Jack Storm woke up choking on dust.
Not hellfire.
Not blood.
Concrete dust.
He rolled onto his side and coughed hard, ribs screaming in protest. The abandoned industrial stairwell around him was half-collapsed now, dawn light bleeding through cracks in the ceiling like pale veins. His coat was torn nearly in half, skin beneath marred by old burns and newer fractures that hadn't healed right.
Jack lay there longer than he should have.
That scared him more than the pain.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
The infernal core pulsed weakly—irregular, like a damaged engine misfiring under load. Something fundamental was missing. Not power exactly.
Access.
He'd cut his tether to Hell to escape Crowe's trap. Not severed completely—but enough that the connection was unstable now. Slower to respond. Harder to draw from.
Permanent damage.
Jack exhaled slowly. "You did this to yourself."
The core didn't argue.
A vibration rolled through the structure.
Jack froze.
That wasn't human.
The air pressure shifted, heavy and suffocating, carrying the unmistakable stench of sulfur and old iron. His eyes flared faintly—not violet this time, but a tired, dull red.
Something had crossed over.
And it wasn't subtle.
Jack pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the scream in his knee. He staggered to the edge of the broken stairwell and looked out over the industrial district.
Warehouses. Shipping containers. Old rail lines.
And in the center of it all—
A shape rising.
The ground cracked open as the demon hauled itself free, concrete shattering like brittle glass beneath its weight. It was humanoid, but wrong in proportion—too tall, too broad, shoulders hunched like a predator that had learned to walk upright.
At least ten feet tall.
Muscle layered over muscle, blackened skin scored with glowing red fissures that pulsed like veins. Its head was elongated, skull-like, with a mouth full of jagged teeth and eyes that burned with intelligence.
Not mindless.
Not frenzied.
Jack swallowed.
"C-rank," he muttered.
The demon lifted its head slowly and smelled the air.
Then it smiled.
THE HUNTER AND THE WOUNDED
The demon moved first.
It didn't charge.
It stepped—and crossed fifty meters in an instant, slamming into a warehouse wall hard enough to collapse half the structure. Steel screamed as it twisted inward, debris raining down like shrapnel.
Jack barely rolled clear, speed triggering instinctively but not cleanly. He clipped a beam on the way down, shoulder cracking painfully as he hit the ground.
He scrambled to his feet just as the demon lunged again.
Jack raised a hand.
Purple flame sparked—
Then fizzled.
Jack's eyes widened.
"Shit."
The demon's fist slammed into his chest, launching him through a stack of shipping containers. Steel buckled around him as he crashed to a stop, coughing blood.
The demon advanced, footsteps heavy, deliberate.
"Storm-bearer," it rumbled, voice grinding like stone. "You smell… broken."
Jack staggered upright, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Funny," he rasped. "You smell dead."
The demon laughed.
It lunged again.
BRUTE FORCE
Jack couldn't rely on finesse.
Couldn't rely on erasure.
Couldn't rely on Hell to answer instantly.
So he did the only thing left.
He fought like a man who refused to die.
Jack ducked under a sweeping claw, grabbed the demon's wrist, and twisted. Power surged—not elegant, not refined—but raw and violent. Bone cracked audibly as the demon roared, ripping free and backhanding Jack across the yard.
Jack skidded across concrete, sparks flying as his boots dug in.
He was slower than before.
But still faster than human.
The demon stomped down.
Jack rolled aside and drove his fist into its knee.
The impact cratered the ground.
The demon howled, dropping to one knee.
Jack didn't hesitate.
He climbed.
Hands locked into burning flesh as he hauled himself up the demon's frame, ignoring the heat tearing into his palms. He slammed an elbow into the creature's neck—once, twice, three times—until something snapped.
The demon bucked violently, flinging Jack off.
Jack hit hard, ribs screaming.
His vision blurred.
The infernal core pulsed weakly.
Not enough, it whispered.
Jack laughed through the pain. "Then we bleed for it."
SOUL SCREAM — IMPERFECT
The demon charged again.
Jack planted his feet.
He reached inward—not deep, not reckless—and released Soul Scream.
The effect was… uneven.
The air warped violently as psychic pressure detonated outward, slamming into the demon's mind like a freight train. It shrieked, clutching its head, staggering as dozens of stolen screams echoed through its consciousness.
But Jack screamed too.
The backlash tore through him, dropping him to one knee as blood streamed from his nose.
The demon reeled—but didn't fall.
It shook its head violently, eyes blazing with fury.
"Your soul is fractured," it snarled. "You cannot break me."
Jack wiped blood from his face and forced himself upright.
"Good," he said hoarsely. "Means I'm not done yet."
THE TURNING POINT
The demon roared and charged again, claws extended.
Jack moved.
Not faster.
Smarter.
He sidestepped at the last second, letting the demon overextend, then drove his shoulder into its midsection with everything he had. The impact lifted the massive creature off its feet, slamming it into a derailed train car with bone-shattering force.
Jack didn't stop.
He grabbed a chunk of rebar and threw.
The spear of metal punched straight through the demon's skull, pinning it to the steel behind it. The creature thrashed violently, roaring in rage and pain.
Jack staggered forward, breathing hard.
"Stay down," he growled.
The demon laughed—wet, broken.
"Kill me," it spat. "If you can."
Jack raised his hand.
Purple flame sparked again—weak, unstable, but present.
The demon's eyes widened slightly.
"…You still have it."
Jack nodded slowly. "Enough."
He focused—not on erasure, but precision.
The flame ignited.
Not wide.
Not consuming.
A thin, concentrated line of violet fire burned straight through the demon's chest.
The creature froze.
Then began to come apart.
Not exploding.
Unraveling.
Piece by piece, existence peeled away until nothing remained but drifting ash and silence.
Jack collapsed to one knee, gasping.
The infernal core surged violently.
Souls flooded in.
Heavy ones.
Dense.
Jack felt it immediately.
This wasn't just a kill.
This was a reward.
And somewhere, far below—
Hell noticed.
The demon didn't leave a corpse.
It left an absence.
Violet embers drifted in slow spirals where the creature had been, as if reality was trying to remember what had just been erased and failing. The industrial yard fell quiet except for the distant crackle of fires and the slow creak of twisted metal cooling in the morning air.
Jack stayed on one knee, head bowed, breathing like he'd just run through a storm with knives in it.
His hands shook.
Not fear.
Aftershock.
The infernal core in his chest thumped erratically, swollen with new weight. It wasn't just the usual flood of lesser souls. These were dense, compressed—like bricks of corrupted will.
A C-rank demon didn't just possess.
It commanded.
Jack pressed his palm to the ground and forced himself upright. His ribs protested; his knee threatened to fold. He stood anyway, wiping blood off his mouth with the back of his hand.
"That was way too close," he muttered.
The air behind him rippled.
Jack turned instantly—faster now, even with the damage.
The Infernal Broker was there.
Not physically, not fully.
A projection—thin as smoke but sharp as a blade.
Its brass skin shimmered with violet fractures, and its smile arrived before its presence did.
"Well done," it said.
Jack's eyes narrowed. "You're not supposed to be here."
The Broker's head tilted. "You are not supposed to be alive."
Jack didn't laugh.
His gaze flicked around, scanning rooftops, windows, shadows.
"This isn't a trap, is it?"
The Broker spread its hands. "No. Merely… accounting."
The air in front of Jack filled with symbols and weight—like a ledger being stamped into his senses.
He felt the numbers rather than saw them.
Soul Points gained: 6,400
A heavy, clean surge—enough to unlock multiple branches.
Then something else manifested.
Three coins—flat, gleaming, and spinning slowly in the air.
Two were silver-grey, etched with jagged runes and a faint crimson glow. The third…
Gold.
Not the same warm gold as before.
This one was darker, heavier, stamped with a symbol shaped like a split chain.
Jack's throat tightened.
"Coin rewards," the Broker purred. "C-rank payout. Two standard Soul Coins… and one Gold Soul Token."
Jack stared at the gold token, feeling it tug on his infernal core like a hook.
"I already used two gold tokens," Jack said.
"And you survived," the Broker replied. "Hell is encouraged."
Jack's eyes hardened. "What does the new one do?"
The Broker's smile sharpened. "This one does not offer more. It offers permanence with direction."
Jack's hand twitched.
He didn't like that phrasing.
"Explain."
The Broker gestured, and the silver coins drifted closer.
"Silver Soul Coins grant upgrades," it said. "Powerful—yes. But temporary in the grand ledger. They can evolve, decay, be replaced."
The gold token hovered at the center, heavier than the air around it.
"Gold is permanent," the Broker whispered. "Even if you earn your life back. Even if your infernal core collapses. Gold writes itself into the bones of what you are."
Jack clenched his jaw.
"Then I'm not rushing," he said.
The Broker's eyes gleamed. "But you will choose."
The projection flickered. Symbols ignited in front of Jack like a menu etched into reality.
THE NEW UPGRADE TREE UNLOCKS
Jack felt it: the new soul points had unlocked deeper branches. The upgrades were no longer about flashy power.
They were about control.
Which was exactly what he needed after cutting his tether.
The first branch pulsed: Infernal Stabilization
The second: Stormframe Enhancement
The third: Violet Flame Refinement
And buried beneath them—new, darker branches that felt like temptation.
Jack ignored the temptations.
"What can fix my core?" he asked bluntly.
The Broker's smile widened.
"Ah," it said. "You noticed the fracture."
Jack's voice went flat. "Don't play."
The Broker raised one claw and tapped the air.
Infernal Stabilization (Tier I)
Repairs tether instability
Reduces backlash from Soul Scream
Restores reliable access to purple flame
Cost: 1 Silver Soul Coin
Jack's shoulders loosened a fraction despite himself.
"Do it," he said immediately.
The silver coin burned into his chest like a brand.
Jack gasped as the infernal core seized—then steadied.
The irregular thumping smoothed into a stronger, rhythmic pulse.
Not fully healed.
But stabilized.
Jack exhaled slowly. "Better."
The Broker nodded. "You have patched your wound."
Jack looked at the second silver coin. "And the other?"
The next symbol flared:
Stormframe Enhancement (Tier I)
Increases movement efficiency with permanent speed
Enhances impact output without relying on flame
Reinforces joints and tendons against high-speed strain
Cost: 1 Silver Soul Coin
Jack's eyes narrowed.
"That's… perfect."
The Broker leaned in slightly. "Yes. Because your human enemy is forcing you into efficiency."
Crowe.
Jack said nothing, but the name burned behind his eyes.
He took the second silver coin.
It sank into him and immediately his body felt tighter. Not heavier—more aligned. Like his speed and strength finally fit inside the same frame instead of tearing him apart.
Jack clenched his fist. The air popped softly around his knuckles.
"Good," he murmured.
Only the gold token remained.
It hovered patiently, as if it had all the time in the world.
Jack stared at it. "Not yet."
The Broker laughed softly. "Cowardice is sometimes wisdom."
Jack's eyes flashed. "It's not cowardice."
"It is," the Broker said, unbothered. "But it's also restraint. And that is why the contract still considers you salvageable."
Jack stepped forward until his face was inches from the projection.
"Tell Hell this," he said quietly. "I'm not here to become its champion."
The Broker's smile turned almost fond.
"Oh, Jack Storm," it whispered. "Champions are chosen. Kings are created."
The projection dissolved.
The coins vanished.
The gold token remained—not in the air, but in Jack's chest like a dormant weight. Stored. Waiting.
Jack breathed out, steadying himself.
Then his infernal core pulsed again—different.
A warning.
Jack snapped his head toward the far end of the industrial district.
A new presence crawled along the edge of his senses.
Not a single demon.
Multiple.
A nest.
He could feel them moving through broken pipes and shadowed basements, slipping from host to host like parasites. Possessed humans—dozens—circling like they'd been coordinated.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
"This is getting organized," he muttered.
He ran.
THE NEST
The first possessed human came at him from behind a container stack—young man, trembling, face wet with tears, eyes black as oil.
"Help me!" the man cried.
Jack didn't hesitate.
He moved faster than the human eye could follow and struck the man's chest with two fingers—precise, controlled.
The demon inside screamed, exposed.
Jack grabbed the shadow as it tore loose and crushed it in his palm.
Purple flame flickered.
Gone.
The host collapsed, breathing.
Jack set him down gently, then spun as two more lunged.
A woman with a kitchen knife. A teenager with a broken bottle.
Jack snapped the bottle arm with a sharp twist, kicked the knife away, and released a small Soul Scream—controlled now, focused like a scalpel rather than a bomb.
The demons inside both hosts recoiled instantly.
Jack extracted them clean.
Three saves.
No deaths.
His stabilization upgrade was working.
But then the nest revealed its point.
A larger possessed man stepped forward from the shadows, wearing a fluorescent construction jacket and a grin that wasn't his own.
"Storm-bearer," the demon said through him, voice layered and amused. "We felt you get… stronger."
Jack's hands ignited faintly violet.
"Leave the body," he said.
The demon laughed. "No."
The host's mouth smiled wider than it should have.
Then the possessed man raised his hands—and others appeared.
More hosts emerged from the darkness—fifteen, twenty, maybe more—forming a loose ring around Jack. They moved in unison, eyes black, bodies twitching.
A coordinated pack.
Jack's stomach dropped.
If he went full power, he'd kill them.
If he went gentle, they'd overwhelm him.
He took a slow breath.
"Alright," he whispered. "Then we do it the hard way."
He moved.
Speed and Stormframe made him lethal in close quarters. He dismantled the ring without killing—breaking knees, dislocating shoulders, knocking people out cleanly. Every time a demon surfaced, he extracted it fast and erased it.
But the leader demon watched, amused.
"You're improving," it said. "How long until you slip?"
Jack ignored it and kept moving.
A demon sprang from one host's mouth—small, spider-like, attempting to flee.
Jack caught it mid-air.
Purple flame erased it.
The leader's smile faltered for the first time.
Jack turned slowly toward it.
"Your turn," he said.
The leader demon's eyes narrowed.
Then it did something Jack hadn't seen before.
It switched hosts.
The construction worker fell limp as the demon slid like smoke into a woman nearby, then into another host, then another—fast, slippery, trying to avoid a clean extraction.
Jack cursed under his breath.
Crowe would've loved this—proof that demons were adapting too.
Jack closed his eyes for half a second, locking onto the demon's thread through the infernal core.
Then he opened them.
And released Soul Scream—not wide, but targeted like a lance.
The demon shrieked inside the shared network of hosts.
Every possessed human staggered at once, hands clutching heads, knees buckling.
Jack moved instantly, grabbing the demon as it tried to flee and ripping it out in a violent pull.
Purple flame ignited.
Erased.
The ring collapsed.
Dozens of humans gasped, crying, confused, alive.
Jack stood among them, breathing hard.
For once, he had won cleanly.
He looked down at his hands.
Violet flickered faintly, stable.
His infernal core pulsed—steady.
He'd earned this.
CROWE WATCHES THE WRONG LESSON
From a nearby rooftop, a drone lens whirred softly.
Commander Crowe lowered his binoculars, expression unreadable.
"He stabilized," his analyst murmured. "He's extracting faster. Cleaner."
Crowe's jaw tightened.
"So he's improving," he said quietly. "Good."
The analyst hesitated. "Good, sir?"
Crowe's eyes stayed on Jack.
"If he keeps getting stronger," Crowe said, voice like steel, "he'll eventually be forced into a choice he can't morally survive."
He turned away.
"And when that happens… we'll be there to end him."
Jack didn't know he was being watched.
He was too busy keeping the rescued people from seeing his eyes glow.
He backed into the shadows, vanished down an alley, and finally allowed himself one exhausted exhale.
A gold token sat inside his chest like a sleeping star.
Permanent.
Waiting.
And he knew—deep down—he was going to need it sooner than he wanted.
Because Crowe wasn't done.
And Hell was very interested.