The crate exploded from the inside, splinters whistling through the air. Something — someone — shot out like a loosed arrow, tackling Kael to the ground with bone-crunching force.
The world blurred into motion and noise. Rain slapped against his face, cold and stinging, as his back hit the cobblestones. The prisoner's eyes were wild, pupils so dilated they nearly swallowed the irises. His breath reeked of rot and copper. Shackles still clung to his wrists, broken chains dangling and clinking like a perverse rhythm.
Kael's hands shot up to push him off — but froze.
Because under the pounding in his skull, under the shock of the attack… there was something else. Something crawling awake inside him.
A whisper.
Eat.
The word rippled through his bones, through the marrow, like it had always been there waiting for him to notice.
The prisoner's snarl was inches from his face, spit flying from his lips as he roared incoherently. Kael caught his gaze — and the world shifted.
The rain slowed. The shouts of the gang faded to muffled echoes. Kael could hear the man's heartbeat, feel the warmth of it, taste the fear surging through his veins.
And he wanted it.
He didn't move his mouth. He didn't even know how it worked — but it began anyway.
The prisoner stiffened. His breath hitched. Kael felt it first as a trickle, then a rush, like drinking after days in the desert. Energy. Life. Strength. Everything that made this man him was being pulled, strand by strand, into Kael.
The prisoner's hands went limp on his shoulders. His skin lost its heat.
Somewhere far away, one of the gang members swore. "What… what's happening to him?!"
Kael's vision flared red for a heartbeat, then settled into crystal clarity. He could see every droplet of rain glistening in the lamplight. He could hear the ragged breathing of the others, smell the faint tang of their sweat even through the downpour.
The prisoner's eyes rolled back, his body sagging like a puppet with cut strings. Kael shoved him aside, and the man hit the ground with a dull, final thud.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the rain came rushing back into sound, the voices, the clanging of chains.
Kael stumbled to his feet, chest heaving. "What… what did I—"
A slow clap echoed from the shadows.
The horned figure stepped into the light, grinning like a cat at the moment it hears the mouse's bones snap. "Ahhh. There it is. The first bite is always the most intoxicating, isn't it?"
The gang members stumbled back, their faces pale. None dared to speak.
Kael's breathing was ragged, every part of him screaming for answers. "You… did this to me."
"No." The figure's grin widened. "You were always this. I just cut the leash."
Kael's pulse pounded in his ears. His fingers curled into fists — and he realized he felt stronger. Faster. The ache in his bruises had vanished.
"What the hell are you?"
"A generous benefactor." The horned figure tilted his head toward the lifeless prisoner. "And you, my dear Kael, have just tasted your first Feast."
Kael swallowed hard, staring at the body. His stomach churned. He wanted to throw up. But under that — under the guilt — was a warmth. A thrill.
"You fed on him," the figure continued, stepping closer. "Not his flesh — that's barbaric. You fed on what he was. And now… it's part of you."
Kael's voice cracked. "Why?"
"Because," the figure said, his eyes glinting like molten gold, "there are thrones in this world. And every throne sits on the bones of the devoured. You, Kael, were born hungry. I just showed you where to find the table."
The gang leader finally found his voice, shouting, "Stay away from him! I don't care what trick this is—"
He didn't get to finish. The horned figure glanced at him, and his words dissolved into a scream. His body crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
The figure looked back at Kael. "Do you want more?"
Kael didn't answer. He couldn't. His pulse was still hammering, his mind caught between terror and the lingering sweetness of stolen strength.
The horned man's grin sharpened. "You will."
Thunder rolled above, the rain intensifying until it blurred the edges of the alley. Kael blinked — and the figure was gone, leaving only the echo of his voice in Kael's head:
The first Feast is free. The rest will cost you.
---
The rain had washed away most of the blood, but the memory of its warmth clung stubbornly to Kael's hands. He stood alone in the alley now — the gang scattered like frightened rats, the prisoner's body already growing cold.
The night air was heavy with the smell of wet stone and something faintly metallic.
Kael should have been running. He should have been in shock. Instead, he leaned against the wall, staring at his trembling fingers, and thought only one thing: It felt good.
It shouldn't have.
The alley was silent except for the rain — until the sound of footsteps broke it. Slow, deliberate, echoing against the narrow walls.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "I know you're there."
The horned figure stepped out of the shadows like he'd never left. His suit was immaculate despite the storm, the black fabric drinking in what little light the streetlamps offered. His horns curved upward like a crown carved from obsidian.
"You're adapting faster than I expected," he said, his voice as smooth as oil poured over glass.
Kael clenched his jaw. "You gave me this power. Now tell me why."
The figure's grin was small, sharp. "Because I like winners, Kael. And right now, you're losing — badly."
Kael bristled. "I was doing fine before you showed up."
"Fine?" The figure tilted his head, as if the word were a foreign taste on his tongue. "You were barely breathing. A street rat with nothing but scraps to call his own. People saw you and thought, Ah, here's a man I can step on without breaking stride."
Kael's fists clenched, the truth of it stinging more than he'd admit.
The figure stepped closer, lowering his voice to something intimate, dangerous. "You prayed for help once. Do you remember what you got?"
Kael didn't answer.
"Nothing," the figure continued, each syllable cutting clean. "Not a whisper. Not a sign. The one you begged for turned his face away. But I?" He spread his hands, smile widening. "I came."
Kael's pulse quickened, anger and confusion tangling in his chest. "So what — you're some kind of devil?"
The figure chuckled. "If you like. It's a convenient word for small minds. But if the name makes you feel better, call me Malach."
The name tasted heavy, final.
Kael forced himself to meet those molten eyes. "And what exactly do you want from me?"
Malach's grin sharpened. "A simple thing. Eat. Grow strong. And when the time comes, use that strength to topple a throne that has stood far too long."
Kael's breath caught. "A throne? You mean—"
"Yes." Malach's voice was almost a purr. "The throne. His throne."
The rain seemed to fall quieter for a heartbeat, the air tightening around them.
Kael shook his head. "You're insane. I can't… I can't kill God."
"Can't?" Malach stepped so close Kael could feel the unnatural heat radiating from him. "Or won't?"
Kael's mind churned, replaying the moment in the alley, the rush of life flooding into him, the clarity, the power. It was impossible — and yet it had happened.
Malach seemed to sense the hesitation and pressed the advantage. "He left you to die, Kael. He's left millions to die. And yet you would spare him?"
Kael's voice was low. "Why me?"
Malach's grin softened, almost turning into something genuine. "Because you're hungry. Not just for food. For respect. For revenge. For more than the small, filthy scraps you've been given. That hunger is the only honest thing in this rotten world."
The words cut deep because they were true.
"And what if I say no?" Kael asked finally.
Malach's grin returned in full. "You won't. But if you do… the hunger will stay. It will eat at you from the inside until you beg for another taste."
Kael didn't realize his hands were trembling until he looked down and saw them. Not from fear — from anticipation.
Malach stepped back into the shadows, his voice curling around Kael like smoke. "When you're ready for your second Feast, you'll find it. Or it will find you."
And then he was gone.
Kael stood in the rain, the world feeling sharper, hungrier, and far more dangerous than it had an hour ago. Somewhere deep inside, he knew Malach was right.
The hunger wasn't going away.
---
The rain had stopped, but the streets still shimmered with the reflection of dying lanterns. Kael walked beside Malach in silence, each step echoing against the narrow cobblestone alleyways. The stench of damp stone mixed with the faint, coppery tang of blood still clinging to his senses from earlier.
It wasn't his blood.
He wanted to ask about it—about the strange heat in his veins, the flicker of alien hunger that surged every time his pulse quickened—but Malach's presence was like a heavy curtain. Every word had to push through it to exist, and Kael wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answers.
"You're quieter than I expected," Malach said at last, glancing sideways. His crimson eyes glimmered faintly in the gloom, catching the light from a swinging street lantern.
Kael tightened his jaw. "You expect too much."
Malach chuckled, the sound low, without warmth. "I expect nothing. I know what you are now."
That made Kael's skin crawl. "You think you know. There's a difference."
"You're right," Malach said, his voice turning oddly flat. "So let's test it."
They turned down a narrower street, the kind that felt more like a crack between buildings than a road. At the end of it, three men stood in the dark, their faces half-covered by cloth masks. Their hands gripped crude weapons—one with a broken spear shaft, one with a rusted cleaver, the third holding a short length of chain.
Malach didn't slow down.
Kael did.
The one with the chain spoke first. "Hand over your coin and walk away. Won't ask twice."
Kael looked at Malach, expecting some kind of reaction—maybe a dismissal, maybe a fight. But the older man simply kept walking, right past Kael, and murmured as he passed him:
"Let's see if your hunger serves you as well as your tongue."
The men stepped forward. One swung the chain in a lazy circle, the clinking metal echoing in the alley. The other two flanked him, eyes glinting.
Kael felt it again—that pulse. That wrongness. The sensation of wanting something he couldn't name.
The man with the cleaver rushed him.
Kael sidestepped—too easily. His body moved faster than it should have, as though he'd already anticipated the strike. Before he could think, his hand shot out, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted. Bone cracked under his grip like dry wood.
The cleaver clattered to the ground.
The other two hesitated.
Kael looked at them—and for an instant, the alley seemed to tilt. A pressure built in his head, and both men's eyes widened, their bodies stiffening.
They couldn't move.
The chain stopped mid-swing, hanging frozen in the air.
"What—what the hell—" one of them stammered, his voice shaking.
Kael didn't know what he'd done. But he knew he could end it. The thought was there, warm and insistent, urging him to simply… tighten his will and watch their throats collapse.
He swallowed hard.
The hunger inside him twisted like a living thing.
"Enough," Malach's voice came from behind him—sharp, but not angry. More like a hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to step away from an open flame.
Kael blinked. The pressure vanished. The two men stumbled back, gasping, then dragged their injured friend and fled into the night without another word.
For a moment, only the sound of dripping water remained.
Kael turned slowly. "What… was that?"
Malach smiled faintly. "Control."
"That wasn't control," Kael said, his voice tight. "It felt like… I could have—"
"Killed them?" Malach stepped closer, his coat whispering over the stones. "Yes. And you would have, had you listened to the deeper part of yourself. But you pulled back. Interesting."
"I'm not a murderer."
Malach tilted his head. "That will change."
The words struck Kael harder than they should have. Not because they were cruel, but because of the certainty in them.
They started walking again. Kael couldn't shake the sensation lingering in his fingers—the memory of bone giving way, the sight of men frozen by his will.
By the time they reached the wider avenue, the city's noise had returned: the chatter of merchants closing shop, the distant clatter of horse-drawn carts, the hum of people trying to forget the day.
Malach stopped suddenly.
"What now?" Kael asked.
The older man's eyes shifted—not at Kael, but at something beyond him.
Kael turned.
A figure stood at the far end of the street, just outside the circle of lamplight. Tall, robed, the hood casting the face in shadow. Yet Kael could feel the weight of their stare. It was heavier than the thugs in the alley, heavier even than Malach's.
The figure took one step forward. The air seemed to shiver.
Malach's voice was low. "Walk with me. Now."
Kael hesitated. "Who—"
"Not here."
They moved quickly, the sound of the robed figure's footsteps echoing behind them, steady and unhurried.
Kael glanced back once.
The figure was closer. And from beneath the hood, something gleamed—not eyes, but a faint golden light, as if the darkness itself had been pried open.
Malach turned down another street. "Don't speak. Don't look back again."
Kael felt his pulse quicken, the hunger rising unbidden. His body wanted to turn, to face whatever followed them. But Malach's pace never faltered, and Kael matched it.
The sound of pursuit didn't grow louder. It didn't fade either.
They reached a narrow archway between two shuttered buildings. Malach stepped through first.
Kael followed—
—and found the other side empty. The street was silent. The robed figure was gone.
Malach looked at him, expression unreadable. "You've been noticed."
"By who?"
Malach didn't answer. Instead, he simply said:
"Your choices from here will matter more than your life."
---
Kael: "Noticed? That doesn't mean anything unless you explain it."
Malach: "It means you're no longer moving unseen. There are eyes on you now… eyes that don't blink."
Kael: "You saw them. Who was it?"
Malach: "A hunter. Not for your head, not yet. For your choices."
Kael: "And you just walked away from them? What if they attack me in the street?"
Malach: "Then you'll fight. If you survive, you'll learn. If you die… well, you were never ready."
Kael: "You speak like you want me to fail."
Malach: "I speak like someone who knows failure is part of the price. You can't become what you need to be without bleeding for it."
Kael: "I've bled enough."
Malach: "Not in the right places."
Kael: "You sound like this is all some game to you."
Malach: "It's not a game. It's a war. And wars are decided long before the first blade is drawn. Every choice you make is a stone in the wall you're building—or a crack in it."
Kael: "Then tell me the rules."
Malach: "There are none. Only consequences."
Kael: "So you're saying I'm just supposed to guess what to do? Hope I survive long enough to figure it out?"
Malach: "Hope is useless. Instinct will keep you alive. Discipline will make you dangerous. And hunger—your hunger—will make you inevitable."
Kael: "That hunger… it's not mine. I didn't ask for it."
Malach: "No one asks for fire. They either burn or learn to use it."
Kael: "And what if I decide not to use it?"
Malach: "Then you'll die. And someone else will be chosen in your place. This world doesn't wait for indecision."
Kael: "Chosen… by who?"
Malach: "You'll know soon enough."
Kael: "You're saying that thing—whoever they were—wasn't here to kill me, but to… what? Watch me?"
Malach: "Yes. And watching is never harmless. It means they're measuring you. Judging you. Waiting to see if you're worth their time."
Kael: "Why me?"
Malach: "Because you survived when you shouldn't have. Because you moved faster than you should. Because you stopped three men with a thought and didn't even know how you did it."
Kael: "So it's my fault for being different."
Malach: "It's not fault. It's a signal. And it's been answered."
Kael: "You keep talking like I have a choice. Do I?"
Malach: "Everyone has a choice. Most people make the wrong one."
Kael: "And what would be the right one?"
Malach: "Keep breathing. Keep learning. Stop thinking the world is waiting for you to catch up."
Kael: "If that hunter comes back—"
Malach: "They will. That's the point. They'll test you in ways I won't."
Kael: "I'm already being tested. Every second with you feels like one."
Malach: "Good. That means you're paying attention."
Kael: "And if I fail?"
Malach: "Then you'll see why death is the easiest outcome."
Kael: "That's not much of a pep talk."
Malach: "I'm not here to inspire you. I'm here to make sure when the blade comes for your throat, you know which hand is holding it."
Kael: "And whose hand is that right now?"
Malach: "Not mine."
Kael: "You're saying that, but you sound like you're enjoying this."
Malach: "Enjoyment doesn't enter into it. Curiosity does. I want to see what you'll do when you realize how small you've been living."
Kael: "I don't think I'm small."
Malach: "Then prove it."
Kael: "And how do I do that?"
Malach: "When the hunter returns, don't run."
Kael: "You just told me they could kill me."
Malach: "They could. Or they could give you the first answer you've been chasing since you woke up with this hunger inside you."
Kael: "So either I die or I learn."
Malach: "Exactly."
Kael: "And what happens if I kill them?"
Malach: "Then you'll have made your first enemy worth fearing."
Kael: "Sounds like I'll be collecting a lot of those."
Malach: "You will. If you live long enough, they'll outnumber your friends."
Kael: "What friends?"
Malach: "Precisely."
Kael: "You know, I think I hate you."
Malach: "Good. Hate will keep you alive when nothing else will."
Kael: "I'll remember that."
Malach: "Do. And remember this: the hunter doesn't care about your past, your pain, or your questions. They care about whether you can stand. If you can't, they'll step over your body without slowing down."
Kael: "And you'll just watch?"
Malach: "Always."
Kael: "You're a terrible teacher."
Malach: "I'm the only one you have."
Kael: "For now."
Malach: "For now."
---
Kael: "I know you're here."
Hunter: "And you know my name?"
Kael: "I don't. But I know you're the one Malach was talking about."
Hunter: "Malach. That name slips too easily from your lips. Does it mean something to you?"
Kael: "It means everything and nothing. Why are you following me?"
Hunter: "Because I need to see if you're ready."
Kael: "Ready? For what?"
Hunter: "The path you've been dragged onto. The one you didn't choose, yet somehow… you walked into it willingly."
Kael: "You're not making any sense."
Hunter: "Sense isn't the point. Survival is."
Kael: "Then tell me what you want!"
Hunter: "I want to see if the fire in you is strong enough to consume or weak enough to die."
Kael: "Fire? What are you talking about?"
Hunter: "The thing inside you. The hunger. The gift Malach has awakened. You think you control it, but it controls you in ways you cannot see."
Kael: "I control it. I fed once, and it obeyed me."
Hunter: "Obeyed you? Or let you feed because it was hungry too?"
Kael: "You're twisting words. That doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of you."
Hunter: "Fear isn't my concern. Respect is. You will either earn it, or I will show you why it is deserved."
Kael: "I don't need your respect!"
Hunter: "You will. Or you will remember this moment as the one before your first mistake."
Kael: "You're just another test. Like Malach said."
Hunter: "Perhaps. But tests are only meaningful when failure has a cost."
Kael: "And what's the cost here?"
Hunter: "Your strength… or your life."
Kael: "You're just a shadow in the streets. How could you possibly—"
Hunter: "You think I'm a shadow? I am the mirror. The reflection of what will happen if you falter."
Kael: "Then I won't falter."
Hunter: "Confidence is admirable, but naive."
Kael: "So prove it. Attack me."
Hunter: "You don't understand. I am not here to attack blindly. I am here to reveal truths you are not ready to face."
Kael: "Then speak."
Hunter: "The hunger inside you is not merely power. It is a signal. Every life you touch will change you. Every choice you make will echo louder than you imagine. And those who watch… they are many."
Kael: "Watching? Who? Malach? Or someone else?"
Hunter: "I am one of them. A guardian. A watcher. And soon… a judge."
Kael: "Judge me? You haven't even touched me yet."
Hunter: "Not yet. But touch you I will. To see the cracks in your armor, the weaknesses in your resolve."
Kael: "Then strike. I won't back down."
Hunter: "Good. That is the first lesson: bravery without understanding is often the precursor to pain."
Kael: "Pain is temporary. Hunger is eternal."
Hunter: "Is it? Or do you confuse desire with purpose?"
Kael: "Purpose? I have a purpose. Survive. Grow stronger. Learn. Control the hunger."
Hunter: "Control is a luxury few earn. Many surrender to the fire and become something else entirely."
Kael: "I won't."
Hunter: "Words are wind. Actions define men. Let's see if you are more than your words."
Kael: "I am ready."
Hunter: "Do you feel it? The shift?"
Kael: "Shift?"
Hunter: "The world bending around you. The way it does when someone powerful is on the edge of awakening. That… is what I've come to test."
Kael: "So this is a test? That's all this is?"
Hunter: "A test is never just a test. It is a warning. A glimpse of what is to come if you fail."
Kael: "Then I won't fail."
Hunter: "We shall see. Step forward and embrace what comes."
Kael: "And if I strike first?"
Hunter: "Then I will strike back. And in that exchange, you will learn more than words could ever teach you."
Kael: "You speak as if you already know the outcome."
Hunter: "I know only one thing: the moment you step forward, nothing will ever be the same again."
Kael: "Then consider me stepping."
Hunter: "Good. And when you do, remember this: everything you have learned, everything you think you know about your hunger… it is only the beginning."
Kael: "Beginning of what?"
Hunter: "The storm. The one Malach promised. The one that will demand more than your body, more than your mind… more than your soul."
Kael: "Then let it come. I am ready."
Hunter: "We shall see. But beware, Kael. Readiness is a fragile thing. And storms… they devour the unprepared."
Kael: "I've been devoured before. I'll survive this."
Hunter: "Good. Perhaps. Or perhaps, this is the moment you realize survival is just the first lesson."
Kael: "Then teach me. Strike."
Hunter: "With pleasure."
Silence fell. Not the absence of sound, but the weight of anticipation. The kind that presses on your chest and makes every heartbeat loud enough to shake the bones.
Kael: "I feel it… this power, this hunger. It's rising."
Hunter: "And that, Kael, is why you must learn quickly. The fire inside is a blade. One wrong swing and it will turn on you."
Kael: "Then I will wield it, not be wielded."
Hunter: "Bold. But remember, the fire has a mind of its own. It tests those who claim mastery."
Kael: "Then we'll test each other."
Hunter: "Indeed. And when the first strike lands, remember… the storm begins now."