. Blood splattered the concrete. Pain flared white-hot.
But something else flared too.
Light.
Jaxon staggered. His vision warped. His pupils burned with gold-blue fire. The hum inside his chest roared, filling his head, his bones, his veins.
His eyes were glowing.
"Jaxon—your eyes—" Liora whispered, horrified and spellbound.
The creature lunged again. Jaxon moved without thinking. His hand shot forward, glowing with the same eerie soul-light, but darker—sharper.
His palm struck the creature's chest.
Light rippled through its body.
The soul ripped free with a violent shudder.
The soul shot straight into him.
Jaxon's spine arched as the world exploded in light—flashes of memories not his own, screams, warmth, cold, fear, love, death. He felt someone else's entire existence rush through him in a single heartbeat. His blood ignited. His vision blurred.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping.
The creature disintegrated into ash.
Liora grabbed him, hands trembling. "Jaxon—what did you just do? What is this?"
He couldn't answer.
Wisps of soul energy curled around his fingers—ghostly embers swirling like trapped fireflies. His right hand was changing, veins glowing like molten threads beneath the skin. Power—raw, dangerous—leaked from his palm, humming in the air.
And the city around them was falling apart.
Skyscrapers cracked down the middle. Cars slammed into each other and burst into flames. Streetlights flickered and died. The air filled with ash and screams.
Then, a deep boom thundered overhead.
The cracked divine light in the sky split wider, glowing like the fractured remains of a god's seal. A massive sigil—ancient, luminous, broken—flickered above the city. Symbols he didn't recognize spiraled outward, then shattered like glass.
Liora stared up, horrified. "The gods… Jaxon, they've abandoned us."
Before he could speak, dozens of undead silhouettes shambled into view—twisted forms crawling over wrecked cars, climbing broken buildings, dragging themselves from the shadows. Each one had a faint soul-flame glowing inside its chest.
Jaxon whispered, "I can see all of them…"
"And they can see you," Liora said, pulling him back.
But Jaxon's body was still vibrating with the soul he consumed. Every undead creature glowed in his sight—like beacons. And they were turning toward him. Sensing him. Hunger meeting hunger.
A low rumble vibrated through the ground.
Then… a presence.
Jaxon felt it before he saw it.
Cold.
Dark.
Ancient.
A figure stepped through the ash at the far end of the ruined street—a tall silhouette cloaked in shifting shadows. Where its face should have been was only darkness. Its hand held something that pulsed like a small, stolen star—a shard of soul energy.