Xavier woke up face down on cold asphalt.
His first thought was that his ribs were broken. Not bruised. Broken. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Everything hurt.
The second thought came slower: I'm alive.
He blinked, trying to push himself up with one hand, but his arm buckled. The skin on his side felt raw, like it had been torn open and then rubbed with gravel. Blood stuck his hoodie to his body. His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like iron, and when he rolled over onto his back, the sky above him looked foreign.
Black trees framed the stars. The road stretched out into shadows. There were no cars, no lights, no buildings. Just silence.
For a second, he thought he was dreaming.
But the pain was real. Too real. And so was the cold wind scraping across his skin.
He sat up slowly, wincing with each movement. His breathing was shallow, tight. One of his ribs definitely wasn't sitting where it was supposed to. He reached under his hoodie and hissed when his fingers pressed against the bruise.
His thoughts were scattered. Flashes of memory hit him like broken glass—bits and pieces with no order. That thing had attacked him. The whispers. The hand around his neck. The hallucinations—no, not hallucinations. They had felt real. His own voice repeating things he didn't want to remember.
And then… light?
Something had come from inside him. Not anger, not a weapon. Just… energy. Pressure. Heat. Something foreign.
Whatever it was, it had destroyed the thing.
He looked around.
There was no body. No creature. Just ash—gray and black, scattered across the road like the leftovers of a bonfire. It clung to the air. The smell of it—burned something—was strong, bitter.
And something else was gone, too.
That… object. The orb that had floated in the air after the fight. He remembered it clearly: a black sphere, smooth, with gold rings rotating around it. It hadn't attacked. It hadn't moved. It just… existed.
Now it was gone.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "Now I'm seeing floating orbs. Losing blood. And talking to myself."
He forced himself onto one knee and held his side. The pressure helped a little. Every step sent fresh pain through his chest, but staying put felt like an even worse idea.
Whatever had happened here, he needed to get away from it.
The trees weren't far. If he could reach the forest, maybe he'd find shelter or a place to rest. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, or if more of those things were out there. He didn't know what they were, where they came from, or why one had attacked him in the first place.
But he knew it hadn't been human.
Xavier limped to the edge of the road. Each step was slower than the last, his breathing quick and shallow. His hoodie pulled tightly across the bruised part of his ribs. He could feel where the skin was torn underneath—probably needed stitches. Maybe worse.
He stepped into the woods.
Branches cracked underfoot. The ground was damp, soft from recent rain. He used tree trunks to steady himself as he walked, occasionally pausing to catch his breath or let the nausea pass.
Nothing looked familiar.
This wasn't California. It wasn't anywhere he knew.
The trees were too close together, and the air had a wet chill to it that didn't feel like home. He'd grown up around city noise, sirens, people. But out here… everything was quiet. Unnaturally quiet.
The only sounds were the wind and his own breathing.
He leaned against a tree, wiping sweat from his forehead. His body was shaking. From pain. From fear. From everything he didn't understand.
He didn't even know how he had killed that thing. He had no training. No idea what that pulse inside him was. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen in a movie, or read in a comic. It didn't feel like magic or superpowers. It just… happened.
And somehow, it had saved his life.
But what scared him more than the pain or the blood or the monster was what came after.
He had killed something.
Not in self-defense in the way people talk about it on the news or in courtrooms. This had been different. Personal. Up close. Violent. Final.
The thing hadn't just vanished. It had screamed. It had crumbled. It had died.
And now, its remains were probably stuck to his clothes.
Xavier clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep moving. Thinking too hard about it wouldn't help right now. First, he needed to get away. Then find shelter. Then maybe start figuring out where he even was.
He stumbled over a root, caught himself, and hissed in pain as his ribs flared again. He leaned forward, gripping the nearest trunk.
"God…"
He had no phone. No idea what direction led anywhere. If he didn't find something soon, he'd pass out again—and next time, he might not wake up.
He looked around. No signs. No trails. Just endless trees and dark shapes stretching between them. He was already starting to lose strength. His legs were moving on autopilot now, more from instinct than intention.
Then something changed.
Just for a second, he felt it. A breeze? A shift in the air?
Like something—or someone—had just passed through the forest. It was so subtle he thought he imagined it, but it made him stop walking immediately.
His heartbeat spiked.
He waited.
Nothing.
No movement. No noise. Just the same crushing quiet.
He scanned the woods, unsure if he was being watched or just paranoid. But something about the way the hair on his arms stood up told him it wasn't just nerves.
He wasn't alone anymore.
He gritted his teeth and kept walking, deeper into the trees. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he couldn't stay still.
Because whatever world he'd landed in—whatever nightmare had opened its eyes tonight—wasn't finished with him yet.