The streets of Seattle had transformed. The familiar grey drizzle was now illuminated by the violet aura of the System, casting long, strange shadows that seemed to move on their own. The destination was the Ravenna Apartments, a sturdy brick building that, in another life, had served as the last bastion against the void.
Three blocks from the hardware store, a whimper cut through the ambient noise of destruction.
Huddled in the doorway of a comic book shop sat a figure that could only be described as miserable. Silas Vane, the future "World Eater" and destroyer of continents, currently looked like a wet cat in an oversized hoodie. He was clutching a backpack to his chest as if it held the Crown Jewels, his eyes wide and trembling behind smudged glasses.
A Zombie Dog, a creature that resembled a Doberman turned inside out, stalked him with dripping jaws. Silas raised a shaking hand, purple sparks fizzing uselessly at his fingertips. He had the power to tear holes in reality, yet he lacked the will to throw a punch.
The bag of cement on the cart offered a crude solution. Heaving a fifty-pound sack of powder at a moving target is rarely taught in combat schools, but desperation breeds innovation. The bag sailed through the air and struck the beast in the ribs with a dull, sickening thud. The dog yelped, knocked sideways by the impact, and let the fire axe finish the job with a single, decisive swing.
Silas stared up, terror warring with confusion on his pale face.
"Get up," the command came out sharper than intended. "You are coming with me."