Lucius Malfoy wiped the sweat and grime from his palms, staring at the stack of reports that had somehow multiplied while he wasn't looking. The office was a furnace of noise and insult ,his boss barking orders, the fluorescent lights buzzing like angry insects.
"Malfoy! Again? Are you seriously this incompetent?" The words cut sharper than any blade, and yet, as always, Lucius swallowed them, nodding silently.
Another day, another insult, another reminder that he was invisible. Even the girls who passed by didn't glance his way. Even the stray cat in the alley had more attention than him.
By the time he stepped out into the drizzle, the neon signs of the city buzzed faintly through the fog. He kicked a puddle, water splashing over his shoes. Nothing for me here either, he muttered.
That's when he saw it, a dim, flickering glow from a building tucked at the end of a narrow alley. Curiosity pricked through exhaustion, and he shuffled forward, heart pounding.
Inside, a man sat hunched on a rickety chair. Candles flickered around him, casting shadows that seemed to crawl on the walls. His eyes sharp, unreadable, almost too aware locked onto Lucius.
"You want to change your life?" the man asked, voice calm but oddly compelling. "There's a ritual. One chance to awaken what's truly inside you."
Lucius laughed bitterly, almost bitter enough to sting. "Change my life? Me? I'm just… nothing."
The man slid a worn piece of parchment toward him. "Try it tonight. Everything depends on courage."
Back in his cramped apartment, Lucius laid out the ritual. Symbols traced carefully on the floor, words muttered, heart hammering like a drum. The candle flickered violently, the shadows twisted unnaturally, and a chill crept up his spine.
Nothing happened.
He collapsed onto his bed, exhausted, defeated. Maybe tomorrow… maybe he'd be someone else tomorrow. Sleep came slowly, dragging him down like a river.
When he opened his eyes, everything had changed.
The air smelled of smoke and iron. Fog rolled over streets slick with rain, reflecting flickering gas lamps. Shadows clung to the corners of buildings, moving just beyond his sight. And in the nearest room, bodies lay scattered, dismembered, grotesque in the dim light.
A revolver gleamed on a counter. On the wall, smeared in dark, congealed blood, words that froze him in place:
"THE ONE IS WATCHING."
Lucius stumbled backward. His stomach churned. His hands trembled. He didn't understand. He didn't know anything.
From the street came the heavy rumble of carriages relentless, approaching. Adrenaline flared. Instinct screamed: Run.
He bolted. Time stretched strangely; each heartbeat felt like an eternity. Glimpses of paths flashed before him some safe, some deadly but he didn't linger. Survival demanded speed.
Then he saw him. John Gary, Phase 7 – Nightmare. Calm, terrifying, impossibly fast. His eyes locked on Lucius like a predator honing in on prey.
Lucius darted down alleys, vaulted over crates, skidded across wet cobblestones. Every narrow corner was a gamble, every shadow a potential trap. The world itself seemed to shift around him ,fog curling, time bending guiding him in fleeting glimpses of safety.
Somehow, barely, he slipped into a narrow, quiet street. Gasping, shaking, alive. For
now.
He didn't stop for long. The streets were alien, yet something tugged at him .a fragment of memory from Kael Morty, the life he had been transported into. A crooked signpost, the pattern of a cobblestone corner, a faint scent that reminded him of Kael's home… nothing complete, just fragments.
Those fragments were enough. A direction, a thread to follow.
Lucius straightened his back, trembling but determined. Every step was cautious, every sound analyzed. Shadows seemed to move around him, the fog thickening, but he pressed on. He had to reach that place he remembered, a foothold in this nightmare world.
Somewhere out there, answers waited. Somewhere, maybe safety but danger still lurked, unseen, patient.
And somewhere, John Gary was still searching.
Lucius clenched his fists. "I'm not dying tonight," he whispered, moving toward the place that might give him a chance to survive.