The world remained locked in an eternal dusk. What once was dawn, a sign of hope, had become a haunting, endless twilight. The sky, devoid of the Sun's warmth, was suffocated by a forbidden fog that swirled in every direction, and the scent of decay and chaos clung to the air like a predator waiting to strike.
The proud cities, once beacons of civilization, lay in ruin. Crumbled buildings reached for the sky with jagged fingers, and streets that once bustled with life had transformed into barren, cracked wastelands, forsaken by time and humanity alike.
Amidst this desolation, a faint sign of life stirred beneath the rubble of a once-towering building. A few small fragments of broken concrete shifted, as though the earth itself was exhaling. Then, with a sharp crack, a larger chunk of debris was shoved aside, and a pale, scarred hand emerged, trembling under the strain of pushing the weight off. A grunt of effort followed as a figure clawed its way free from the rubble, gasping for breath.
Larry staggered to his feet, his pale, lean body catching the eerie half-light. He was shirtless, his skin devoid of even the smallest scratch, though the memory of his wounds—his limbs torn apart, his chest ravaged—flashed vividly in his mind. His messy, blonde hair fell over his forehead, but his eyes remained closed, as if opening them would confirm the nightmare he feared he was still living.
"Where am I?" His voice was hoarse, raw, as if his throat had forgotten how to form words. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp, acrid air. But there was no answer—no sign of life anywhere.
His hands roamed his body, fingers running over the smooth, unscarred skin of his chest. His hands trembled as he touched his arms, then his legs. The sensation was jarring—impossible. He slapped his face with a sharp crack.
"Ouch..." The sting of the slap brought clarity, but with it came the sinking dread that this wasn't a dream. "This... this is real?"
He sniffed the air again, his sharp senses on alert. The memories were disjointed, like broken shards of glass, each cutting into his mind. His heart pounded harder. I was left to die. They abandoned me—the thought came sharp and bitter. Those bastards didn't even care.
The anger in his chest swelled, burning hotter with every second. His teeth gritted so hard that his jaw ached. Eric... I have to find Eric. That was his last hope. His only thought. His survival had to mean something—there had to be a reason for this.
He stumbled out of the rubble, his feet dragging across the cracked, uneven ground. The world was shrouded in a thick, impenetrable fog. He couldn't see, but that never mattered—he'd grown up blind. The scent of dust and death clung to his nostrils, and the only sound was the faint whisper of the wind through the ruins.
Which way? Which way should I go? He cursed under his breath, his mind spinning in confusion. His body felt weaker than normal—he was drained, as though something vital had been taken from him, leaving behind only a hollow shell.
Then, a voice pierced through the fog of his thoughts—cold, distant, and strangely intimate, as though it were speaking directly into his mind.
"You've been standing there for a while now. Do you want to get us killed?"
Larry froze, his heart thudding in his chest. The voice was stern, emotionless. He sniffed the air frantically, his senses straining for any sign of another presence, but there was nothing. No scent, no heat, no sound—nothing.
"Who's there?" he demanded, spinning in place, though the blackness of his vision offered no answers.
The voice didn't respond immediately, and Larry began moving forward, stumbling over fragments of stone and debris, his frustration boiling over. I need to find Eric. He's my only hope. But the voice echoed again, this time filled with a cold, mocking edge.
"There's a pit ahead."
The words came too late. Larry's foot slipped, and before he could catch himself, he felt the ground give way beneath him. With a startled cry, he plunged into the darkness below. His body collided with the side of the pit, tumbling violently down the jagged slope. He hit the bottom with a dull thud, his breath knocked from his lungs.
Pain flared through his ribs and his head spun as he rolled onto his side. He groaned in agony, clutching his chest. The cold soil pressed against his cheek as his body ached in protest. His skull throbbed from where it had collided with a stone. For a moment, his mind went completely blank, as though his brain had shut down to protect itself.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories flooded back.
The brutal fight. His team's betrayal. The meteor beasts. Jim, Ariana, the mission that had been nothing but a lie. How he had fought, how he had survived... how Eldric had torn him apart, limb by limb. The pain had been unimaginable. His left arm had been ripped from his body, his right leg wrenched away, his chest split open. He had been dying, bleeding out, hopeless.
He remembered the light—the bright, searing light that had exploded from within him just before everything went dark.
Larry groaned, clutching at his body in disbelief. "How? How am I whole again?" His voice was weak, filled with disbelief. "What... happened to Eldric? What is this?" His hand gripped his leg tightly, confirming that it was, indeed, intact. His fingers ran over his arms, his chest—no wounds, no scars.
His heart pounded in confusion and fear.
"Did I awaken a core?" he asked aloud, as if hoping someone would answer. But only the silence of the pit greeted him.
Then, the laughter. It was a low, cruel chuckle that echoed in his mind, sending chills down his spine. It was the same voice as before, but this time, it seemed to revel in his confusion.
"Why are you laughing?" Larry demanded, a surge of anger rising within him. "What's so damn funny?"
The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a cold silence.
"Or are you just another one who thinks I can't awaken a core?" Larry spat, his fists clenching.
The voice returned, its tone laced with amusement. "You have potential, but your body is... different. It's safe to say you won't be awakening a core like the others."
Larry's blood ran cold. "What the hell do you mean by that? What makes me different?"
The voice sighed, as if growing bored of the conversation. "Isn't it strange, Larry? You're speaking to a voice inside your own head, and yet you're not even the slightest bit panicked. You haven't even bothered to ask how I got here."
"That doesn't explain what happened to me!" Larry's voice was shaking now, a mixture of anger and fear. He could feel the voice probing at the edges of his mind, a constant presence he couldn't shake.
The voice remained silent, refusing to answer his questions. Larry's frustration boiled over.
"Fine! If you won't tell me, then I'll figure it out myself. I don't need you. I just need to find Eric," he snapped, pushing himself to his feet. His legs were shaky, his body still feeling foreign to him, but he forced himself to stand.
Another laugh echoed in his head, this time softer, more sinister. "You've been unconscious for a week, Larry. There's no sign of life around you."
Larry's breath caught in his throat. A week? That can't be true. But the voice was eerily calm, and that calmness sent a wave of panic through him.
"A week? I've been lying under that rubble for a week?" Larry asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind raced to make sense of it. The last thing he remembered was the surge of energy running through his veins, filling him with power.
"You remember that much," the voice replied, its tone now devoid of humor. "I saved you from death. I destroyed the beasts. I tore that building apart with my power. And now... I need you."