—Every hero is born screaming into war.
The world was fire and ash by the time Jerry arrived.
Students ran screaming through shattered glass and mangled metal. Smoke blanketed the courtyard. A teacher lay crumpled near the front steps, motionless. In the center of it all—monsters.
Not the kind Jerry had nightmares about.
Worse.
These were Echospawn—things born from fractured dimensions, dripping with darkness that didn't obey physics. Some walked like men. Others crawled with too many limbs. They pulsed with an energy Jerry felt in his bones.
He didn't have time to think. Instinct took over.
He moved.
A blur of speed. He hit the first creature mid-leap, slamming it into the ground with such force that it cracked concrete. Its body twisted in on itself with a shriek.
Three more turned.
He could smell their hunger. Taste their intent. Not random monsters—these things were sent.
"Come on," Jerry growled, his voice now half-monster. "Let's see what you've got."
They charged.
He met them head-on.
The Abyssborns fights
Claws tore through bone. Teeth snapped through sinew. Jerry moved like a predator loosed from chains.
One leapt onto his back. He grabbed its arm, twisted, and ripped. Black ichor sprayed across the courtyard. Another slashed his side. He spun and slammed his elbow into its skull, shattering it into shards.
But they kept coming.
Each one faster than the last.
He was strong—inhumanly strong—but not invincible.
A long, bladed limb pierced his shoulder. He screamed and yanked it out, tearing skin and muscle. Another creature tackled him, driving him through a locker wall. Pain exploded in his ribs.
Jerry was losing blood. Fast.
The creatures suddenly stopped.
Jerry staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his side. His breathing ragged.
And then, from the rift above the school, something descended.
Slow. Floating. Cloaked in dark smoke and adorned with fractured ceremonial armor. Its face was not a face—just a mask of bone with a carved, permanent grin. Runes glowed across its limbs like chains half-broken.
Malthorin. Hollow Herald.
"You are not one of them," Malthorin spoke—not with a mouth, but directly into Jerry's head. The voice was like a whisper made of knives. "You are broken. You are... infected."
Jerry raised his claws, snarling. "You talk too much."
Malthorin extended a hand, and the air buckled. Pressure slammed Jerry into the ground like gravity itself turned against him.
"You carry the Abyss Core within you. I smell it. I was once its servant. Before your kind stole it. Sealed it. Hid it from the stars."
Jerry pushed against the weight, muscles shaking. "You want it back? Come take it."
Malthorin tilted his head. "I intend to."
Malthorin moved with impossible speed, appearing behind Jerry and slashing with a blade made of void-light.
Jerry barely dodged.
The blade grazed his side, burning through his monster skin like acid.
Jerry countered, claws out, slashing upward.
Malthorin caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting until bone cracked.
Jerry screamed and kicked the Herald away with a burst of strength. Concrete shattered beneath his feet.
"You bleed like them," Malthorin said. "You fear like them."
"I'm not like them," Jerry snarled, rising to his feet, body shaking. "And I'm not afraid."
He launched forward, teeth bared, fury in his eyes.
Meanwhile: Emily Watches
From the rooftop, Emily stared in horror and awe.
That thing… that monster… it had Jerry's eyes.
She clutched her necklace—a crescent-shaped pendant—and whispered, "Dad… are you seeing this?"
Miles away, in a high-security underground bunker, Edward Xyros watched the battle unfold through a satellite feed. His jaw tightened.
"Project Abyss Core has survived," he muttered. "And it chose… him."
He turned to his assistant. "Activate Contingency Protocol Seven. And find a way to extract Emily. Now."
(To be continued...)