The night was cold, and the city's silence was broken only by the hum of distant traffic and the occasional rattle of a loose trash bin. King curled up under the rusting skeleton of an abandoned bus near the Eastway Tunnel, hugging his knees, trying to stay warm. His only blanket was a stolen hoodie, two sizes too big and reeking of engine oil.
He had been on the streets since he was ten—too smart for the shelters, too angry for foster homes. Now seventeen,King knew the city better than it knew itself. He kept to the shadows, scavenged food where he could, and learned to sleep with one eye open.
But something inside him had always been different.
Sometimes, when he was alone and angry, he'd speak to himself—and things happened. Glass cracked. Dogs whined and fled. Once, a fire hydrant burst open just as he yelled at it. He thought he was cursed. He thought he was losing his mind.
Then came the night everything changed.
A black van pulled up near the alley. King didn't move. He'd seen men like this before—cold eyes, gloves, no names. But this time, they saw him.
Before he could run, a sharp sting hit his neck. Tranquilizer.
The world went dark.
He woke strapped to a table in a dim, humming room. Fluorescent lights flickered above. Machines beeped around him. A man in a long coat stood nearby, holding a syringe filled with something that glowed like liquid embers.
"Don't struggle, King " the man said calmly, like he was discussing the weather. "You're one of the rare ones. A dormant speaker. Your voice has power. But it's incomplete."
King thrashed. "What are you talking about?! Let me go!"
"You're broken. But I'm going to fix you." The man smiled, cruelly. "We're going to awaken your true voice—with help from the demon blood of the."
He plunged the syringe into King's arm.
Pain. White-hot. Like his veins were being filled with fire. King screamed, and the scream shattered the lab's glass. Lights burst. Metal warped. The machines sparked and died.
Something inside him tore open. Not just pain—power.
Something inside him tore open. Not just pain—power.
His eyes burned crimson red. Symbols danced across his skin. His voice—when he screamed again—didn't sound human.
The man was thrown against the wall. Blood spilled. Alarms blared.
King collapsed, the glow fading—but he knew something was wrong now. Different. Something ancient and monstrous now shared his skin.
And far away, in a realm made of smoke and screams, something stirred.
TO BE CONTINUED