The cold never left. It wrapped around Coker like a second skin, crawling beneath his flesh and settling deep in his bones. Even in the cramped apartment he barely called home, the chill lingered, reminding him of the darkness inside.
Coker sat on the cracked edge of a broken concrete step outside his building, staring at his hands. They were scarred and rough like always, but now, beneath his skin, the strange black energy hummed and writhed. It felt alive — hungry and wild — and it refused to be ignored.
His arm throbbed painfully where the creature's claw had sliced through the muscle. Each heartbeat sent sharp stabs through his veins, a cruel reminder that this power he had gained was not free.
The night before, when the shadowed figure called the Watcher had appeared in the alley, his words still echoed in Coker's mind: *"The path begins here."* But what path? And why had he been chosen?
He had no answers.
The city's distant noises drifted upward — cars speeding by, sirens wailing in the distance, the faint murmur of late-night conversations. Life moved on, unaware of the war stirring beneath its surface.
Coker rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the exhaustion claw at him, but the pain in his chest was worse. The mark beneath his shirt burned hot, a dull fire that flared suddenly and sharply, sending him gasping forward.
He pressed his palm against his chest, and the heat intensified, crawling like wildfire beneath his skin. The voice — colder than ever — whispered deep inside his mind.
*"To wield the Abyss is to pay the price. Blood for blood. Pain for power."*
He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain break him. "What price?" he asked aloud, voice hoarse.
*"You will learn soon enough."*
The darkness inside him pulsed, tightening and twisting like a living thing desperate for release.
Coker's mind spun back to the fight — the endless waves of monsters, the roar of power he had barely controlled. Every time he used the shadows, it felt like a part of him slipped away — replaced by something darker, something fierce.
He stood and limped to the cracked mirror hanging crooked on the wall. His reflection looked tired, bruised, but still unbroken. But when he pulled back his shirt, the mark beneath glowed faint black, a burning ember against pale skin.
He pressed his hand to it, and suddenly his body jerked. Images flashed behind his eyelids — battlefields drenched in blood, faces twisted in fear and rage, shadows stretching like claws across the sky.
Coker stumbled back, heart pounding. The power was changing him, whether he liked it or not.
---
Days passed, each one blending into the next. Coker trained in secret, pushing himself past every limit. The black energy wrapped around his arms like living serpents — sharp, unpredictable, ready to strike.
He hit the old abandoned warehouse, pounding his fists into rusted metal and cracked concrete. Every time he unleashed the power, exhaustion followed like a shadow, dragging at his limbs and clouding his mind.
But control was a lie. The power fought him as much as he fought it. Every time he thought he had it, the darkness surged again, clawing to be free.
One night, as the rain fell heavy and cold, Coker stood on a rooftop, staring out at the city. Neon signs flickered below, reflections dancing in puddles. The wind bit through his jacket, but the fire inside him was colder, darker.
The voice in his mind grew louder.
*"Kill. Steal. Consume."*
The words echoed, repeating, demanding.
He clenched his fists, feeling the shadows writhe beneath his skin, biting at his flesh. The line between man and monster blurred with every breath.
Coker closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm not a monster," he whispered. "I'm not."
But the shadows laughed.
---
The next morning, Coker woke to a pounding at his door.
"Hey! You okay in there?" Dane's loud voice broke the silence.
Coker groaned, every muscle protesting. He dragged himself to the door and opened it a crack.
Dane's face was pale. "There's talk, man. People disappearing. The cops are tight-lipped, but the word on the street is… the Night Demons are back."
Coker's heart tightened. "Night Demons?"
Dane nodded grimly. "Yeah. Old legends, but the disappearances are real. And they say this time it's worse."
Coker closed the door slowly, the weight of those words settling deep inside.
---
That night, the mark burned hotter than ever. It spread beneath his skin, claws raking from inside out.
He fell to his knees, hands shaking.
The voice whispered again.
*"Follow the mark. Or die."*
Coker gritted his teeth. He had no choice.
He stumbled into the rain, following the invisible pull. The city's dark veins led him to the industrial district — a maze of rust and broken glass.
Between two crumbling warehouses, he saw a flicker of movement.
Eyes glowing faint red stared back.
The battle was far from over.
Coker charged.