Midnight bled into morning as Mat and I tore through the empty streets, our breath ragged, our footsteps echoing against the hollow silence of the city. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else. Streetlights flickered above us, casting weak, dying halos of yellow. Storefronts stood abandoned, their broken windows twisting our reflections into something monstrous.
We ducked into a narrow alleyway, gasping for breath. My legs burned, but stopping wasn't an option. Mat's hand was still in mine, his grip trembling, his knuckles white. Neither of us spoke, but we both knew the truth—we had to keep running. We had to get as far away from the orphanage as possible.
The subway entrance loomed ahead, a gaping mouth leading into the city's underbelly. At this hour, the tunnels should have been silent, abandoned. But the moment we slipped into the dimly lit corridors, I felt it—a presence, vast and ancient, lurking in the shadows.
Then came the sound.
A deep, deliberate clomp. Hooves on concrete.
I turned, and there it was. Stepping into the weak glow of a subway lamp stood a nightmare carved from myth. Nearly eight feet tall, broad and corded with muscle, its bull's head loomed above us, steam curling from flared nostrils. Red eyes burned in the darkness. Its horns—thick, cracked with age—jutted forward like jagged blades, ready to impale anything in its path.
A Minotaur.
Mat stumbled back, eyes wide with terror. "W-what the hell is that?" he stammered.
Before I could answer, the creature let out a roar that shook the tunnel, rattling loose tiles and sending shivers down my spine. I grabbed Mat and shoved him behind me as we bolted, sprinting down the tracks. The Minotaur followed, its hooves pounding against the ground, each step closing the distance between us.
I searched desperately for something—anything—to fight back. But all I saw were crumbling walls, graffiti-covered pillars, and endless shadows.
And then, out of nowhere, three figures appeared ahead of me.
They weren't running. They were strolling. As if this was just a late-night walk.
I knew them. I'd seen them before. Not in real life—but in my dreams, in my visions.
They looked human, dressed in normal clothes, but they radiated something otherworldly. Something only I could see.
The first one, Zeus, had piercing blue eyes and a smirk that screamed arrogance. "A Minotaur? Not bad," he mused. "Kid's got himself a monster problem. Perfect for a little lightning demonstration."
The second, Beach Guy, crossed his arms. "Right, because electricity is so useful against solid muscle," he scoffed. "Water's subtler. Let me handle it."
The third, Halloween Guy, gave a lazy grin, his dark eyes glinting. "Amateurs. This is clearly my domain—death, darkness, underworld? I'll wrap this up before you can blink."
I stared at them, exasperated. "Uh, hello? Instead of arguing, maybe help me not die?"
The Minotaur let out another earth-shaking bellow, charging forward.
And that, dear reader, is probably where you're wondering:
Why am I fighting a monster at 2 a.m.?
Why are the Greek gods casually hovering over me?
Well… to explain that, we need to go back to the beginning.
Back to where I first had the first vision of them....
...
I adjusted the hood of my costume, letting the black fabric drape over my face like creeping shadows. Tonight, I was Death—or as close as an orphan with a secondhand Halloween costume could get. The cloak was tattered, the plastic scythe dull from years of rough handling, but for one night, they were mine. And if I imagined hard enough, I could feel power humming in my bones, as if I really was the cloaked harbinger of souls.
I walked through the neighborhood, past the cracked sidewalks and flickering streetlamps, when something strange caught my eye.
A house.
I was sure it hadn't been there before. It stood apart from the others—not newer, not older, just… different. The shutters hung at odd angles, the wooden steps creaked under an invisible weight, and the brass door knocker, shaped like a skull, gleamed in the dim porch light.
A chill prickled down my spine.
Something about this place wanted me to be here.
I swallowed hard and knocked.
The door swung open before I even touched it.
A man stood there, grinning as if he'd been expecting me. He was older, with silver-streaked hair sticking up in wild waves, like he'd just rolled off a couch. His mismatched vest looked thrown together, his wine-stained shirt loose at the collar. But his eyes—they were too bright, too knowing, like they saw straight through me.
"Well, well!" he said, his voice rich with amusement. "Look who's here! Halloween, eh? Best night of the year!"
Before I could step back, he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.
"Wait—hey, I—" My protest died in my throat as the door shut behind me.
The house was alive.
Deep red velvet draped the walls, the candlelight flickering in unnatural patterns. Shadows stretched and twisted, moving even when nothing else did. A massive mirror loomed in the entryway, reflecting me in eerie clarity. My costume didn't look cheap in the glass—it looked real. As if the Reaper's cloak wasn't just fabric, but something woven into me.
The man chuckled, as if I'd said something funny. "No need to panic, lad. You're perfectly safe."
His gaze sharpened. "Alec, right?"
I froze.
"…How do you know my name?"
His grin widened. "I know many things. A gift, a curse—who's to say?" He clapped me on the back, his touch unnervingly warm. "More importantly, I need your help."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My mind was still trying to make sense of everything.
The man sighed, rubbing his temple. "Ah, but first—priorities." He grabbed a nearby decanter and frowned when he found it empty. "Tsk. Empty again."
Then, as if this was completely normal, he called into the air, "Another drink, please!"
Before I could ask who he was talking to, a ghost drifted into the room.
I stumbled back, my pulse hammering. The transparent figure floated silently, carrying a bottle and a glass. The man barely glanced at it.
"Startled, are we?" He patted the air where the ghost lingered. "Meet Casper." He snorted. "Kidding, of course. Don't know his real name, but he pours a damn fine drink."
I could only stare as the spectral figure filled his glass. The man toasted in its direction, took a generous sip, then turned back to me, his expression shifting—lighter, yet heavier at the same time.
"Now, about that help I mentioned…" He studied me, the humor in his face giving way to something ancient, something that made my stomach twist.
"One day soon, Alec, you'll have a choice to make. And when that day comes… I do hope you'll agree to be my vessel."
My blood turned to ice.
"…Your what?"
"You'll understand," he said simply, his face half-lit by candlelight, half-swallowed by shadow.
Then, before I could demand more—the world shattered.
The rich crimson walls, the flickering candles, the eerie mirror—all of it dissolved into peeling wallpaper and cracked ceilings. The air turned stale, the warmth replaced by the cold reality of the orphanage dormitory.
I blinked, dazed, as the sharp voice of Mrs. Carter sliced through the dream like a dagger.
"Alec! Wake up! Daydreaming again, are we? Up, up! Time to earn your keep!"
I gasped, sitting upright. My fingers curled into the threadbare blanket, my pulse still racing.
A dream.
But it didn't feel like one.