The gym was Penny's second home. The walls were stained with years of sweat, blood, and struggle, the scent of chalk and leather heavy in the air. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed with a dull, mechanical hum that only added to the tension in the room. Penny loved it here. The noise, the heat, the pure, undiluted intensity of it all. She lived for it.
Her fists pounded against the heavy bag, each hit landing with a sharp crack that echoed through the empty space. She was the only one left in the gym tonight. It was late—too late for most people—but Penny liked it that way. Here, in the quiet, she could lose herself in the rhythm of her punches, the way her muscles screamed for release, the way the pain in her knuckles reminded her that she was still alive.
Another punch, harder this time. Then another. And another. The bag swung back from the force of her hits, and she paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
"You're gonna wear yourself out like that."
The voice came from the far side of the gym, casual but familiar. Penny glanced over her shoulder to see Marco, the owner of the gym and her mentor. He stood leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes studying her with a mixture of amusement and concern. He was built like a tank, all muscle and intimidation, but his smile was always easygoing, like he knew some joke the rest of the world hadn't caught on to yet.
"Not possible," Penny muttered, turning back to the bag. "You know I don't quit."
"That's what I'm worried about." Marco's boots thudded lightly against the floor as he walked over, standing next to her with a shake of his head. "You fight like you're running from something, Penny."
Penny didn't respond. He wasn't wrong, but she didn't feel like getting into it tonight. Instead, she focused on the feel of her fists against the leather, the satisfying impact that sent vibrations up her arms with every hit. There was something calming about it, almost meditative. As long as she was fighting, she didn't have to think about everything else. She didn't have to feel.
"Seriously," Marco said, folding his arms across his chest. "You've been going harder than usual. Something on your mind?"
"Nope," she lied, throwing another punch.
The truth was, something had been bothering her for days now. Something she couldn't explain. It had started small—just a faint sense of unease, like a shadow at the edge of her vision that she couldn't quite pin down. Then there were the dreams. Vivid, violent dreams. Battles. Bloodshed. Faces she didn't recognize but felt like she should.
She hadn't told Marco about any of it. How could she? What would she even say? That she'd been waking up in a cold sweat every night, heart pounding, her body aching like she'd just come out of a real fight? It sounded ridiculous. But the feeling hadn't gone away. If anything, it was getting stronger. And worse, it was starting to creep into her waking hours.
Like right now.
The room felt... off. She couldn't explain it, but there was a shift in the air, something electric. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Her fists slowed, her attention drifting as her eyes scanned the empty gym.
"Marco," she said, her voice lower now, more cautious. "You feel that?"
"Feel what?" he asked, looking around.
Penny's pulse quickened. It wasn't something you could explain. It was more of an instinct—a primal awareness that something was about to happen. Something big. She could almost taste it in the air, like the moment before a storm broke.
Then, suddenly, the lights flickered.
Marco frowned. "That's weird."
Before Penny could respond, the lights flickered again, and this time, they went out completely, plunging the gym into darkness.
"Okay, what the hell—" Marco started, but Penny shushed him.
There was something else now. A sound. Faint at first, like a distant whisper carried on the wind, but it was growing louder. A low, rhythmic thrum, like the beating of a distant war drum.
Penny's heart pounded in her chest, and her muscles tensed. She took a step forward, her hands instinctively balling into fists. "Marco," she said, her voice steady but sharp. "Get out of here."
Marco chuckled, thinking she was joking. "Come on, Penny. What's going on?"
But Penny wasn't laughing. She could feel it now, deep in her bones. This wasn't just a power outage. Something was coming. And whatever it was, it wasn't friendly.
"Go!" she snapped, pushing him toward the door.
But it was too late.
The darkness around them seemed to pulse, almost alive. And then, from the shadows, it emerged.
A figure, tall and shrouded in black, stepped forward, its form barely distinguishable from the darkness itself. But it wasn't human—not even close. Its eyes glowed a deep, fiery red, and its skin, pale as death, gleamed in the dim light that barely filtered through the windows. It moved with a predatory grace, each step deliberate, calculated.
Penny's blood ran cold. She had seen this before. In her dreams.
A revenant.
Marco took a step back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What the hell is that?"
"Get out!" Penny shouted, shoving him hard toward the exit. "Now!"
Marco hesitated for a second too long, his body frozen in shock. But Penny had no time to deal with him. Her focus was entirely on the creature before her. She could feel it watching her, could feel the weight of its gaze pressing down on her like a lead weight. It wanted her. It was hunting her.
The revenant stepped closer, and Penny felt something stir deep inside her—a burning, uncontrollable rage. It was different from the anger she carried every day. This was hotter, sharper, like fire coursing through her veins. She could feel it building, like a storm on the verge of breaking.
Without thinking, she lunged at the creature, fists flying toward its chest. But the revenant was fast—faster than anything she'd ever fought before. It dodged her easily, stepping aside with a fluid motion, its eyes glowing brighter as it hissed in delight.
Penny stumbled, but quickly regained her footing. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. She wasn't a stranger to a fight, but this was different. The way she moved, the way her body reacted—it was like something else was guiding her, something primal and powerful.
Another strike, this time faster, more precise. She didn't even know how she did it, but her fist connected with the revenant's chest, and the creature let out a low growl, stumbling back.
For a split second, Penny felt a surge of triumph. But it was short-lived. The revenant recovered quickly, its red eyes blazing with fury as it charged at her with inhuman speed.
Before Penny could react, the creature's hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her off the ground. Her vision blurred, and she gasped for air, her body flailing in its grip.
Then, just as suddenly as it had grabbed her, the revenant stopped. Its glowing eyes flicked to the side, and its grip loosened. Penny fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. She barely had time to recover before she saw him.
A man, standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the street outside. He wasn't tall, not by any means, but there was something about him that radiated authority. His long black coat billowed slightly as he stepped into the room, his boots clicking softly against the floor.
Penny squinted, trying to make out his features. His face was sharp, angular, with eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the darkness—purple, like smoke. And there was a weight to his presence, something heavy and ancient that made the room feel colder just by his being there.
"Who the hell—" Marco started, but the man cut him off with a glance.
"Inanis," the man said, his voice low and calm, directed at the revenant. "You aren't allowed here."
The revenant hissed, but it didn't move. In fact, it seemed... afraid. As if it knew exactly who it was dealing with. It backed away slowly, its eyes never leaving the man's.
"I'll handle this," the man said, his gaze shifting to Penny. "You're not ready yet."
And with that, he stepped forward, and Penny felt the weight of his words settle deep in her chest. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he knew something she didn't.