They came from across the world to bury a god.
Rain hammered Westminster Abbey's gothic stone like bullets, and Alex Thorne stood frozen at the grave's edge, watching water soak into his father's casket. Fifty thousand people pressed against security barriers outside.
Inside, beneath soaring arches that had witnessed a thousand years of British history, the eight most powerful wielders alive had gathered to watch one of their own disappear into English soil.
Eight.
His father had been SSS rank. The pinnacle. The rare few who operated above all normal classification. Yet he was lowered into the ground like any corpse, and only eight of the world's nine SSS plus wielders had shown up to say goodbye.
Eleanor Cross stood like a monument to cold itself, frost crystallizing on the stone around her shoes despite the rain. Her ice blue eyes remained fixed on the casket, expression carved from marble.
Zhang Wei's presence was heavier, not physically, but pressure, the kind that made Alex's teeth ache. The Chinese wielder's dragon manifestation hadn't shown itself, but you could feel it coiled beneath his skin like a second skeleton.
Dmitri Volkov was visibly seething, storm clouds genuinely gathering above his head as a tell sign. Most SS ranks could control their emotional weather. Maria Santos wept openly, not bothering to hide it.
James Carter's jaw was so tight Alex worried for his teeth. Amara Okonkwo stood with the solid grace of the earth itself.
Yuki Takahashi bowed continuously, respectful in her silence. Hassan Al Rashid whispered prayers in Arabic, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and ash.
But not Kunal Ashwath. Not the Indian SSS plus protector of South Asia. Not the man who had known Marcus Thorne for twenty three years, since the Rings first awakened in 1946.
"Where's Ashwath?" someone whispered behind Alex.
"Political statement, I heard."
"Unforgivable. The disrespect to come"
Alex's hands clenched into fists. He should be here.
His mother collapsed against his shoulder. Catherine Thorne, still beautiful even in breakdown, still dressed for a royal function rather than a funeral. His sister Eleanor, they had named her after Eleanor Cross, their father had a sense of humor nobody appreciated, gripped his other arm. Thirteen years old and drowning in a black dress that hung like a coffin on her own frame.
The vicar was saying something about heroism. About sacrifice. About a man who had given everything to protect a fragile world from the monsters that bled through from the Dungeons every five years like a terrible wound that would not close.
They did not know him, Alex thought, watching Eleanor Cross's expression remain unmoved. None of them knew him.
Marcus Thorne had been distant, remote, built entirely of ambition and duty. He trained twelve hours a day. He fought in the defense zones. He came home for three days at Christmas and forgot his children's names for the first twenty minutes. He was a legend, yes. But legends were abstractions. Legends did not forget to say goodbye.
The casket descended.
Alex's mother made a sound like something dying, and he caught her as her legs gave out, her weight sudden and foreign. Eleanor pressed against his other side, sobbing quietly into his suit jacket. He stood there, holding them both, and felt absolutely nothing.
His father had died three weeks ago in Oslo, during the final push of Wave 16. The official report said an S class monster. The body had come back badly damaged, barely recognizable. They had closed the casket without letting anyone see inside. His father had left England the day before he died, without saying goodbye.
As the casket touched the bottom of the grave, Eleanor Cross turned and looked directly at Alex. Those ice blue eyes, inhuman, cold, knowing, pinned him in place. She moved with the terrible grace of an SSS plus wielder, cutting through the crowd without touching anyone, without needing to.
She knelt.
She was six foot four, and she knelt to meet his eyes.
"Your father knew this was coming," she said, her voice pitched low, for him alone.
Alex's throat tightened. "What?"
"His death was not an accident." Her eyes narrowed. "Be careful, boy. They will come for you next."
"Who?"
She stood, a gesture of finality, and walked away before he could follow. Security moved to stop him from pursuing her, and by the time they had finished apologizing, she had disappeared into the crowd of dignitaries and politicians.
They will come for you next.
Come for him? Him? He was seventeen, ringless, completely unremarkable except for the weight of his surname. He was nobody. He had no power. He had nothing.
As they filled the grave, as his mother's sobs echoed off the Abbey stones, as his sister's tiny hand gripped his jacket like a lifeline, Alex made a silent promise to the box descending into darkness.
I will find out what really happened, Dad. I promise.
Three months later, that promise was all Alex had left.
The attic room smelled like old wood and teenage neglect. Alex stared at the ceiling, listening to rain pummel the shingles above his head, and did not sleep. He had not slept properly in seventy two days. His phone buzzed at 6:17 AM, seven minutes before his alarm.
"RINGER NEWS ALERT: Wave 17 Predictions Released. Scientists Suggest 28 Month Timeline"
He swiped it away. Swiped away three more notifications. News sites speculating about Northern Europe's vulnerability with their protector dead. Theories about what happened to his father's ring, The Deck. A ranking update showing Madison Pierce had broken into A rank at seventeen.
The world kept moving. Monsters got stronger. Rings changed hands. New legends were born.
His father's ring had never resurfaced.
Alex dragged himself out of bed, splashed cold water on a face that looked increasingly like his father's. Sharp cheekbones, dark hair, the kind of face that should have been powerful. Instead, his reflection just looked angry and exhausted.
Downstairs, Aunt Sarah was making scrambled eggs, her movements careful around him like he might shatter. Uncle Mike read the newspaper, a man made entirely of awkwardness. His cousin Jamie bounced with pre teen energy.
"Did you see the new A rank rankings?" Jamie asked, eggs halfway to his mouth. "Madison Pierce is climbing so fast. She will be SS rank before college."
"Cool," Alex said, which meant I do not give a shit.
"How is school going, Alex?" Sarah asked, that voice all concerned relatives use.
"Fine."
"Making friends?"
Surviving. Barely. "Sure."
Mike cleared his throat. "Your father would want you to"
Alex stood. "I am going to be late."
He was not late. He was always early, lurking in the parking lot, invisible. Today he grabbed his bag and left them mid conversation, because the alternative was hearing his uncle finish that sentence, and Alex would break something if he heard another person invoke his father's name while not knowing anything about him.
Bridgeport Academy sprawled across fifteen acres like a brick tumor. Three thousand students, give or take, with about thirty who actually mattered. The Ringers. The ones who parked their cars illegally, whose teachers smiled too wide at, who wore the hierarchy like crowns and never bothered taking them off.
The parking lot was a social experiment in stratification.
A rank Ringers parked closest to the entrance. Madison Pierce's white Range Rover, Tyler Brennan's ridiculous modified truck, a few others whose names Alex had learned too well from their respective bullying campaigns. They wore whatever they wanted. Teachers waved at them like dogs.
C D rank Ringers had their own section, competent enough to have perks but not enough to be untouchable. They still got detention if they were late. They still could not park wherever.
E F rank Ringers scattered through the rest, occupying the liminal space between the elite and the utterly invisible.
And then there were people like Alex.
He kept his hood up as he walked, feeling the weight of stares like physical pressure. That is Marcus Thorne's kid. The whisper tracked him like a physical thing. I heard he is not even a Ringer. Pathetic. Legend's son, ringless.
Some people looked sympathetic. Most did not bother hiding contempt.
His locker was by the west wing, a location that meant crossing Tyler Brennan's territory. Alex had learned this lesson three times already. He kept his breathing steady, his expression neutral, and had almost made it when someone slammed his locker shut.
Tyler Brennan. Seventeen, captain of the Ringer Crew, C rank with fire manipulation that kept him top of his ranking despite skills that probably deserved lower. He had the kind of face that would have been handsome if cruelty had not worn a permanent groove into his smile.
"Morning, Thorne," Tyler said, his crew falling into formation around him like remoras around a shark. "Still ringless?"
"Fuck off, Tyler."
Tyler's grin widened. That was the thing about power. It made you stupid. It made you think consequences did not apply. "That is no way to talk to your betters."
His crew laughed on cue. One of them, Derek, another D rank, called out. "Maybe daddy's power skipped a generation."
"Or maybe he is just defective," Tyler said, and shoved.
Alex hit the lockers hard enough to hurt, his shoulder blade screaming. He did not hit back. He had learned the calculus. Tyler was C rank, Alex was nothing, and a fight would end with Alex suspended and Tyler untouched. The hierarchy had rules, and they all protected people like Tyler.
"Yo, back the fuck up, Brennan."
Marcus Chen. E rank Ringer, minor speed enhancement he had been trying unsuccessfully to develop for two years. He stepped between them with the casual confidence of someone with even minimal power. Tyler's expression shifted into something uglier.
"Oh, look, the E rank wants to play hero."
Before Marcus could respond, Sophie's voice cut through.
"And I am sure Principal Marsh would LOVE to see this."
She had her phone up, recording, her expression promising. Sophie Kim was a non Ringer tech genius whose hacking skills had accidentally made her more terrifying than most D ranks. Tyler weighed his options. One E rank, one non Ringer girl, and then.
DeShawn Jackson stepped sideways, blocking out the sun with linebacker shoulders and D rank strength. DeShawn did not talk much. He did not need to.
Tyler's jaw clenched. He looked at his crew, at Alex, at the growing crowd of students pretending not to watch.
"Whatever," he spat. "Ringless trash is not worth my time."
He walked away, crew following, but called back without turning. "Bet your dad's rolling in his grave."
The silence after felt like a gunshot.
"You good?" Marcus asked, hand on Alex's shoulder.
Alex was breathing hard, hands shaking. "Yeah. Thanks."
Sophie's phone disappeared. "He is getting worse. Ever since Wave 16 ended, these Ringer kids think they are invincible."
"You should report him," DeShawn said quietly.
"To who?" Alex's voice came out bitter. "His dad is a B rank on the city council. Nothing happens."
Marcus kicked at the lockers. "Fuck this hierarchy shit."
The warning bell rang.
"We are still on for tonight?" Sophie asked, her eyes bright. She loved a mystery. "Your place?"
"Yeah. Got some new info on my dad."
Her whole face lit up. "Seriously?"
"Tell you tonight. Let us just survive today first."
History class was a lesson in propaganda. Mr. Patterson, mid forties, thinning hair, the kind of teacher who had peaked in high school, gestured enthusiastically at his presentation. "The Awakening: How Rings Saved Humanity."
"Eighty years ago," Patterson announced, "rings of power appeared without explanation. Within weeks, the first Monster Wave hit. Without our brave Ringers"
Alex thought about his father's hands. Strong hands, always occupied with card tricks even when the Deck was not manifested. Hands that had signed letters his father never sent. Hands that had held a weapon the day he died.
Madison Pierce walked in fifteen minutes late, blonde hair down, uniform modified to show more skin than the dress code technically allowed. A rank aura rolled off her like heat shimmer.
"Ah, Miss Pierce," Patterson said, transforming into a different man. "Training ran late?"
"Yeah," Madison said, not apologizing, taking a seat and putting her feet on the desk.
Patterson did not say a word.
Alex watched a non Ringer get detention for being five minutes late last week.
Madison's friend Jessica, C rank, wind manipulation, cruel for cruelty's sake, whispered loudly. "Did you see Tyler messing with Thorne this morning?"
Madison glanced at Alex, and he felt it like a knife. "Marcus Thorne's kid?"
"Yeah. Ringless. Can you imagine? Father's a legend, son's defective."
The word hit different coming from A ranks. Defective. Like he was a product that failed quality control. Like he was a mistake encoded into his DNA.
His pen snapped in his hand.
Lunch revealed the full structure of hierarchy made visible. The cafeteria was essentially a caste system with tables.
Top tier. A B rank Ringers by the windows, natural light making them shine. Madison, Tyler, and the others who did not need to prove anything because the building already bent to their will.
Middle. C D ranks, scattered center, competent and confident.
Periphery. E F ranks and popular non Ringers who had managed social elevation through athletics or wealth.
Back corner. Everyone else. The invisible, the ordinary, the ringless.
Alex's crew claimed a table by the kitchen doors, not ideal positioning but at least somewhat buffered. Marcus pushed food around his tray. DeShawn ate methodically. Sophie had her laptop out, ostensibly for schoolwork but actually monitoring something on her screen that made her expression sharpen.
"I swear to God," Marcus said, "if Tyler tries shit again"
"He will," Sophie said. "Bullies do not stop unless forced."
"You could transfer to that private academy," Marcus continued, looking at Alex. "Your dad's estate could totally"
"No." Alex's voice was flat. "I am not running."
"Stubborn British pride?"
"Something like that."
A shadow fell across their table, and Alex looked up to find Chloe Martinez standing there. D rank Ringer, light manipulation, eighteen and captain of the girls' combat club. She had the kind of face that made you forget she could literally burn through steel. Angular and dark eyed and genuine in a school full of performative cruelty.
"Hey Alex."
He felt his stomach tighten. "Chloe. What is up?"
"Just wanted to check in. Heard Tyler was being a dick again."
"Understatement," Marcus muttered.
Chloe sat on the table edge, close enough that Alex was hyperaware of her proximity, the smell of her. Something like jasmine and gunpowder, combat training and careful intention. "You know, if you ever want to train, my club is open to everyone. Ringer or not."
Alex was aware of three things simultaneously. Marcus's knowing expression, Sophie's raised eyebrow, and the fact that Chloe's offer was genuinely kind in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable.
"Might take you up on that," he heard himself say.
"You should." She smiled, and it was almost unsettling how real it was. "Could use someone with your genetics."
There was flirtation in it, the implication that his lineage somehow mattered to her, that his father's legend could transfer to him. Alex hated it. He hated that she was nice, because it would have been easier if she had been another Tyler.
Tyler's voice boomed from across the cafeteria. "Yo, Martinez. Slumming it with the ringless?"
Chloe's jaw clenched. "Ignore him."
But she stood, and it felt like she was choosing the hierarchy over kindness, even though Alex knew that was not fair. "Offer stands. Anytime."
She walked away, and Tyler's crew erupted into laughter.
"Dude, she is into you," Marcus said immediately.
"She is into my father's legend," Alex replied. "Different thing."
"Still counts," DeShawn said quietly.
Sophie closed her laptop with sharp intent. "Can we focus? Alex, you said you found something?"
Alex lowered his voice. "Got into some restricted forums last night."
Sophie's eyes went wide. "How restricted?"
"Military grade Ringer intel. Stuff civilians are not supposed to see."
"Alex, that is"
"I know."
"Incredibly illegal."
"Yeah."
Sophie did not tell him to stop. She leaned closer. "What did you find?"
"Discussions about my dad's death. Official story does not match witness accounts."
Marcus was leaning in now, DeShawn's eyes sharp. "What do you mean?"
"Official report says he was killed by an S class monster during the final Wave push." Alex's voice stayed steady, but his hands were not. "Three different A rank witnesses were in his sector that day. They said there were no S class monsters in the area."
"Then what killed him?" DeShawn asked.
"That is what I am going to find out."
The warning bell rang, cutting off whatever Marcus was about to say. Sophie was already standing, already moving.
"Tonight," she said. "Your place. I will bring my setup."
"Marcus, DeShawn?"
"Fuck yeah, I am in," Marcus said.
DeShawn hesitated, weighing risk against loyalty, and Alex watched the calculation play out in real time. Finally. "If we get caught"
"We will not."
"Fine. But this is dangerous as shit, man."
"Yeah."
They moved to their separate classes. Marcus to calculus, DeShawn to biology, Sophie to AP computer science where she was probably going to hack the school's grading system for fun. Alex drifted through English and chemistry in a daze, barely absorbing information, his mind entirely in the digital shadows where he had been spending his nights.
Eleanor Cross's warning echoed through him. They will come for you next.
Next for what? He had nothing. He was nobody. The Deck was gone, reabsorbed into whatever cosmic mechanism created Rings in the first place. His father was dead and the official story was bullshit and the only person who had acknowledged the truth was a SSS plus wielder with ice powers and prophecy in her voice.
Come for you next.
Next for investigation? Next for investigation into what?
His phone buzzed during fourth period. A news notification.
"CLASSIFIED INFO LEAKED: Sources suggest Marcus Thorne's Ring, The Deck, never manifested post death. Inheritance protocol unclear. Theories suggest corruption of Ring mechanism or unprecedented phenomenon"
The article was deleted within minutes, but Alex had screenshot it.
His father's ring should have respawned. All rings respawned. Unless something fundamentally different happened to his father, something that broke the basic rules of how Rings worked.
Unless something or someone had prevented it.
11:47 PM. Alex's attic room. Sophie's laptop setup. Three monitors running decryption algorithms, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with the precision of a concert pianist. Marcus and DeShawn sat on Alex's bed, going through physical documents, and Alex stood over his father's journal, reading the same five sentences over and over.
"Oslo mission is wrong. Intelligence does not match. Someone is feeding false info. E.C. warned me about Ashwath. Can not trust"
The page was torn. The rest of that entry had been systematically removed.
"Okay," Sophie said, her voice tight with excitement and illegality. "I am into the EU Defense Network archives. This is SO illegal, by the way. Like, federal crime illegal."
"Noted," Marcus said. "What is it say?"
"Wave 16 final battle reports. Here. Marcus Thorne's last mission. Deployed to Oslo sector, leading B and C rank units. Mission. Clear remaining A class monster nest. Status. Successful." She scrolled. "Nest eliminated."
"Casualty report?" Alex asked.
"Three B ranks wounded, one C rank killed, and" Sophie stopped.
"What?" DeShawn straightened.
"Cause of death is REDACTED. Entire section blacked out."
The room went quiet in the way that precedes something significant.
"Why would they redact a monster kill?" Marcus asked.
"Unless it was not a monster," DeShawn said.
Alex held up the journal. "E.C. is Eleanor Cross. She warned me at the funeral."
Sophie's eyes narrowed, making connections. "And Ashwath is"
"The SSS plus who did not show."
"You think Kunal Ashwath killed your dad?"
Alex did not answer. He did not know. But Eleanor's warning, his father's torn journal, a redacted report, and a missing ring did not add up to coincidence.
He had been building a conspiracy board since arriving in America. His wall covered in photographs, documents, red string connecting theories. Center. His father's funeral, eight SSS plus wielders visible, a red circle with question mark around the empty space where Kunal Ashwath should have been.
Surrounding it. "Oslo mission false intel?" "Ring disappeared where?" "Redacted cause." "Eleanor's warning." "Who benefits from dad's death?"
Sophie was already moving through encrypted files, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "There is a classified file tagged 'Ring of Cards, Inheritance Protocol.' It is locked behind SSS level encryption, I can not"
The screen flickered.
Everyone froze.
"Sophie?" Marcus asked carefully.
"I am not doing that. Something is"
The file opened.
Not decrypted. Fully open, as if permission had suddenly manifested from nowhere. The text was clinical, bureaucratic, written in the language of government systems.
"CLASSIFIED SSS CLEARANCE ONLY. THE DECK DOES NOT DIE. THE DECK TRANSFERS. BLOODLINE PROTOCOL ACTIVE. AWAITING AWAKENING."
Alex's knuckles went white. "My father's ring. It is supposed to come to me?"
"That is not how rings work," Sophie said, her voice shaking. "They die with the wielder. Everyone knows that. I have researched this. There are no exceptions. Rings are tied to their user's life force. When the user dies, the Ring returns to dormancy. It takes years for a new one to manifest."
"Unless," DeShawn said slowly.
"Unless what?"
"Unless"
Fire erupted through Alex's right hand.
Not metaphorical fire. Actual pain, bright and burning and wrong, shooting up his arm like his blood had turned to lava. He screamed. Could not help it. Falling to his knees, clutching his right hand as black smoke started pouring from his palm. Not like a cigarette but like a wound opening in reality itself.
"Alex." Marcus was on his feet.
"Holy shit, he is awakening." Sophie backed up, her eyes enormous.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Alex's breath came out in visible puffs. The shadows on the walls were moving, actually moving, independent of light source, responding to something internal in his body that he had never felt before.
"This is not normal," DeShawn said, his voice cutting through Alex's scream. "Awakenings do not look like this. This is"
But Alex could not process anything except the burning agony and the black smoke that was coalescing in front of him, taking form. Not solidifying into a ring on his finger, rings manifested as glowing shapes on the wielder's palm, always had, standard for eight decades, but into something else. Something that defied every law of Ring mechanics he had ever learned.
The smoke hardened.
A creature materialized.
Maybe twenty centimeters tall, floating at eye level, completely black, semi solid like it was made of solidified shadow. It was vaguely humanoid. A round head, tiny stubby arms, something like a tail. And it looked, impossibly, like something from a children's cartoon. A cute mascot character. A shadow Pokemon.
Two white eyes, pupiless and gleaming, opened.
It yawned.
Alex stared at it, smoking hand forgotten, four teenagers frozen in absolute shock as the creature stretched its tiny arms and looked directly at him.
Then it spoke.
"Finally," the creature said, its voice high pitched and sarcastic, "do you know how fucking boring it is being dormant?"
Marcus. "Did that thing just talk?"
The creature turned to Marcus with an expression of profound disdain. "This thing has a name, speed bump. I am Shade. And before you ask, yes, I am Alex's ring. Sort of."
Sophie stood up slowly, her scientific worldview visibly reassembling itself. "Rings do not manifest as creatures. They do not talk. This violates every documented"
"Yeah, yeah," Shade interrupted, floating closer to Sophie, "congratulations on your extensive knowledge of rules I just broke. You want to know what is really funny?"
"What?" Alex heard himself ask.
Shade turned to him, those white eyes gleaming with something that might have been amusement or might have been ancient knowledge or might have been something Alex had no framework for understanding.
"Your father," Shade said, "did not die in Oslo."