Lycius woke to silence.
His mind was a cloud of confusion, like a broken mirror with shards of disjointed thoughts. Cold metal beneath his skin. His throat, dry and cracked. The faint scent of something foul in the air. He opened his eyes.
Nothing.
His surroundings were swallowed by a thick fog that curled in every direction. His body ached as if he hadn't moved in years. A sharp, disorienting pain flooded his senses, and he gasped, blinking against the haze. He looked down at his hands, fingers trembling as they brushed against the smooth, metallic surface he had been lying on.
Where am I?
He pushed himself up, his legs shaky. The fog was suffocating, yet somehow it made everything look unreal, as if he were trapped in a nightmare. The city around him stretched into nothingness, half-dissolved in the mist.
He stumbled forward, his feet dragging through the fog. The world seemed frozen in time, yet the weight of something terrible was pressing on him from every angle. No sounds. Not even a whisper. His breath came shallow, lungs gasping for air that felt too thin.
Where is everyone?
His pulse quickened as a chilling realization swept over him: he was alone. The city, once bustling with life, had become a ghost of its former self. Abandoned buildings loomed like decaying monuments to a forgotten past, their cracked windows reflecting only emptiness. Every street was lifeless, every corner devoid of even the faintest trace of human presence.
He reached the edge of a narrow alley. His senses screamed at him to stay away, but something tugged at him, as if a thread of fate was pulling him deeper into the forgotten heart of the city. Lycius hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward.
The first thing he saw was the bodies.
They were scattered across the cobblestone streets, twisted and contorted in unnatural positions. Faces frozen in expressions of terror, their bodies abandoned as if life had simply abandoned them. He felt a gnawing emptiness in his chest. They had all died here. But why?
The stench of death was suffocating, clinging to the air like a thick, rancid fog. He turned away, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. As he moved further, the veins in his left eye seemed to throb. He reached up, his fingers brushing the skin. The veins were black, pulsing, spreading. A sickening sense of dread crept up his spine as he traced the lines, the pulsating marks on his face. They weren't just veins-something was wrong with him.
His right eye felt... different, almost as if it had been stolen and replaced. But his left... the black veins twisted in grotesque patterns, running like rivers beneath his skin. He stumbled back, trying to steady himself. What was happening?
His mind raced, trying to recall anything that could explain this. The city-the bodies-the fog-it all felt like a bad dream, one that he couldn't escape. His breathing quickened. A faint whisper curled in the back of his mind.
It's not over yet.
But who? Who was speaking?
Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, a sharp pain seized his left eye. His vision blurred for a moment, the world around him twisting and warping. He cried out, clutching his head. And then, in an instant, everything shifted. The fog parted, revealing something else beneath the surface-a pulse, an energy, a vast, throbbing core that seemed to reverberate through his bones.
The world was alive.
He blinked, his gaze snapping to the source of the pulse: the veins beneath the surface of the city. They spread like roots, coursing through the buildings, through the earth, through the very heart of the land itself. It was like the city had become a living organism, its veins stretching into the horizon, reaching out in every direction.
Mundo.
The name echoed in his mind, sudden and clear. Mundo-this was the world's name. Not a city. Not a city at all, but an entire world. It was more than just a place; it was a being, a living, breathing entity.
The shock of the realization nearly paralyzed him. This wasn't just an abandoned city-this was the dying heart of the planet. And somehow, he was connected to it.
His gaze dropped to the ground. At first, it seemed like another body, but the closer he got, the more he realized it was something else. A strange, dark substance oozed from the cracks in the cobblestones, pulsing in rhythm with the veins beneath the earth.
Lycius fell to his knees. He could feel it now, the hum of energy beneath him, beneath everything. The pulse in his veins matched the pulse in the world itself. The two were intertwined.
But where had the people gone?
He pushed himself to his feet, panic gnawing at him. His legs shook, but he kept moving, drawn by some invisible force deeper into the heart of the city. The fog had thickened again, swirling around him like a living thing, and the distant sound of something-someone-moved in the distance. His heart beat faster, his breath shallow.
Was he truly alone?
He reached the city center, where the towering spires of the central building stretched upward like jagged teeth in the mist. The fog parted as he approached, revealing a massive gaping hole in the earth. It looked like a wound in the very world. Blood-red light glowed from within, casting long shadows across the ruins of the once-thriving metropolis.
And then he saw it.
A figure stood at the edge of the hole, silhouetted against the pulsing light. The figure was tall, draped in tattered robes, its face hidden beneath a hood. In that moment, Lycius knew this figure was not human. It was something else entirely, something ancient, something that had been waiting for him.
Lycius took a step forward, his heart thundering in his chest. The figure turned toward him, and for the first time, Lycius felt the full weight of his abnormal sight.
Through his left eye, he could see the veins-black, writhing, alive, growing. The world was no longer a simple place. It was a vast, pulsating being, and he was part of it.
The figure spoke, its voice a low, guttural whisper that seemed to vibrate the very air around him.
"It has begun."
Lycius froze. He didn't understand, but the words felt like a summons, like a chain being tugged on his soul.
"Who are you?" Lycius demanded, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The figure's lips curled into a smile beneath the hood. "I am what remains. The last of the forgotten."
Lycius stepped closer, his pulse racing. He could feel the pull of the city's pulse deep in his bones, drawing him toward the figure.
"Explain. What happened here?"
The figure tilted its head, as if considering his question. "The city... the world... it was alive. And it died. But not before it created you."
"Created me?" Lycius felt a chill crawl up his spine. "What do you mean?"
"The veins. They are not just veins. They are the lifeblood of this world. And you, Lycius, are the key."
His mind raced, trying to process the impossible. The city, the world-it was all connected by the veins. And somehow, his sight-his abnormal vision-was tied to it all.
"What do you want from me?" Lycius asked, his voice shaking.
The figure's smile deepened, a glint of something dark in its eyes. "I do not want anything. But you... you have the power to heal or destroy this world. The veins that course through your body-through the city-are the last remnant of its life. Only you can decide."
Lycius took a step back. "But how?"
"You will see. In time."
The figure turned away, its form blending back into the fog as if it had never been there. The city shuddered beneath him, a strange hum reverberating through the streets.
Lycius stood alone once more, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His left eye throbbed, the veins stretching, pulsing, alive. Something deep within him stirred-something ancient, something that had been awakened by the darkness, by the dying city.
And as the fog curled around him, Lycius realized the truth.
The city was alive. And so was he.
And the veins of the Hollow City were the only thing that could save-or destroy-the world of Mundo.