The city of Virelia never truly slept.
Even in the deep hours of the night, when the towers of Blackridge dimmed their artificial stars, something always stirred. Lights blinked through shuttered blinds. Steam curled from rusted vents. Distant engines growled. Life, unrelenting, kept moving.
But tonight, Virelia was watching.
Not its people. Not its sensors or its overworked Hunters or underpaid agents.
No, something beneath its streets was breathing again.
And it had a name now.
Crispin David.
He sat at the edge of his mattress, chest bare, sweat drying into a cold sheen across his skin. The Echo that wore Arlen's voice still knelt before him.
"You're not him," Crispin said.
"No," the Echo replied. "But I remember him."
Crispin couldn't tear his eyes away. The shape of Arlen's face, the slant of his jaw, the crooked tilt of his lips—perfect. Too perfect. But the eyes weren't quite right. They glowed with faint blue light, like all his summoned dead.
"I didn't summon you," Crispin said again, more to himself this time.
"No. I came of my own will."
That froze him. Echoes didn't do that. Couldn't do that.
"Echoes don't choose," he said, voice flat.
The Arlen-shade tilted its head. "But Kings don't summon. They call."
Crispin stood, rage building under his skin, his hands shaking.
"I didn't want any of this."
"I know."
"I just wanted to be strong enough to survive."
"You are," the Echo said. "But survival isn't the goal anymore."
Crispin stared, unable to answer.
Outside, the sky cracked.
Lightning without thunder, light without heat. The kind of crack that made mothers check their doors and Hunters check their weapons. It was a ripple. A warning.
Another Gate had opened.
No, not a Gate.
Three. Simultaneously.
And none of them were sanctioned by the Guild.
Crispin's Echoes turned toward the window in perfect unison.
He followed their gaze.
In the distance, high above the skyscrapers, three red tears blinked open in the air like open wounds. One in Northpoint. One in East Hollow. One—he staggered.
One in Elder's Row.
That's where Yara was.
His sister.
He didn't remember leaving the apartment.
One minute he was in his room, the next he was racing through Blackridge's twisted alleyways like a shadow in motion, his boots hitting pavement so hard they cracked tile.
People shouted after him. Sirens flared. But he didn't stop.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't think.
His heart was a drum. His mind, a scream. And over it all, the System whispered updates in chilling calm:
[Gate Activity Detected: Elder's Row]
[Entity Presence: Watcher-Class. Level: Unknown]
[Civilians: 217. At risk.]
[Survivability Assessment: 0.2%]
He hit the corner and vaulted over a gate into the neighborhood he'd once called home.
It looked exactly the same.
Worse, even.
The brick hadn't been cleaned in years. The lamp posts flickered. The same cracked benches. The same smell of fried plantains from old Mrs. Mela's shop on the corner. And in the middle of it all, a red Gate floated like a demon's eye in the sky.
Right over Yara's school.
Crispin's legs moved before the rest of him did.
He sprinted toward the front gate.
A burst of black mist exploded from a classroom window as a shriek erupted—high, sharp, not human.
Not Yara.
Something else.
His hand raised instinctively. "Arise."
No hesitation.
No command.
It was reflex now.
Six Echoes emerged at once, all black and cold and perfect in formation. The Crawler among them. The twin spears of the Deadguard. A nimble, slashed-up assassin named Vesk. They flanked him without order. He pointed.
"Inside."
They obeyed.
Crispin followed.
The building interior was chaos. Glass everywhere. Smoke from a fire that hadn't started. Screams in the walls. Blood in places blood shouldn't be.
He kicked a door in and—
"Yara!"
Her name ripped from his throat like a curse and a prayer.
He saw her.
Trapped under a broken table. Covered in chalk dust and glass. Her hands trembling, her mouth gagged with fear.
She looked at him and burst into sobs.
But she was alive.
Crispin moved before thinking, lifting the table with ease. She flung her arms around his neck and shook.
"Shh," he whispered. "I've got you. I've got you. I've got you."
Then the air bent.
It wasn't a noise. It was a folding of sound itself. Like someone had snapped a violin string across the world.
And something entered the room behind them.
It wasn't human.
It wasn't Echo.
It was the Watcher.
Not the one from the Pit. This one was leaner. Quieter. Less monstrous. More… deliberate.
Its face was a void. Its limbs were wrapped in velvet chains. Its eyes were fractured mirrors that showed every fear Crispin had ever had.
He stood.
Placed Yara behind him.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
The Watcher regarded him. Tilted its head.
And then, it moved.
Crispin lunged forward.
Blade drawn. Shadows swirling.
"Protect her!" he bellowed.
His Echoes swarmed the creature, buying him seconds.
Only seconds.
It tore through them like smoke through paper.
Vesk went first—snapped in half.
The Deadguard next—crushed under invisible weight.
The Crawler got a hit in.
Just one.
And it bled.
Crispin saw it.
The Watcher bled black fire.
And it screamed.
He pushed forward. Sword angled low. Slammed into the creature's ribs.
The blow didn't kill it.
But it hurt it.
Which meant it could die.
He swung again.
This time the creature vanished.
Reappeared behind him.
Its claws slashed across his back.
Pain screamed through him.
He staggered, dropped to a knee.
Yara screamed his name.
He looked up and saw the Watcher advancing toward her.
And in that moment—
He didn't hesitate.
He tore open the seal.
In his soul.
In the System.
Somewhere deep beneath Virelia, something woke up.
[Emergency Protocol Unlocked.]
[Binding Key: Hollow King]
[Seal Break Authorization: Confirmed.]
[Unsealing: GOD-TIER ECHO – NAME UNKNOWN.]
[Risk Level: Catastrophic.]
[Warning: This Echo cannot be controlled.]
He didn't care.
He screamed the word like it was the only one he'd ever known.
"ARISE!"
The world split.
No, not just the world.
Reality.
Everything cracked.
The floor. The ceiling. The Gate overhead.
A pulse erupted from him.
The Watcher turned—
—and froze.
Because from the ground below, a hand emerged.
Pale. Massive. Covered in divine chains.
It pulled itself up.
First the shoulder.
Then the crown of a horned skull.
Then—
It stepped free.
A being of ash and gold. Taller than mountains. Bound by scripture etched into its skin. Its voice thundered through time.
"I AM THAT WHICH WAS DENIED A NAME."
The Watcher backed away.
It feared this one.
Crispin collapsed to one knee, blood pouring from his nose.
The god-tier Echo looked at him. Saw him.
And then obeyed.
"Your enemy?" it asked, voice like thunder.
Crispin pointed.
The Watcher hissed and vanished again.
Too slow.
The Echo moved like fate given flesh.
It grabbed the creature by the throat, dragged it out of phase, and unraveled it.
Not killed.
Not erased.
It was undone.
Unmade.
Reality stitched itself back together with a sound like weeping metal.
The red Gate above shattered into stardust.
The air stilled.
Yara ran to him. Hugged him tight.
And the Echo—what remained of it—knelt beside them.
"I await the next command, Hollow King."
Crispin passed out before he could answer.
---
When he awoke, he was in the Guild infirmary.
Yara was asleep in a chair next to him.
His Echoes were gone, dismissed.
And above him, watching from the shadows, was a woman he didn't recognize.
Her suit was tailored. Her eyes were cybernetic. Her left hand was covered in crimson runes.
"You're awake," she said, voice clipped.
"Who the fuck are you?" Crispin rasped.
She offered a faint smile.
"My name is Revenna. I work for the Watchtower."
"I've never heard of it."
"Good. That means we're still doing our job."
He tried to sit up. She raised a hand and pushed him gently back.
"You summoned something that hasn't walked this plane since the Divine War. That... is not something we can ignore."
"I saved my sister."
She nodded. "And doomed the boundaries between life and death in the process."
Crispin narrowed his eyes. "So what now?"
Revenna sighed.
"You'll come with me. You'll learn what you really are. What you can really do. Before they come for you again."
"Who?"
She looked out the window.
"They call themselves the Sovereigns. The ones who ruled before the System. They've felt your power. And they want to kill you before you find your throne."
Crispin looked down at his hand.
It was shaking.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
Because for the first time since all of this began—he felt like he knew what he was becoming.
And it wasn't human.
Not anymore.