Darkness clung to the edges of Rhys Mensah's vision as he stirred awake. A dull, throbbing pain pounded against his skull, like a hammer striking steel. His limbs felt leaden, his body drenched in exhaustion so deep it clung to his bones. The air around him was thick with the stale scent of sweat, alcohol, and something faintly acrid, like scorched ash.
Where the hell am I?
Rhys exhaled sharply, his breath shallow. Forcing his eyes open, he was met with the sickly yellow glow of flickering motel light. Shadows stretched across the peeling walls, the air heavy with the lingering stench of old cigarettes, cheap detergent, and dampness. Above him, a ceiling fan churned with a slow, uneven creak - the only sound in the suffocating silence.
The world around him was hazy, the edges blurred like a half-remembered dream. He pushed himself upright, only to have a sharp, splitting pain lance through his skull. His stomach churned, the room tilting as if trying to drag him back under.
On the battered wooden table beside him, a half-empty bottle of whiskey lay discarded next to a smartphone. His gaze lingered on the phone, it's dark screen offering no answers, only the promise of time lost. He reached for it.
Thud!
Rhys barely had time to register the fall before he found himself on the grimy floor. His palms pressed against the cold, cracked concrete, the bitter taste of regret thick on his tongue.
Rhys winced and let out a slow, shaky exhale.
F**k me. Did I drink myself into oblivion again?
It wouldn't be the first time. Nights blurred together too easily when there was nothing to wake up for.
He planted one hand on the cold concrete, then the other, pushing with all the grace of a new-born calf. His legs buckled, knees violently knocking against the wooden table as the world seemingly lurched sideways. A laugh bubbled up in Rhys Mensah's throat—dry, humourless.
Snatching his phone from the table, he collapsed back onto the bed and switched on the screen.
4:44am
Too early, too late—what did it even matter? He shut the screen off and draped an arm over his face, trying to gather pieces of his mind
Haloway, your typical metropolis—noise, the unfamiliar cityscape, towering skyscrapers that made Rhys feel dizzy just by picturing them and the feeling of air cold enough to bite through his jacket. He had been out there, right? Looking for something… No, someone.
Just as the thought that person began occupying his mind, a strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. A faint whisper of movement, like something shifting just beyond his field of vision.
His gaze flicked to the corner of the room. The shadows there were too deep, darker than they should have been, pooling unnaturally like ink spilled onto the floor.
Rhys frowned. He blinked once. Twice.
The shadows rippled.
Huh!?
A sharp chill coiled around his spine, the air in the room suddenly feeling too still. He forced himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. His breath came uneven as he took an unsteady step forward.
Nothing. The corner of the room looked normal again.
He let out a slow breath, using the tip of his fingers to scratch his scalp.
I'm just seeing things. Probably still drunk… or hungover.
The air around him felt heavier, denser. The headache lingered, pulsing like a distant heartbeat.
Rhys made his way to the bathroom to shower, hoping to feel refreshed. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He had bigger problems to deal with. A name surfaced in his mind. One that had been missing for too long.
The Benefactor.
It had been five years since Rhys had last heard from him. The man had disappeared without a trace, and Rhys needed answers.
Even if it meant chasing ghosts.
He had an inkling as to what might've caused the Benefactor's disappearance.
Marauders.
Ten years ago, an inexplicable madness began sweeping through the world's largest cities. Ordinary people—random, unassuming citizens—started hearing strange whispers, murmurs that promised something greater. Heaven, they said. Salvation. At first, the authorities dismissed it as nothing more than a viral hoax—some elaborate prank spreading on the internet, stoked by bored teens.
But all that changed when a popular televangelist—one of the first to speak of the whispers—was caught live on air, delivering a sermon when he suddenly transformed into a grotesque, eight-foot monster. It tore through the crowd, slaughtering his disciples before the military finally intervened. Barely.
That was the first recorded Marauder.
Soon after, the madness spread. More and more people began to change, their bodies mutated into monstrosities, their minds consumed by the whispers. Major cities fell into chaos as military forces struggled to control the outbreak and nations all over the world abolished the concept of borders and united as one against a common threat.
This fast-tracked technological advancements at an astonishing rate, pushing the world into a new age. But it still wasn't enough.
Just when the world seemed on the brink of the apocalypse, another strange occurrence happened—Revenants.
Ordinary people, seemingly unaffected by the madness, began to develop extraordinary abilities. Some said they were born to fight back, others claimed they were the chosen ones, destined to bring balance. Either way, the Revenants became the world's last defence against the Marauders.
But for Rhys Mensah, it all felt like something from a fantasy novel.
He came from a small town, far removed from the violence, the chaos and the powers that had reshaped the world. He'd only heard stories, seen the economic ripples, but none of it felt real—not until now. Now, with the Benefactor's name hanging in the air, Rhys couldn't ignore it.
If he was going to find him, it meant stepping into a world he never thought would touch him. A world of madness, monsters, and extraordinary heroes far beyond his understanding.
But why did Rhys only decide to look for the Benefactor five years after his disappearance? Simple. He didn't know where to start. That is until recently when he received an anonymous text message with an address which led him to Haloway, the biggest metropolis on the central continent.
Rhys grabbed his coat, the cold fabric a reminder that time was slipping away. He couldn't afford to waste another moment. The Benefactor had been missing for five years, but now, Rhys felt a pull in his gut—something was different.
Before Rhys left he confirmed the time which was 6:30am.
He shoved the door open and stepped out into the chilled morning air. The streets of Haloway were eerily quiet at this hour, the hum of neon signs the only sound breaking the stillness. He pulled up the map on his phone again, making his way to the address—a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It had been a dead end the first time Rhys checked, but something about today seemed promising. Maybe the Benefactor had left behind a clue. Maybe he'd been there recently.
As he approached the subway station, an odd excitement fluttered in his chest. He'd never ridden the subway before. This was a new experience, a strange little adventure in the midst of a crumbling world.
He stepped up to the ticket booth, glancing at the machine in front of him.
"Hey," he said, turning to the man behind the counter. "How do I pay for this?"
The attendant, a man in his mid-thirties with a bored expression, looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"You've never ridden the subway?" he asked, voice thick with disbelief.
Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. "No, small town… you know how it is. So, what do I do?"
The attendant sighed, gesturing toward the machine. "You either use the machine or swipe a transit card. It's the same as anywhere else."
Rhys blinked, confusion still clouding his thoughts. "Swipe a card? Like a credit card?"
"No, man. A metro card. You gotta load it up first."
"Oh… right," Rhys muttered, realizing how out of his element he was. "And how much is it?"
"Four bucks for a single ride," the attendant said, barely hiding his amusement.
Rhys hesitated, then fumbled for a crumpled bill in his pocket. He inserted it into the machine and waited, but it immediately spat it back out. He stared at it, dumbfounded.
The attendant raised an eyebrow. "Really? You've never even used cash before?"
Rhys let out a nervous laugh. "No, I've used cash. Just… not for this."
A soft chuckle escaped the attendant as he swiped his card through the machine. "Here. Just get one of these cards next time. Makes it easier."
Rhys nodded sheepishly and shuffled past, feeling like an idiot.
The subway car was nearly empty, save for a few homeless people sleeping on the seats. Rhys felt uneasy sitting next to them, so he stayed on his feet, clutching the metal pole. His eyes scanned the train—a couple of people here and there, but nothing remarkable. At least, until a girl caught his attention.
She was standing by the door, her messy bangs falling over her dark eyes. She looked young—maybe sixteen—but there was something else about her.
Nope. Can't be caught staring at a minor on the subway.
Rhys tried focusing elsewhere when his thoughts were interrupted by a strange buzz in his ear—like whispers, soft and indecipherable. He winced, trying to shake it off, but the sound wouldn't go away. It was as if something was inside his head.
His gaze flicked to the girl. She was staring at him now, her expression unreadable.
Shit.
Rhys cleared his throat, trying to break the tension.
"Cold morning," he started awkwardly, glancing over at the girl. "You headed out this early too?"
She didn't answer at first. Then, after a beat, she nodded. "I'm usually never up this early but today is special I guess."
He chuckled awkwardly, his fingers twitching. "You sure are punctual for a teenager."
A small smirk tugged at her lips, but she didn't say anything more.
"What about you?" she asked, voice sharp as a needle. "Where are you headed?"
Rhys hesitated. What was he supposed to say? That he was looking for the man who basically raised him but didn't know much about him?
"Outta town," he said, trying to sound casual. "It might turn out to be a special day for me as well."
Her eyes flickered with interest, but she gave nothing away. "Good for you, I guess." she said, her tone flat.
Rhys was about to respond when a loud clattering sound filled the subway car.
The elderly woman's purse hit the floor, the clatter of its contents scattering across the train. Papers, coins, and a small lipstick bottle rolled away in different directions.
The girl was the first to move, darting forward to help. Rhys hesitated, standing frozen for a moment before he followed her with his eyes.
"Thank you, my child," the old woman said, her voice faint and raspy.
The girl nodded, her expression flat. "No problem," she muttered, her gaze darting over the woman, flicking away quickly as if something was off.
Rhys was still taking in the scene in front of him. And then, the smell.
It came in suddenly, a faint, acrid scent—like something burning just out of reach. Rhys' stomach tightened, and his nose twitched. He couldn't place it. A metallic tang. A touch of smoke. But it was there, unmistakable. It lingered in the air like a bad omen.
His breath caught in his throat, and the train car seemed to grow heavier, the air denser. He looked around, searching for the source. A few others were shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but no one said anything.
"Such a refined young woman," the old woman muttered again, her voice cracking, before trailing off.
The old woman slowly bent down, still mumbling softly, as she retrieved the last of her belongings. Rhys couldn't help but notice how her fingers trembled slightly as she fumbled with the purse.
"Such... a...ref... wom—"
Her voice distorted. The words slipped, warping into something unnatural—nightmarish.
The old woman's body began to convulse and wet cracking resounded as her bones were being broken and reassembled.
Her skin rippled, dark purple veins bulging beneath the surface like thick cords of rope. Her mouth stretched too wide as her teeth grew—sharp and jagged, yellowish fluid dripping from them. The edges of her form seemed to fragment, almost like she was melting into something else.
Rhys froze. His blood ran cold, his entire body locking up in horror. The woman was changing—transforming—right before his eyes.
The girl beside him flinched back, her eyes wide, her mouth parting as if to scream, but no sound came. She staggered, looking at the woman in confusion, fear creeping over her face.
The air in the train car seemed to thicken, heavy with the stench of burnt flesh. The woman's hands trembled as they reached for the girl, but the fingers—no longer just fingers—were now claws, jagged and dark, like twisted branches of some old tree.
The girl took a step back, her eyes flashing with confusion—or was it fear? Rhys couldn't tell. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman, whose body was now shuddering, breaking, transforming into something monstrous, something not of this world.
She lunged.
A sharp, desperate gasp escaped the girl's lips as the monstrous woman's claws swiped toward her. Time seemed to slow, stretching out like an eternity. Rhys was frozen, his legs useless, his mind screaming at him to move. But he couldn't.
The girl—she was going to die.