Long before kingdoms drew borders or gods carved rules into reality, something walked the world that did not belong to any category creation understood.
It did not rule.
It did not conquer.
It did not preach.
It consumed.
Civilizations did not fall in wars against it — they disappeared. Entire cultures were erased so completely that even their ruins forgot their names. The skies over some worlds still glowed faintly with scars where battles had burned holes through reality itself.
Not because the being wanted destruction.
Because destruction happened wherever it existed.
Humans died first. Then monsters. Then the things that hunted monsters. Eventually, even divine entities — concepts given flesh — discovered they could bleed.
With every life extinguished, the presence of the being grew heavier. Not louder. Not brighter. Heavier. As though reality itself bent slightly more every time it took another breath.
At last, even gods understood something terrifying:
This was not a war they could win.
So they did the unthinkable.
They spoke to their enemies.
Light reached into darkness. Heaven reached into hell. Old grudges older than time were set aside not for victory — but for survival. A coalition formed that stretched across realms, its armies vast enough to dim horizons. Celestial beasts marched beside demon lords. Laws of existence were rewritten mid-battle to slow what could not be stopped.
When the final confrontation came, the universe learned what helplessness felt like.
Divine champions fell like broken stars. Demon kings were torn apart as if made of mist. Gods themselves were wounded, forced to retreat into shattered heavens.
Still, the being advanced.
Not in rage.
Not in triumph.
Simply forward.
At last, when even destruction failed, the coalition attempted something more desperate.
They did not try to kill it.
They tried to remove it from the world.
Every law, curse, seal, and forbidden mechanism existence had ever produced was woven together into a prison not meant to contain flesh — but to restrain reality itself around a single presence.
The cost was unimaginable.
But it worked.
The being vanished.
Not dead.
Not destroyed.
Sealed.
And with its disappearance, the universe convinced itself it was safe again.
---
### **Present Day**
Sam lay motionless beneath the hospital lights, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow rhythms that machines translated into numbers and soft beeps.
To anyone watching, he looked peaceful.
Inside his mind, he was falling.
Not downward.
Not upward.
Just… nowhere.
There was no ground beneath his feet and no sky above his head — not darkness, not light, but an absence so complete it felt less like space and more like being erased between thoughts.
"Hello?" he said, surprised by how small his voice sounded. "Is anyone there?"
The sound didn't echo. It simply vanished.
A chill crawled across his skin. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to steady his breathing.
*Did I die?*
He tried to remember.
The staircase at school.
Girls shouting.
A flash of pressure, like the air itself had collapsed.
Then nothing.
The emptiness around him shifted.
Not visibly.
Not audibly.
But the silence itself felt… interrupted.
"You're awake."
The voice was not loud. It wasn't deep. It wasn't theatrical.
It was close.
Close enough that Sam instinctively stepped back, though he couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet.
"Who said that?" he demanded, pulse spiking. "Where are you?"
A pause.
Then: "You hear better than most."
Before Sam could respond, something invisible pressed against his shoulders.
Not violently.
Not suddenly.
Just… firmly.
Like gravity deciding he was no longer allowed to stand.
His knees buckled. His lungs compressed. His heart slammed against his ribs as oxygen refused to enter.
"What the hell—!" He clawed at his chest, panic detonating inside him. "Stop—!"
The pressure increased.
His vision narrowed. Static filled his ears. It felt as though the space around him had gained weight — as though reality itself were leaning on his bones.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Then the pressure vanished.
Sam collapsed, gasping, coughing, dragging air into his lungs like a drowning man breaking the surface.
He stayed on his hands and knees for several seconds, shaking, heart hammering hard enough to hurt.
"Don't do that," he whispered hoarsely. "What is wrong with you?"
Silence.
Then something shifted in front of him.
Not movement — distortion.
The emptiness bent, folding inward like heat warping air above asphalt.
Sam slowly lifted his head.
The space ahead of him darkened, not into shadow but into density — like staring into something too heavy to be light. Two shapes ignited within that distortion.
Eyes.
Not glowing.
Burning.
Red, steady, and impossibly calm.
A face formed around them — vast, uneven, its features not symmetrical enough to feel biological. Its mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile and wasn't quite a snarl, lined with teeth that didn't match each other in shape or size, as though assembled from different creatures.
Sam's body locked.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Shock.
The thing was too wrong to process.
"You screamed earlier," the presence said conversationally. "That was unnecessary."
Sam swallowed hard. "You crushed my lungs."
"I applied pressure," it corrected. "You reacted poorly."
"You almost killed me!"
A pause.
"No," it said. "If I wanted that, you wouldn't be speaking."
That wasn't a threat.
It was a statement of fact.
Cold spread down Sam's spine.
"Who… what are you?" he asked.
The eyes narrowed slightly.
"A problem," it said. "For your kind. And soon, possibly, for you."
"That's not an answer."
"Neither was your question."
Sam clenched his fists. "Where am I?"
"Not somewhere," the thing replied. "More like… not anywhere."
"That makes zero sense."
"Reality rarely does when it's being stretched."
The distortion around the face deepened, and Sam suddenly felt the sensation of being examined — not visually, but internally, as though something were rifling through his thoughts without touching them.
His stomach twisted.
"Stop that," he snapped. "Whatever you're doing."
"Interesting," the entity murmured. "You noticed."
"Yeah. Because it feels like someone's breaking into my head."
"Hm." A pause. "Fair."
Sam forced himself to breathe steadily. Panic wouldn't help. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't attacking him now — and that meant he still had leverage, even if he didn't know what kind.
"Why me?" he asked. "If this is some hallucination, it's a really messed-up one."
"This isn't a hallucination," the presence said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I exist when you stop thinking."
That… didn't help.
Sam's jaw tightened. "Then why am I here?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Because you fell unconscious near a fracture point."
"A what?"
"A location where reality is thin."
Sam stared. "That's not a thing."
"It is," the entity replied. "You just didn't know about it. Yet."
"Great," Sam muttered. "So what, I tripped into some cosmic Wi-Fi dead zone and now I'm stuck talking to… whatever you are?"
The eyes curved slightly.
"Your humor is strange."
"Trust me, this is not me joking."
The pressure returned suddenly — not crushing this time, but enough to make his skin prickle and his heartbeat spike.
"Listen carefully," the presence said. "You are alive because I allowed it. You are here because something about you intersects with something about me. And you will leave this place because I am not done observing you."
"Observing me for what?" Sam demanded.
"Compatibility."
The word hit harder than it should have.
"Compatibility with what?"
The presence leaned closer. The void bent around its shape, distorting like glass pressed inward.
"With survival."
Before Sam could ask what that meant, the eyes flared brighter.
"Wake up."
The world tore.
---
Sam screamed — and sucked in air at the same time.
His body snapped upright, muscles locking as though yanked by invisible strings. His lungs burned. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. Sweat soaked his shirt, plastering it to his skin.
He stared at the ceiling, breath ragged, hands trembling.
Hospital lights.
White tiles.
Machines.
Reality.
"…No," he whispered. "No, no, no…"
He pressed his palm flat against his chest, grounding himself in the physical sensation of bone, muscle, heartbeat.
That wasn't a dream.
Not like normal dreams.
Dreams didn't feel *heavy*.
He shut his eyes and forced his breathing to slow.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Gradually, the shaking eased.
That was when he noticed the unfamiliar room.
IV stand.
Monitors.
Curtains.
A thick bandage wrapped around his head.
"…Hospital?" he murmured. "What happened to me?"
The door opened.
A nurse stepped inside, mid-thirties, dark hair tied back in a loose bun. She froze when she saw him sitting up.
"Oh— you're awake." Relief softened her face. "Good. That's very good."
"How long?" Sam asked immediately. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn't used it in days.
She checked his chart. "Almost a week."
His stomach dropped. "A week?"
"Yes. You were unconscious when you were brought in."
"Why?"
"We're not entirely sure yet. The doctor will explain." She smiled gently. "How do you feel? Any nausea? Head pain? Dizziness?"
"No," Sam said, then hesitated. "I mean… I feel weird. But not sick."
"That's normal after a concussion," she replied. "Try not to move too much. I'll get the doctor and your family."
"My family?"
She nodded. "They've been here every day."
Before he could respond, she turned and left.
Sam leaned back against the pillows, heart still beating faster than normal.
*A week.*
The word echoed uncomfortably in his head.
He tried to remember the moment he'd gotten hurt.
Nothing.
Just static.
The door flew open.
"Big brother!"
Nina launched herself across the room and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest so hard it knocked the breath out of him.
"Hey—!" He laughed weakly, startled. "Nina—"
Her shoulders shook. "I thought you weren't going to wake up."
The words hit harder than he expected.
"I'm fine," he said softly, instinctively lifting a hand to pat her hair. "See? Still alive."
"That's not funny," she muttered into his shirt.
"I wasn't joking."
Their parents entered behind her.
"Nina, careful," their mother said, voice tight with worry. "He just woke up."
"I'm okay, Mom," Sam said quickly. "Really."
His father stopped a few feet from the bed, studying him like he was afraid to blink.
"You look… thinner," he said quietly.
"Thanks?" Sam offered.
That earned the faintest twitch of a smile — but it didn't reach his father's eyes.
"How did you hit your head hard enough to be unconscious for seven days?" his father asked.
Sam blinked. "…Seven?"
"Yes," his mother said. "Seven days."
His stomach twisted. "I don't remember hitting my head at all."
Silence.
Their parents exchanged a glance.
Not a subtle one.
Sam noticed immediately.
"What?" he said. "Why are you looking at each other like that?"
"We just—" his mother began, then stopped.
His father exhaled. "Son… do you remember anything about that day?"
Sam searched his mind.
The staircase.
The sound of shouting.
Pressure.
Then darkness.
"No," he said slowly. "I remember being at school. That's it."
Their mother's hands tightened together.
"Do you remember who hurt you?"
Sam frowned. "Someone hurt me?"
Another glance passed between them.
"Why aren't you answering?" he asked. "What happened?"
Before either of them could speak, the door opened again.
A middle-aged doctor stepped in, glasses hanging low on his nose, chart in hand.
"Good," he said. "You're awake."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Sam muttered.
The doctor smiled faintly and stepped closer. "I'm Dr. Ishida. Mind if I take a quick look?"
"Go ahead."
A light flashed in his eyes. Sam followed it automatically.
"Good," the doctor said. "No visual tracking issues."
"So what's wrong with me?" Sam asked. "Why was I unconscious for a week?"
"You suffered a moderate concussion," Dr. Ishida replied. "There's also a short-term memory gap around the moment of injury."
"Memory loss?" Sam echoed.
"Only localized," the doctor said. "Your identity, family, education — all intact. That's a good sign."
"So I just… don't remember how I got hurt?"
"Correct."
His parents visibly relaxed, tension draining from their shoulders.
"So he'll be okay?" his mother asked.
"Yes," the doctor said. "Physically, he's recovering well. Whether the missing memories return is uncertain, but there's no medical danger from the loss itself."
Sam stared at his hands.
Something about that answer felt… wrong.
After a few more instructions, the doctor left.
Silence filled the room again.
"I don't remember getting hurt," Sam said quietly. "But I don't think that's because of the concussion."
His mother moved forward and hugged him tightly. "We don't care about the memories," she whispered. "We just want you alive."
Nina clung to his arm again. "Don't scare us like that."
"I'm sorry," Sam said, and meant it more than he expected.
His father cleared his throat.
"Son… while you were unconscious…"
He hesitated.
"The world changed."
Sam frowned. "…Changed how?"
His father met his eyes.
"Monsters appeared."
The room seemed to tilt.
"…What?"
---
### **One Week Ago**
The first city fell in under five minutes.
No warning.
No sirens.
No time for evacuation.
One moment, people were commuting to work, arguing about bills, scrolling through phones.
The next, the sky split open.
Buildings collapsed as something massive tore through reinforced concrete like wet paper. Cars flipped. Windows shattered outward. Smoke swallowed streets before anyone understood what they were running from.
A man sprinted through debris-choked air, lungs burning. He didn't know where he was going — only that staying still meant dying.
His foot caught on broken asphalt.
He hit the ground hard, skin tearing from his palms.
Pain exploded through his knees.
He tried to push himself up.
A shadow swallowed him.
His body locked.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Behind him stood something that shouldn't exist.
Nearly three meters tall. Green skin layered with natural armor plates like overlapping shields. Tusks curved from its jaw. Muscles knotted beneath its hide. Its breath came out in wet, animal huffs.
The man couldn't move.
His bladder gave out before his mind did.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, don't—"
Light tore through the air.
Not a beam.
Not a blast.
A line.
The orc-like creature split cleanly in half from shoulder to hip. Blood burst across the street, steaming where it hit hot pavement.
The corpse hit the ground in two pieces.
The man stared.
Then a woman stepped forward through the mist of drifting blood.
She wore armor that glowed faintly gold, etched with symbols that shifted as if alive. Her hair streamed behind her, unbound, her sword humming in her hand like a struck bell.
"Are you injured?" she demanded. "Can you move?"
The man looked from the bisected corpse to her face — and screamed.
He scrambled to his feet and ran, not daring to look back.
"…Seriously?" the woman muttered. "I just saved him."
Two figures landed beside her.
One was tall and lean, leather armor fitted tight, twin daggers resting loosely in his hands as if he'd forgotten to put them away.
"You scared him," he said, amused.
"He ran on his own," she snapped. "I didn't even raise my voice."
"Golden armor. Giant sword. Blood everywhere," he replied. "Hard to look friendly."
A third man approached — broader than the other two, armor heavier, shield slung across one arm. His expression was calm, but his eyes never stopped moving.
"Enough," he said. "We're not here to argue."
Smoke rolled between collapsed buildings ahead of them.
Something moved inside it.
Low growls echoed, wet claws scraping against concrete.
"Contact," he continued. "Multiple."
The three tightened their grips on their weapons and moved.
The woman surged forward, sword blazing as she cut through the first charging creature in a clean, upward arc. Its head left its shoulders before its body realized it was dead.
The rogue blurred sideways, vanishing from sight — not teleporting, but moving too fast for the eye to track — and reappeared behind another monster, daggers crossing its throat. Blood sprayed as the creature collapsed.
The armored man met the third head-on, shield slamming into its chest with enough force to fold its ribcage inward. He finished it with a downward hammer strike that cratered the street.
More monsters poured from the smoke.
Not coordinated.
Not tactical.
Just hunger in motion.
The woman cut through them with brutal efficiency, every swing precise, economical — no wasted movement. The rogue slipped between enemies like a shadow, opening arteries, hamstrings, spines. The tank advanced steadily, absorbing blows that would have crushed vehicles, then breaking whatever hit him.
Behind them, civilians ran.
Some tripped and were trampled.
Some froze and were dragged screaming into smoke that swallowed them whole.
Buildings burned.
Gas lines exploded.
Helicopters fell from the sky when winged creatures tore through their rotors mid-flight.
And this wasn't one city.
It wasn't one country.
It wasn't one continent.
It was everywhere.
---
### **Present Day**
Rain streaked down the car windows as Sam stared out at what used to be his city.
Burned-out vehicles clogged intersections. Military barricades blocked entire streets. Soldiers stood on rooftops with mounted weapons aimed at empty skies.
Everything looked… braced.
As if the world itself were holding its breath.
His father's words echoed in his mind.
*Monsters appeared.*
A week ago, I collapsed.
I don't remember how.
While I was unconscious…
My house was destroyed.
My neighborhood was attacked.
And somehow, my family survived.
Because the school had called them to the hospital that morning.
Because they weren't home.
Because I fell.
If I hadn't…
Sam's jaw tightened.
Would my family even be alive?
Was that coincidence?
Or something else?
The car stopped in front of a narrow apartment building with cracked concrete walls and boarded windows.
"This is temporary," his mother said softly. "Just until things stabilize."
"Yeah," Sam replied. "I get it."
Inside, the apartment was small, clean, and painfully empty.
"Do you want something to eat?" his mother asked.
"No," Sam said. "I'm tired."
"Your room's upstairs," she said. "First door on the left."
He climbed the narrow staircase and stepped inside.
Small bed.
Bare walls.
A single window overlooking a street lined with barricades.
He sat down slowly.
"So much changed in one week," he murmured.
Monsters.
Hunters.
The destruction of his home.
His eyes closed.
And opened again immediately.
Something felt wrong.
Not danger.
Not fear.
Wrong.
Like a note played slightly off-key.
He scanned the room.
Nothing.
Silence.
Still, the sensation didn't fade.
His heartbeat quickened.
"…Why do I feel like this?"
Then he heard it.
Not a voice.
A pressure.
Like someone standing just behind his thoughts.
Sam stood abruptly, pulse hammering.
"Hello?" he said. "Is someone there?"
Nothing answered.
But deep inside his chest, something shifted — not pain, not heat — but awareness.
As if something had just opened its eyes.
---
### **Elsewhere**
Darkness folded inward around a structure that did not exist in space.
Chains of law wrapped around a presence too large for form, too dense for light. Seals layered over seals, stacked across dimensions, woven through reality itself.
Inside the prison, something stirred.
Not awake.
Not asleep.
Aware.
A voice echoed through the void — not aloud, but through causality.
> **"Compatibility confirmed."**
> **"Subject: Sam Harrow."**
> **"Synchronization threshold: breached."**
> **"Seal degradation: accelerating."**
The presence inside the prison did not smile.
It did not move.
But somewhere in the world above…
A boy in a small apartment room felt his heartbeat fall into a rhythm that was no longer entirely his own.
---
**End of Chapter 2**