Chapter 9 : "Echoes Beneath"
The city breathed beneath him — not in rhythm, not in peace, but in layers. Metal, oil, concrete, desperation. Victor von Doom sat at the ledge of the rooftop, cloak folded beneath him, gaze locked on the skyline. It was late, well past midnight, and most of the noise had thinned into scattered engines and the occasional siren. But the anomaly's hum remained.
Faint. Shifting.
Moving.
It had nudged northwest. Not far. Perhaps five or six blocks.
A test? A signal? Or bait?
Victor wasn't sure. But he intended to find out.
He stood, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves. The air tasted different tonight — less smog, more static. A subtle charge building.
As he descended through the fire escape and out into the alley, he didn't wear a mask. Not yet. Doom, as a figure, had not been born in this world. Not officially. But he was taking shape.
The streetlights flickered as he passed. One even died, briefly, before sputtering back to life. A trick of his presence, perhaps. Or a sign of something deeper.
---
Half an hour later, Victor reached the anomaly's new coordinates: an abandoned subway access stairwell half-covered in trash bags and disused scaffolding. The fencing around it bore rust and city warnings — "DANGER: STRUCTURAL UNSAFE" — but those were just surface lies. The pulse came from below.
He stood silently at the threshold, then spoke.
"System. Analyze depth and source triangulation."
> [Analyzing… Anomaly Source: Subterranean. Approx. 45 meters deep. Possible tunnel network or sealed infrastructure.]
[Composition: 30% psionic resonance, 25% unknown energy, 45% background field interference.]
Victor's brow furrowed.
Psionic resonance? Not magic, not cosmic. Something mental. Something old.
And unknown energy? That was what intrigued him most.
He activated his passive reinforcement, kicked aside the old caution sign, and began his descent.
---
The steps were cracked and partially collapsed in places, but Victor's balance — now enhanced subtly by his kinetic manipulation — kept him upright. The smell of mildew, wet earth, and old rust filled the air. He paused as he reached the first landing, his boots crunching over broken glass.
Below, water dripped.
Not rhythmically. Sporadic. Uneven.
Then the whisper came.
Not a voice. Not in words.
Just… a tug.
Victor stopped.
> [Alert: Psionic signature intensity rising. Now at 0.26. Recalibrating ambient defenses.]
He did not speak aloud. Instead, he pressed a single command with his mind: "Enhance mental shielding."
> [Mental Resistance Protocol engaged. Willpower modifier +2 temporarily applied.]
The pull faded slightly. Manageable, now.
---
At the base of the stairs, the space opened into a sealed-off maintenance platform. The subway rails had long since been torn out. Dust coated the floor. Mismatched graffiti decorated the concrete like some kind of cultural scab. A single flickering bulb still glowed in the far corner, swinging faintly despite the absence of wind.
Victor approached the center of the platform.
Then paused.
The floor bore a large circular scorch mark, barely visible under the grime. Blackened edges. Burn pattern curved outward, as if something had erupted from beneath.
Or landed hard.
And at the center… an indentation.
Roughly the size of a fist.
He knelt and traced it with gloved fingers. Not an impact crater — not exactly. There were patterns around it. Symbols?
He brushed aside more dust.
Not symbols. Fragments of script. Carved hastily into the concrete. Half-erased by time and damage. One glyph still intact enough to read:
𐤀𐤃𐤍
(Translation: Anchor)
He didn't recognize the language — not from Earth. But the System buzzed faintly in response.
> [Unknown relic signature detected.]
So it was here.
Once.
But it had been removed.
Victor stood, thoughts already unfolding like blueprints.
Some kind of artifact.
Psionic. Deep-energy encoded. Possibly extraterrestrial or extradimensional in origin. Perhaps one of the "lost relics" the System vaguely alluded to in earlier murmurs. He had assumed the mention of relics was distant-future material. But clearly, the game board was already in motion.
What disturbed him more was the fact that he hadn't been the first to discover it.
Someone had been here.
Extracted the object.
Left traces behind.
And hadn't triggered anything significant — not yet. Which meant either they didn't know what they had…
…or they did and wanted it kept quiet.
Victor clenched a fist. No witnesses. No legends. No local news report of any mysterious discovery. This was beneath the radar. Deliberately.
He activated his full detection suite.
> [Activating Enhanced Energy Mapping… Processing...]
[One additional signature found. Human. No longer present. Temporal residue: 3.6 days old.]
Interesting. Recent.
And still nothing in public circulation.
Either this person had no idea what they'd found…
…or someone was covering for them.
Victor's eyes narrowed. "No witnesses," he murmured. "And yet no aftermath. This was not an accident."
He rose slowly.
---
As he returned to street level, the city remained indifferent — its chaos undisturbed by the slow uncoiling of deeper truths beneath its foundations.
But Victor knew.
The world had already begun to move.
And now, he wasn't chasing power blindly. Now, he had a trail.
The first relic was real.
And it had slipped through his fingers.
---
Back in his temporary residence, Victor stood before a makeshift workbench — reassembled from scavenged industrial scraps and reinforced with kinetic bonding. He lit a single lamp.
One corner of the wall now bore a map.
Pins. Strings. Dates. Lines.
At its center, a mark labeled "Relic #1 – Anchor Site".
Beside it, a note: Retrieve or neutralize possessor. Trace vector.
Above it all, a single phrase, inked in precise handwriting:
Only Doom may command the impossible.
Victor placed a new marker beside it.
This wasn't just training anymore.
It was a hunt.