Evan jolted awake.
There was no transition. No groggy shifting of blankets, no slow rise from deep sleep.
The last sensation he remembered was the rhythmic drumming of the rain against his window in Edgewater.
Now, that sound was gone.
The world had been deleted.
He shot upright, his chest heaving.
"What…"
His voice died in his throat. The acoustics were wrong. There was no bounce-back. No echo off the peeling wallpaper. Just a flat, dead absorption of sound.
Evan froze. He didn't scramble. He didn't scream. His brain, trained by years of solving logic gates, immediately tried to find a baseline.
Where am I?
He looked down.
His bed was gone. The floor was gone.
He was standing on… nothing.
Around him was absolute, crushing darkness. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was a physical weight, pressing against his eyes like a heavy velvet curtain.
He shifted his weight. His bare feet touched a surface that felt cold and fluid, like mercury.
Ripple.
As his weight settled, the blackness beneath him shuddered. Rings of faint, violet light spread outward from his soles, illuminating a horizon that stretched into infinity.
"Dreaming," he whispered. "I have to be dreaming."
He pinched his arm. Hard.
The pain was sharp, stinging, and immediate.
He was still not completely sure.
In a dream, pain was a dull suggestion. Still, this could be a high-definition dream. That was Evan believed right now.
Suddenly, a sound cut through the silence.
Hiss.
It sounded like a pressure valve releasing steam.
Evan spun around, his bare feet slapping against the cold surface.
Ten meters away, the darkness was twisting. White smoke was coalescing, gathering from the void, swirling into a dense, pressurized knot. It didn't drift; it built. It thickened slowly.
In seconds, the smoke solidified. It took the shape of a man—faceless, featureless, made of compressed, shifting white vapor. It stood six feet tall, its "arms" ending in heavy, club-like fists.
"Ghost?" Evan stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Somehow, despite his logical side of things, he believed that ghost was real. That was because he had met it once with Jordan when they were twelve.
Evan tried to remain calm. He tried to step back slowly, without noticing the entity.
However, the entity seemed to have another plan.
It didn't wait.
It launched toward Evan.
It moved with terrifying speed, a white blur tearing through the dark. It covered the ten meters in a heartbeat.
"What?!" Evan didn't think. He panicked.
He threw himself to the right, scrambling on the slick floor.
Whoosh.
A heavy white fist slammed into the space where his head had been a fraction of a second ago. The wind pressure from the swing hit Evan's cheek like a slap.
It stung.
That sting was the wake-up call.
If that hits me, Evan realized with cold clarity, my skull cracks. I die here.
He scrambled to his feet, slipping, his movements clumsy and unrefined. He backed away, putting distance between himself and the entity.
The entity turned. It didn't breathe, but it radiated frustration. The smoke swirled violently around its form. It roared—a sound like tearing metal—and charged again.
Evan raised his hands, his posture awkward, untrained. He had never been in a real fight. He wasn't a brawler like Jordan. Besides, how was he supposed to fight this thing?
Don't engage, his mind screamed. Run.
But there was nowhere to run. The void was infinite emptiness.
The entity swung again—a wide, haymaker hook aimed at Evan's ribs.
Evan flinched, ducking frantically. The fist grazed his shoulder.
Thud.
Even the graze felt like being hit with a sandbag. Evan stumbled, gasping, pain flaring down his arm.
Too strong. I can't block that.
The entity wound up for a third strike. It pulled its arm back, telegraphing the blow, screaming its intent to crush him.
And in that moment of terror, Evan's fear turned into focus. He didn't know how but everything changed for him.
The world didn't stop, but the chaos filtered out. He stopped tinking that the entity was scary; he looked at its mechanics.
It is over-committing, Evan realized. The wind-up is too long. If this was a human, its weight is all on the front foot.
It wasn't a formula. It was a pattern.
The smoke creature swung.
Evan didn't retreat this time. He didn't try to block.
He stepped inside. He needed to check if he could touch it. From there, he could plan his next course of actions.
It was a gamble born of desperation. He ducked under the swinging arm, his movement jagged but timed perfectly.
He was inside the creature's guard.
Push him, his instincts screamed.
Evan planted his feet and shoved the creature's chest with both hands. He hoped it to be like pushing a wall. He just wanted it to be solid instead of smoke.
BOOM.
The impact was explosive.
The smoke creature didn't just stumble. It launched. It flew five meters through the air like a ragdoll and skidded across the rippling floor.
"Again?" Evan stared at his own hands, stunned.
He hadn't exerted maximum effort. He had just pushed to check if the creature was solid. But the force that came out of him was… monstrous.
"How on earth…" he wondered, flexing his fingers. "Am I that strong?"
The entity scrambled up. It was enraged now. Its arm reshaped, the smoke hardening into a jagged spike.
It can shift form? Evan analyzed.
It shrieked and sprinted at him.
Evan didn't flinch this time. The panic was gone, replaced by the cold, analytical calm he used to solve complex code.
He watched the creature come. He didn't see a ghost or a monster anymore. He saw a trajectory. A straight line.
It's charging blind. No deviation.
Evan waited.
Three meters. Two meters.
The monster thrust the spike.
Evan side-stepped. A simple, minimal movement to the left.
The spike stabbed the empty air.
The creature's momentum carried it forward, stumbling past him.
Evan didn't need martial arts. He just needed to close the loop.
He grabbed the back of the creature's "head" as it rushed past. He gripped it with his newfound strength and slammed it downward.
CRUNCH.
He drove the entity's face into the floor.
The impact sent a shockwave of violet light rippling out. The smoke-man thrashed, its form flickering, trying to rise.
"Stay down," Evan growled.
He didn't know how to fight, but he knew how to finish it. He raised his fist and drove it down.
He didn't use technique. He used raw, unadulterated power.
BOOM.
The head exploded.
White vapor burst outward, dissipating into the void. The body collapsed, twitching once, twice, before dissolving into harmless mist.
Evan stood alone in the darkness, chest heaving.
He looked at his hands. No blood. Just a lingering coldness.
He had survived. Not because he was a warrior, but because he had analyzed the threat and realized he had the tools to delete it.
Then, the silence returned.
Absolute. Terrifying. Instant.
It was as if someone had hit the 'MUTE' button on the universe again.
Evan stood trembling on the rippling floor. The adrenaline was a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth.
Then, he heard a rhythmic sound. Footsteps.
He knew this wasn't the footsteps of another creature. He quickly turned around.
From the infinite darkness, a figure emerged.
It was the man from the street. The height was the same. The build, the purposeful gait—all identical. But the colors were inverted.
The man wasn't wearing funeral black anymore.
He was the negative image.
Stark white.
A long, pristine white trench coat that flowed like liquid silk. White leather gloves. A tall white stovepipe hat. And white circular shades and a face mask covering everything below the eyes.
Against the crushing black void, he practically glowed. He was a cutout in reality.
The man walked closer. He didn't ripple the floor. He didn't cast a shadow.
He stopped three meters in front of Evan, looking at the spot where the smoke creature had dissolved.
He tilted his head slightly, as if impressed.
Evan swallowed. His throat felt dry.
He knew whatever was happening right now was far from the end.
"Who are you?" Evan asked. His voice was raspy, but he didn't back down.
The man didn't speak. He stood perfectly still. Statue-still.
Slowly, he raised his hands.
Snap.
With a flick of his wrists, two fans of cards appeared in his white-gloved fingers.
Six in the left hand. Six in the right.
They were spread out perfectly, equidistant, like a magician preparing for a street hustle. But the backs of the cards were pure white.
He held them out toward Evan.
Evan stared at the cards. "You want me to choose one?"
The man nodded once. A precise, mechanical tilt of the head.
"What is this for?" Evan took a step back, muscles tensing. "Another fight?"
The man didn't react. He just subtly shifted his hands forward. The gesture was clear. Choose one.
Evan hesitated. He was worried that this was some kind of ritual that would trap him here. Forever.
His mind raced through the variables.
He couldn't attack. If this man was as sturdy as the weird man in black from the street, Evan stood no chance.
He couldn't refuse, too.
Damn. This is hard. To him right now, he had no other option left. He needed to choose a card, no matter what.
"Fine," Evan muttered.
He looked at the cards. They were identical. No markings. No scratches. But as he focused, he felt a pull.
It wasn't magic. It was instinct.
His eyes locked onto the third card from the left in the man's right hand. It didn't glow. It didn't hum. But Evan knew it. It felt heavy. It felt… correct.
He reached out. His hand trembled slightly.
"If this is some kind of ritual," Evan whispered, "I'm dead."
He plucked the card from the fan.
The moment his fingers touched it, the other cards vanished. Vaporized into white smoke.
Evan blinked, startled. "What's happening?"