Chapter 23: The Calm Before the Chaos
The sky hung low over the city, a heavy grey that threatened rain but held back, as if waiting for the dust to settle. Morgan stepped out of the dim barracks into the eerie silence of a broken landscape. The fight with Ryan was over, but the echoes of it remained—fractured streets, debris scattered across roads, and hushed whispers from survivors peeking through the cracks. Buildings that once stood tall now leaned like drunks, sagging under their own weight.
Morgan adjusted his collar, brushing off the fine layer of dust that had settled on his coat. A breeze swept through, carrying the faint scent of blood, burnt asphalt, and fear. It reminded him of the aftermath of a battle long ago—a different war but the same brokenness.
His boots crunched over shattered glass as he surveyed the scene. For now, the streets were quiet, but chaos simmered beneath the surface. The kid, Pod, had slipped away. A troublesome one, Morgan thought, frowning. Pod was different—not just in power but in potential. He wasn't sure whether that made him an asset or a problem.
"You're finally awake," came Jane's voice, cutting through his thoughts. She leaned against an overturned car nearby, cigarette in hand, watching him like a cat watching prey. Her short-cropped hair was messy, and her sharp eyes gleamed with their usual mix of mischief and wariness. "Took you long enough. Dreaming about old times?"
Morgan gave a small grunt in response, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. "What's the status?" he asked, deliberately avoiding her question.
Jane blew out a stream of smoke and flicked ash onto the ground. "Ryan's still unconscious—stable for now. Your little rescue act knocked him out cold. But the other one," she paused, a trace of annoyance in her voice, "Pod… got away. Slippery kid."
Morgan grimaced but said nothing. Pod's escape wasn't ideal, but there was no point in chasing after him now. He was more interested in what Pod would become—and how soon.
"Think we'll catch him?" Jane asked casually, though there was an edge to her tone. She never liked unanswered questions, and right now, Pod was a walking one.
"We don't need to catch him yet," Morgan replied, his gaze distant. "He'll come back—one way or another."
Jane shrugged, unconvinced. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll come back a monster, like your boy over there." She jerked her chin toward the alley where Ryan lay unconscious.
Morgan followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing. The kid had transformed faster than anyone expected—raw strength, mad speed, teleportation—but no control. And control was everything. Without it, Ryan was just another beast waiting to be put down.
"You still think you can bring him back?" Jane asked, as if reading his thoughts.
Morgan didn't answer. Instead, he moved past her, making his way toward the alley. The remnants of Ryan's black aura flickered faintly, the energy clinging to him like an aftertaste of something bitter. His body twitched and trembled even in unconsciousness, as though the power inside him wasn't done fighting.
Kneeling beside the kid, Morgan studied him for a moment. Beneath the bruises and scars, Ryan looked young—too young to carry that kind of burden. But the glow in his veins, even in sleep, told a different story.
"He's not the only one losing control," Jane murmured behind him, her voice low.
Morgan's jaw tightened. She wasn't wrong. Control was slipping everywhere—Pod, Ryan, the churches, the streets. Even within himself.
He reached into the pocket of his coat, feeling the cold glass of the vial beneath his fingertips. The iridescent liquid inside shimmered faintly, casting strange patterns against the glass.
Jane raised an eyebrow, watching him with a keen interest. "What's that?"
"Nothing," Morgan said flatly, slipping the vial deeper into his coat.
She gave him a knowing look but didn't press further. "You know, one of these days, you're going to have to trust someone," she said casually, lighting another cigarette.
Morgan ignored her. The drug was his secret—his crutch. It dulled the darkness inside him just enough to keep him sane. It gave him clarity, strength, and most importantly, control. Without it, he feared he would spiral just like Ryan—or worse, like Ted.
The memory of his brother lingered, sharp and unforgiving. Ted had fallen first, succumbing to the power they both carried. And Morgan had been forced to watch as the churches twisted his brother into a weapon, a tool for their wars. The thought of becoming what Ted had become made Morgan's stomach turn.
He clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm. No. He wouldn't let that happen. Not to him, and not to Ryan.
"Come on," he muttered, rising to his feet. "We've got work to do."
Jane followed him without a word, her cigarette trailing smoke behind her. As they walked away from the alley, Ryan groaned, stirring from his unconscious state. Morgan glanced over his shoulder but kept walking.
"Think he'll be ready?" Jane asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice.
Morgan didn't slow his stride. "He doesn't have a choice."
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their boots the only noise in the empty streets. The city stretched out before them, a maze of ruins and broken dreams. Somewhere in that maze, Pod was out there—running, hiding, changing. Becoming something new.
And Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that when they met again, it wouldn't be the same boy he had let slip away.
"You ever think," Jane began slowly, "that maybe we're all just waiting for the next war? Like this whole thing—us, the churches, the Choujins—it's all just building toward something worse?"
Morgan glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "It's not waiting," he said quietly. "It's already started."