Disclaimer:
This chapter explores the darkest aspects of human cruelty and psychological horror. It includes implied violence and deeply unsettling material written solely to define the nature of its antagonist and the gravity of the world they inhabit.
If you are sensitive to such themes, please proceed with caution—or skip this chapter.
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"Wake up, my son. The world needs you."
—Elise
Kael woke with a gasp, torn violently from the dream. His throat was dry, his body hollowed out—weak, starving, trembling with the residue of a death he had lived but not truly died. Every muscle protested as though it had been abandoned for years.
He did not understand it at first. The thirst. The hunger. The bone-deep exhaustion.
Then he looked at the time.
Midday. Nearly noon.
Two days.
Two days had passed since they arrived at the resort.
Kael: (thought)…It's been two days?
The thought crawled through his mind, cold and wrong. What the hell is happening here?
He tried to sit up.
His body refused.
Nothing had entered his system in forty-eight hours—not water, not food—and when he forced himself off the bed, his strength collapsed beneath him. His legs buckled.
Standing was impossible.
So he crawled.
Dragging himself across the floor, Kael reached the fridge with shaking hands, clinging to it like a lifeline. He didn't hope for much—only something. Anything that might keep him conscious.
Luck, thin as it was, answered.
Coconuts. Pasteurized eggs. A bunch of bananas left on the table.
Kael didn't hesitate. Pasteurized eggs meant no salmonella—no hesitation, no fire, no strength wasted. He cracked them raw and swallowed them, barely tasting anything beyond survival. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Just enough to stop his vision from swimming.
Enough to crouch.
Not enough to chop coconuts.
Two sat before him, stubborn and whole. He exhaled, steadying himself, and raised his hand. If he could erase part of it—just the top—
His focus slipped.
The coconut vanished entirely.
Kael: …Damn it.
The second coconut remained. This time, Kael closed his eyes. Slowed his breathing. Centered his intent—not the whole thing. Just the shell. Just the part he needed gone.
When he opened his eyes, the top was missing.
Water spilled free.
He drank like a man rescued from drowning.
Coconut water flooded his system like medicine. Rich in electrolytes, it replenished what dehydration had stripped away—fluids restored, balance returning, energy crawling back into his limbs. Within minutes, the fog in Kael's head thinned.
The eggs had kept him alive.
The coconut water brought him back.
With shaking resolve, he reached the bananas on the table and ate them quickly. Strength returned in layers—not enough for battle, but enough to stand. Enough to move with intent.
He opened his door.
What greeted him sent a chill down his spine.
A "DO NOT DISTURB" sign hung on his door.
And on his friends' doors as well.
Slowly, carefully, Kael pressed his ear to the nearest door. He listened—not for voices, not for movement—but for something more basic.
Breathing.
It was there.
Relief flared, short-lived. The enemy could still be inside the resort. Knocking was a risk he couldn't afford.
So he erased the door.
Inside, the truth revealed itself.
They were all asleep.
Hydrated, barely breathing, balanced on the edge between life and death—as if something had placed them there deliberately. Gritting his teeth, Kael moved fast. He took coconuts from their room fridges and repeated what he had done for himself, carefully feeding them the water.
Nothing.
He shook them. Called their names.
No response.
His stomach sank.
There was only one option left.
Deactivate the source.
Kael: (thought)The enemy is still here. Somewhere in this resort. My friends won't wake up unless I stop him.
The resort had over fifty rooms. Searching each one would bleed him dry before he ever found the target. His gaze drifted downward as a thought struck him.
The registry.
Everyone who arrived two days ago would be recorded.
Kael: (thought)Maybe I'll find a clue there.
Kael made his way to the reception desk.
It was empty.
No staff.
No guests.
Not a single soul in sight—only silence thick enough to press against his ears.
The resort looked abandoned.
Not orderly. Not evacuated.
Abandoned.
Suitcases lay split open in the corridors. Clothes were scattered across floors as if people had fled mid-motion, leaving behind anything that slowed them down. Jewelry, shoes, half-packed bags—signs of panic frozen in place.
Kael didn't stop to question it.
He didn't have time.
The registry sat beneath the reception desk.
Flipping through it, his breath caught.
There were no records from the day before. No check-ins. No departures.
As if the resort's existence had simply… skipped a day.
Except for one name.
Ronan.
Kael exhaled slowly, forcing the pieces together.
Kael: So you booked extra days. Blended in. Put us to sleep. Let the world move on without us. But you're not where you're supposed to be.
Ronan was registered beside their rooms—but he wasn't there.
Kael's gaze dropped to the key rack.
He checked them one by one.
Room 24 was missing.
His chest tightened.
Kael: Third floor.
Every step upward felt heavier than the last. His heart pounded, but he didn't turn back. Fear clawed at him, but he refused to let it take control.
It's okay to be scared, he told himself. But I won't be afraid.
Not when their lives are on the line.
The door to Room 24 stood ajar.
Inviting.
Kael peered inside.
The smell hit him first—metallic, wrong.
Then he saw the body.
The receptionist lay motionless on the floor.
Kael's stomach turned as his eyes followed the scene further—toward Ronan.
Ronan didn't look startled.
Didn't look guilty.
Defiling her lifeless body, without remorse or morality.
As if the act itself meant nothing to him anymore.
Kael staggered back, bile rising in his throat.
This wasn't just murder.
This was cruelty without purpose.
This was a man who had crossed a line and never intended to return.
Bastard…
The thought burned through Kael's mind like acid. There was no hesitation left in him now—no room for restraint. Whatever mercy he might have carried into this place had been extinguished the moment he witnessed such inhumanity.
He slammed the door open and charged forward, rage tearing free from his throat.
Kael: You sick bastard!
Ronan barely had time to turn before Kael was on him. The first strike landed hard—brutal, unforgiving. Ronan staggered, shock flashing across his face as he scrambled to defend himself.
Impossible.
That single word screamed in Ronan's head. He had been certain—absolutely certain—that Kael was already dead. Broken. Lost to the dream. And yet—
Kael came at him again.
Ronan managed to block a kick, grabbing Kael's leg and dragging him down. They crashed to the floor, Ronan driving a punch into Kael's stomach, then another—desperate, furious. He raised his arm for a third strike.
Kael reacted instantly.
With a sharp focus of will, he erased the space between Ronan's head and a nearby glass pot. The object dropped, shattering on impact. Ronan reeled back as Kael surged forward, landing a heavy hook to his face and a ruthless kick to his abdomen that sent him stumbling.
Ronan snarled through the pain, venom dripping from his words.
Ronan: I'll peel you alive.
Kael didn't flinch. His voice was calm—frigid.
Kael: Bold words, from someone who just lost everything he thought made him powerful.
Ronan looked down.
Reality crashed into him all at once. He had been stripped of the very thing he took pride in—reduced to choking agony, blood pooling beneath him as the truth finally sank in.
His scream tore through the room.
Kael stood unmoving, eyes locked on him—not with fear, not with pity, but with something far colder. There was no empathy left in him for the creature writhing on the floor.
This wasn't cruelty.
This was resolve.
Ronan gasped for air, collapsing against a nearby table, his strength bleeding out of him along with his confidence. The smile he once wore was gone—replaced by panic, by the dawning realization that for the first time, he was no longer in control.
Kael clenched his fists. His heart thundered, not with terror, but with unwavering determination.
I will not lose, he thought. Not here. Not now.
Whatever this monster was—whatever darkness he embodied—Kael would end it.
Ronan lean against the table, panting, and hurled a flurry of knives, his voice tearing through the air with unrestrained fury.
Ronan: You little piece of shit— I'm gonna fucking kill you!
But Kael didn't panic.
He had seen this before.
The knives cut through the space between them—yet something was wrong. Their paths bent unnaturally, converging toward a single point, as if dragged by an invisible hand. Every blade aligned itself perfectly, all of them aiming straight for Kael's open palm.
The space between each knife vanished.
When the blades reached him, Kael closed his hand.
They disappeared—cleanly, effortlessly—as if they had never existed.
Ronan froze.
Realization struck him too late.
Projectiles were useless.
Snarling, Ronan smashed a nearby glass bottle and lunged forward, gripping the jagged remains like a weapon meant for slaughter. He swung wildly. Kael slipped past the first strike, deflected the second—but the third came faster, sharp enough to graze his right cheek. Pain flared.
The fourth strike found its mark.
The broken glass plunged into Kael's stomach.
He coughed, blood spilling from his lips, and Ronan's face twisted into a triumphant grin. For a heartbeat, he believed he had won.
He was wrong.
Kael grabbed Ronan's thigh and shoulder, letting out a raw, furious cry as he drove forward with everything he had left. The impact carried them through the window in a storm of shattered glass.
They fell.
The car below crumpled beneath them—metal screaming as the windshield exploded. Kael hit first, absorbing the force, Ronan crushed beneath him. The world jolted violently, then went still.
Glass rained across the pavement.
Kael rolled off the wreckage and collapsed onto the ground, every muscle screaming in protest. His vision blurred. His body refused to respond.
Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Explosions echoed faintly from deeper within the city.
He heard them—but couldn't turn his head.
Exhaustion claimed him.
And the world faded to black.
Diego: Kael! Kael! Hey—wake up, buddy!
The voice pulled him back.
Kael's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, until the shapes above him sharpened into two familiar faces. Diego and Leona. Breathing. Alive.
He swallowed hard and murmured,
Kael: Is this… still a dream? Or are we dead?
Both of them laughed, relief spilling out in the sound. Diego shook his head and grinned.
Diego: Welcome back to the living world, buddy.
Reality settled in all at once.
Kael tried to sit up—but a sharp, searing pain tore through his stomach. He gasped, clutching at himself as a groan escaped his lips.
Leona: Easy, easy, you're not fully recovered yet.
Once the pain dulled to something bearable, Kael asked how they managed to wake up—and how they found him.
Diego explained that they regained consciousness once the enemy moved out of range, or at least that was what they believed. The coconuts helped them replenish their strength, and once they could move again, they searched the area until they found Kael collapsed in the parking lot.
Kael's thoughts snapped to something else.
Kael: Where's Michael?
Leona answered before the fear could rise.
Leona: He's handling the enemy.
Just then, Michael returned.
The moment Kael saw him—saw all of them standing there, alive and breathing—his vision blurred. Tears welled up before he could stop them.
Confused, they asked if he was alright.
Kael only shook his head and whispered that he was just… glad. Glad he hadn't lost anyone. Glad they were all still here.
Seeing that Kael still couldn't walk properly, Michael stepped forward without hesitation, lifting him onto his back.
Kael: This is embarrassing.
Michael: Don't start. It's the least we can do.
Kael didn't argue.
As they moved forward, Kael's gaze drifted across the wreckage surrounding them—the shattered glass, the damaged buildings, the distant smoke curling into the sky. Sirens echoed through the city like a mourning cry.
His smile slowly faded.
This wasn't over.
And somewhere deep inside, Kael knew—
the world had changed while they slept.
From the information they received from WHA, the truth was grim.
The world was under coordinated assault by the Dark Knights. Chaos and destruction erupted across continents, attacks breaking out in nearly every corner of the globe.
Several lower-ranked heroes had already been confirmed KIA, forcing WHA to authorize an all-out defensive response to protect major cities.
But the true crisis wasn't the heroes.
It was the civilians.
More and more people were being infected by the Black Breath, and the severe lack of shelters left countless innocents exposed—easy targets in a war they never chose to be part of.
Michael then brought up something else.
A small book he had recovered from Ronan's room.
Within its pages lay the chilling outline of Zerathos' ultimate plan—written not as speculation, but as an inevitability. The initial spread of the Black Breath had merely been a test. The process had proven too slow, so it was reengineered—refined.
Perfected.
The incubation period had been shortened to fifteen days.
Already, more than one hundred and fifty hostages were infected within the enemy's lair. The final requirement was clear: a total of fifteen hundred lives would be sacrificed to grant Zerathos a power capable of defying fate itself.
A power meant to crown him as the Alpha and Omega.
Still, there was a sliver of time.
The rise of new heroes and growing resistance had slowed the process.
Nineteen days remained before the ritual could be completed—before everything was lost.
Leona added one final detail.
They had given the deceased receptionist a proper burial. Only afterward did they learn the truth—she was the daughter of the resort's owner. The man had been shattered by the news of her death, yet he thanked them through his grief… for delivering justice to the one responsible.
After they left the site, another body was discovered near the dumpster.
Ronan.
Dead.