Ahh!
It hurts so much!
I..I.....I cant even feel my left arm.
lying down on a gatch bed. Michael Ashford, still half asleep, he couldn't feel his left arm and felt like all of his body burning in fire.Struggling to force his eyes open, he found himself staring at a stranger.
Damn!!! she is hot.
"You're awake already, kiddo? And here I thought I was being quiet," Milesha muttered, more to herself than to him. She set the utensils down with a sharp clink.
"Truth be told, when I found you, I didn't think you'd make the night. But that ghoul-mutated flesh of yours... it's doing the heavy lifting. You've recovered more in hours than most do in weeks."
Ghoul? Flesh? The words felt like lead in his ears. He tried to lift his hand, but it felt heavy, wrong. When it finally entered his line of sight, his breath hitched. Spreading across his skin were jagged, ink-black veins—or were they scales? They pulsed with a dull, rhythmic ache. What is she talking about? What are these... these things on my hand?
Did you do this? What happened to me? What did you put in me?
Micheal choked out the words, his voice cracking as he thrust his blackened hand toward her.
"It was the only way to stop the necrosis. The ghoul flesh was a necessity, not a choice." Milesha said that while looking at some utensils.
Meanwhile Michael forced himself into a sitting position, his breath coming in shallow hitches. He looked past his blackened hand, out toward the window, searching for a landmark—a sign—anything familiar. But the world outside was as strange as the room he was in. He searched for the events of last night.
it's the City of Deity!
The Tower. He recognized that crimson lightning mark instantly. It was the only part of the city he had ever been able to see from the scrap piles back home. For an outcast like Michael, the City of Deity had always been a fortress of high walls and secrets—a place he was never meant to enter. He flexed his mutated hand, the black veins pulsing in sync with the red glow outside.
How did a junkyard stray end up inside the holy walls? And why can't I remember the way in?
The "clack" of boots on a hard floor shattered Michael's trance. He turned away from the window,Then came the voice—
"Call me Louis," the man said, eyes narrowing as he studied the mutation. "Louis Hofmann, Chief of Grade 3. That makes me your senior, kiddo." He let the silence hang for a moment, his stare never leaving Michael's hand. "I've seen a lot of things, but you... you're a special case."
Louis stood tall—easily a head taller than Michael—his presence filling the room. He wore a long, sweeping coat that seemed to swallow the light, and dark glasses that hid his eyes. A shock of white hair fell over his brow, and a silver piercing glinted in his left ear. Behind him, a young woman was already pestering Milesha, her voice a sharp contrast to the tension in the air. By the door, a third man stood like a statue, his face set in a grim, stony expression that suggested he was more weapon than human.
Louis didn't ask; he informed. "This is Gina and Robert. You're staying with the girl. She'll handle your training and your housing."
"Yup!" Gina's voice cut through the room like a whistle. She shoved her way past Louis's long coat, giving Michael a wink that felt more threatening than friendly. "I'll be picking you up tomorrow. Try not to die before then."
Michael's breath caught as his hand began to twitch. Then came the throb—a heavy, wet heartbeat radiating from his marrow. The black lines on his skin didn't just pop; they writhed like trapped snakes. He squeezed his arm so hard his knuckles turned white, but the mutation ignored him, pulsing faster and faster. Louis, Gina, and Robert froze. The only sound in the room was the frantic, uneven rhythm of Michael's gasping breath.
Louis moved faster than Michael's eyes could follow. "Kuponya!" he commanded, his voice vibrating with authority. He caught Michael's hand in a crushing grip, his fingers contorting into a sharp, calculated twist. The agonizing throb stopped dead. The relief was so sudden and overwhelming that it felt like a physical blow. Michael's eyes rolled back, and he slumped onto the bed, unconscious before his head even hit the pillow.
Michael woke to a sound—a metallic boom that vibrated through the floorboards. He dragged himself to the window,Far off in the distance, a section of the city was engulfed in flames. It wasn't just a fire; it was a rupture.
Michael paced the room until his strength returned, his eyes locked on the glowing horizon. Finally, he retreated to the bed, staring at the ceiling as the red light of the blast flickered on the walls. He lay there for hours, his thoughts racing faster than the fires outside.
He lay in the dark, the questions hitting him like hammer blows. What is happening to my body? Who are these people? He stared at the ceiling, the red glow of the city dancing in his eyes. Why am I inside the walls? How did I even get here?
Michael watched the shadows move across the room until the morning light turned the sky a dusty gray. He was still wide awake, his mind numb from overthinking, when a loud knock echoed through the room.....