The door rattled again.
It was not the frantic, desperate pounding we had grown accustomed to upstairs. This was methodical and slow. It was a deliberate sound that sent ice crawling up my spine. I heard the scrape of nails against metal, followed by a dull thud. Then another. It was patient. It was calculated. It was the sound of something hunting.
The rattling reminded me of documentaries where predators tested fences for weaknesses. There was an intelligence behind the violence that made it infinitely more terrifying than the mindless hunger of the things in the hallway. My muscles tensed as reality crashed down on me again. The brief reprieve we had found in this basement was not safety. It was borrowed time.
In this new world of lunar magic and glowing-eyed monsters, the concept of being safe was nothing but a comforting lie. Even here, surrounded by cold concrete and protected by thick steel, we were not hidden. We were just delayed prey.
Aurora moved before I could finish the thought. She rose to her feet in one fluid motion, and her sword materialized with a soft, luminous shimmer. It coalesced from nothing as if it had been waiting just beyond the veil of reality. It still caught me off guard to see the effortlessness of it, as if wielding a weapon forged from moonlight was the most natural thing in the world for her.
"I will take care of it," she said. Her voice was steady as she stepped toward the door. The blade hummed with a quiet, predatory energy. The metallic glow from her weapon cast dramatic shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw.
"Wait." I reached out, my fingers wrapping around her wrist.
The contact sent a jolt through me. Her skin was burning hot, and her heart was pounding beneath my grip. I could feel power thrumming through her, like holding onto a live wire. She turned, her eyes narrowing as a flicker of luminous light danced in her irises.
"Nate, we do not have time to—"
"Let me try," I said. I was surprised by the conviction in my own voice.
Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"My class. I want to see what it does."
I had to know what I was. I had felt something upstairs, that brief moment of seeing beneath reality with the quill. There had to be more to it than just a hallucination. Aurora studied me for a long moment, tension radiating from her like heat. The sword in her hand pulsed once, then twice, as if sensing her indecision. After what felt like an eternity, she gave a short, sharp nod.
"Fine. But the second you screw up, I am stepping in."
"Deal."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to stand. My legs were unsteady beneath me as I faced the rattling door. I commanded myself to breathe.
System. Abilities.
A new screen shimmered into existence before me. It was translucent blue and impossibly detailed. Unlike my stat screen, this one was organized into a list of skills. Most were greyed out and inaccessible, but one was highlighted and available.
[Astral Rewrite: Gravity Anomaly (Active)]
[Edit the gravitational force in a localized area by rewriting the lunar code.]
[Mana Cost: 50. Cooldown: 30 seconds. Range: 20 meters.]
The words hung in the air. Their meaning sank into me like stones dropped into a deep well. I did not summon spells or swing a weapon like Aurora. My class was meant to alter reality itself. I was meant to change the fundamental forces that governed existence.
The rattling grew more violent. The metal groaned under increasing pressure. Whatever waited on the other side was growing impatient.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Aurora whispered. Her voice was tight. "My Lunar Blade skill is straightforward. I call the sword, and it comes. But your ability sounds complicated."
"I have to try," I replied. "We need to know what I am capable of."
I stepped forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. I lifted my hand, unsure what I was reaching for, and trusted the system to guide me. I focused on the skill name in my mind.
Astral Rewrite: Gravity Anomaly.
Something cold shimmered into existence between my fingers. It was the quill. It was not metal or wood. It was translucent and crystalline, pulsing with an indigo energy that shifted like stardust. Its tip dripped with what I somehow knew was Astral Ink, a liquid cosmic energy harvested from the very force that had turned our world upside down.
The moment my skin made full contact with the quill, my vision fractured.
Reality peeled away to reveal what lay beneath. Thin, glowing lines of energy spun through the air around me like the fabric of existence had been written on invisible parchment. Every object and every surface was coded into this strange script. Luminous constellations and runic formulas twisted through three-dimensional space.
"Holy shit," I whispered. I was completely overwhelmed.
"What do you see?" Aurora asked. Her voice sounded distant, as if she were in another room.
I could not answer. The world had become a vast cosmic web of equations and symbols. Physics was not just a concept anymore, it was a literal code written into the air. Through the heavy steel of the door, I saw the zombie. Its form was outlined in raw, pulsing lunar energy. Crystalline light leaked from the cracks in its skin, pouring from its eyes and mouth like liquid metal.
Above its head, I saw the code. It was a chaotic tangle of shifting equations that governed its movement and existence. The quill in my hand pulsed with a hungry energy. It wanted to write.
I did not know what I was doing, but I understood one thing with absolute certainty. If I could read this code, I could change it. I gritted my teeth and reached forward, the quill hovering over the tangled script. I focused on the equations governing gravity. I saw the formulas defining the pull between masses and the curvature of spacetime. Even without formal training, I understood them. It was as if the knowledge had been downloaded directly into my brain.
I tried to rewrite the constant.
I failed immediately.
The moment I pressed the tip of the quill against the air, the symbols twisted violently. They fought back. The ink spattered as the equations reshaped themselves to restore the natural order. A sharp, white-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My knees buckled as my mind burned, feeling as though someone had poured molten steel into my skull.
"Nate!" Aurora's voice broke through the haze. "Whatever you are doing, do it fast!"
The door groaned. The metal was bending inward. A loud bang echoed through the basement as the hinges began to give way. I had seconds. I ignored the pain and pushed past the red warning messages flashing in my vision.
[Equation Failure. Risk Detected.]
This was not about understanding the code perfectly. It was about forcing my will upon it. I pushed through the agony. I focused on the gravitational constant in the equations and multiplied it exponentially, localizing the change to the exact spot where the creature stood.
The script shifted. The ink bled through reality itself.
Gravity collapsed.
It did not happen throughout the room. It happened in one single point in space. The air bent and warped around the focal point, and light distorted as spacetime curved beyond its breaking point.
The thing outside did not scream. It did not have the time. One second it existed, and the next it was flattened into something that barely resembled matter. It was a singularity of force, compressing bone, tissue, and corrupted lunar energy into a space smaller than was physically possible.
A wet, sickening crunch echoed through the basement.