The punch came out of nowhere.
Silas hit the ground hard, his shoulder slamming against cold concrete. Pain exploded through his arm, but he didn't make a sound. He had learned a long time ago that crying only made it worse.
"Get up, Grimm."
That was Marcus. Of course it was Marcus. The guy had been making Silas's life hell since middle school, and now that they were seniors, nothing had changed. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Silas pushed himself up slowly, tasting blood where he had bitten his tongue. His glasses were crooked on his face, one lens cracked from where his head had bounced off the pavement. Through the fractured glass, he could see Marcus and his friends forming a loose circle around him. Five of them total. Because apparently it took five guys to beat up one scrawny kid behind the gym after school.
"I asked you a question," Marcus said, stepping closer. He was a full head taller than Silas, all muscle from football practice and whatever steroids his older brother sold him. "Where's my homework?"
"I... I don't have it yet," Silas managed, hating how small his voice sounded. "The essay's not due until Friday, I was going to—"
Another punch. This one caught him in the stomach, and Silas doubled over, gasping for air that wouldn't come. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and hit the ground, spilling notebooks and pens across the concrete.
"Wrong answer." Marcus grabbed him by his hoodie and yanked him upright. "I need it tomorrow morning. At the first period. You understand?"
Silas nodded quickly. He understood perfectly. He had spend all night writing two essays, one for himself and one for Marcus. Just like he'd done last week. And the week before that. It was either that or more of this.
Marcus shoved him backward. Silas stumbled but managed to stay on his feet this time. Small victories.
"Pathetic," one of Marcus's friends muttered. Silas thought his name was Derek, but he wasn't sure. They all kind of blurred together after a while, just different variations of the same asshole.
"Please," Marcus said with a laugh. "This isn't even fun anymore. Look at him. He's not even trying to fight back."
"Why would I?" The words slipped out before Silas could stop them. "You would just hit me harder."
The laughter stopped. Marcus's expression darkened, and Silas immediately knew he'd made a mistake. A huge one.
"Oh, you want me to hit harder?" Marcus cracked his knuckles. "I can do that."
What happened next wasn't really a fight. Fights required two people actually fighting. This was just... systematic. Or more of methodical. Marcus and his friends took turns, and Silas tried his best to protect his head and stomach, but there were too many of them and only one of him.
When they finally got bored and walked away, Silas stayed on the ground. Everything hurt. His ribs, his face, his pride, especially his pride, though that had been pretty much destroyed years ago. He stared up at the darkening sky, watching clouds drift past, and wondered—not for the first time—what the point of all this was.
He had no friends. His mom had died when he was twelve, and his dad... well, his dad was around, technically. Physically present in their crappy apartment. But emotionally? The man had checked out the day they had lowered his wife into the ground. Now he just worked, drank, and pretended Silas didn't exist.
School was hell. Home was worse. And the future? Silas couldn't even imagine a future. What was he supposed to do? Graduate, assuming he survived that long, and then what? Minimum wage job? Community college he couldn't afford? More years of being invisible and worthless?
"Great plan," he muttered to himself, finally forcing his body to move. Everything protested, but he managed to sit up. His glasses were completely broken now, the frame had snapped during the beating he received. Perfect. That was another fifty bucks his dad would complain about.
Silas gathered his scattered belongings with shaking hands, shoving everything back into his backpack. His history textbook was scuffed with pages bent. His calculator had a crack across the screen. At least his phone had survived, though that was only because it was already so old and beaten up that a little more damage didn't matter.
He stood slowly, testing his weight on each leg. Nothing felt broken, but tomorrow he would be covered in bruises. Not that anyone would notice or care.
The walk home took twenty minutes. Silas kept his head down the whole time with his hood pulled up despite the warm September evening. He passed convenience stores and bus stops filled with groups of kids his age hanging out and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. Normal people living normal lives.
What did that feel like?
He'd never know.
By the time Silas reached his apartment building, the sun was setting for real, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. It would've been pretty if he'd cared enough to look. Instead, he climbed the stairs to the third floor, each step making his ribs scream, and let himself into apartment 3C.
The TV was on. His dad was on the couch with a beer in hand, still wearing his work uniform from the warehouse. He didn't even bother to look up when Silas came in.
"There's pizza in the fridge," he said, eyes fixed on whatever game was playing. "Pepperoni."
"Thanks," Silas mumbled, though he wasn't hungry. His stomach still hurt from Marcus's punch.
He went straight to his room, barely more than a closet with a bed and a desk, and dropped his backpack on the floor. The window was open, letting in the evening breeze and the sound of traffic from the street below. Silas collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.
He should start on Marcus's essay. If he didn't finish it, tomorrow would be even worse. But his body felt like it had been hit by a truck, and his brain was too foggy to form coherent thoughts, let alone write a coherent essay about the causes of World War I.
Maybe just five minutes. Just five minutes to close his eyes and pretend he was someone else. Somewhere else.
The minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Silas drifted in and out of consciousness, his body trying to heal itself while his mind churned through the same dark thoughts it always did. At some point, he heard his dad stumble to bed. The apartment went quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional siren in the distance.
Around midnight, Silas finally dragged himself off the bed. He couldn't put off the essay any longer. He opened his laptop which was ancient, slow, held together with duct tape and prayer—and pulled up a blank document.
"The causes of World War I," he typed, "can be traced back to—"
A sound interrupted him. It sounded like scratching and it was coming from outside his window.
Silas frowned, saving his document before standing. The scratching continued, rhythmic and insistent, like something was trying to claw its way through wood or brick. He crossed to the window and peered out into the darkness.
The fire escape was empty. Three stories down, the alley was empty too, illuminated by a single flickering streetlight. Nothing moved. Nothing made noise. The scratching had stopped.
"Great," Silas muttered. "Now I'm hearing things."
He was about to turn away when he saw it—a shadow at the far end of the alley, deeper and darker than it should've been. It didn't move like a normal shadow. I
Silas's breath caught. What the hell was that?
He should've closed the window or stepped back into his room and forgotten about it. But something, might be curiosity, stupidity, or maybe just the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who'd given up on caring about consequences, made him lean further out for a better look.
The shadow rushed forward.
One second it was at the end of the alley. The next, it was directly below his window, a swirling mass of liquid darkness that defied physics and logic. Silas jerked backward, but too late. The shadow surged upward like a wave, crashing through the window and wrapping around him.
He tried to scream but nothing came out. The only thing he could remember was darkness everywhere, in his mouth, his nose, his lungs. It was cold, impossibly cold. It felt like drowning in ice water while needles pierced every inch of his skin.
Suddenly the floor disappeared beneath him.
---
He didn't know how long he fell. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time lost all meaning in the darkness. There was no up or down, no sense of direction, just endless falling through an void that swallowed sound and light and thought.
Then, without warning, he hit something solid.
The impact knocked every bit of air from his lungs. Pain exploded through his entire body, worse than the beating he had received, even worse than anything he'd ever felt. For several long moments, Silas couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He just lay there, gasping like a fish out of water, waiting for his brain to remember how lungs worked.
When he finally managed to drag in a breath, it tasted wrong. Not stale apartment air or city smog, but something... different. Earthy. Wet. With an underlying scent of rot that made his stomach turn.
Silas forced his eyes open.
He was lying in mud. Thick, black mud that squelched beneath him as he moved. Above, there was no sky—just more darkness, though this darkness had texture to it. He was in some kind of tunnel or cave, the walls close enough to touch on either side.
"What..." His voice came out as a croak. "What the hell..."
He pushed himself to his hands and knees, mud sucking at his palms. His whole body hurt, but nothing felt broken. That was something, at least. Though where he was and how he'd gotten here made no sense whatsoever.
The last thing he remembered was his room. The window and then that mysterious shadow...
"Okay," Silas said out loud, because the silence was starting to freak him out. "Okay, think. You're either dead, dreaming, or having a psychotic break. Those are the options."
None of them were great.
He patted his pockets. His phone was still there, miraculously, though the screen wouldn't turn on. He also had his wallet with three dollars and an expired student ID. A broken pen. That was it. No food, no water, no idea where he was.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Just perfect."
Standing took more effort than it should have. His legs shook, threatening to dump him back in the mud. But Silas steadied himself against the tunnel wall and tried to get his bearings.
The tunnel stretched in two directions. Behind him, it sloped upward into darkness. Ahead, it sloped downward into... also darkness. Great. Super helpful.
Going up made sense, right? Up meant surface. Surface meant civilization. Maybe.
Silas started walking up, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. Each step was careful and deliberate. The mud made everything slippery, and the last thing he needed was to fall and crack his skull open in whatever nightmare dimension this was.
He'd made it maybe twenty feet when he heard a sound.
Breathing.
Not his breathing. Something else. Something big, from the sound of it, each exhale a wet, rattling wheeze that echoed through the tunnel. And it was getting closer.
Every instinct Silas had screamed at him to run. But his body was already at its limit, and running in the dark through mud while injured seemed like a fantastic way to die. So instead, he pressed himself against the tunnel wall and tried to make himself as small as possible.
The breathing grew louder and closer. Then he saw it, a shape in the darkness, massive and hulking, moving on four legs. No, six legs. The creature had six legs, each one ending in claws that clicked against the stone.
Silas held his breath. Don't move. Don't make a sound. Maybe it won't see you.
The creature paused right in front of where he was hiding. This close, Silas could make out more details. Matted fur or hair covering a body the size of a van. It also had eyes—too many eyes—that glowed a sickly yellow-green in the darkness. And teeth. So many teeth, jutting from a mouth that took up half its face.
It sniffed the air. Once. Twice.
Then its head swiveled directly toward Silas.
Time to run.
Silas bolted down the tunnel, abandoning all pretense of stealth. Behind him, the creature roared, a sound that shook the walls and made his bones vibrate, and gave chase. Its claws scraped against stone. Its breathing filled the entire tunnel. And it was fast. So much faster than something that big had any right to be.
He wasn't going to make it. Silas knew that objectively, rationally. He was exhausted, injured, and had no idea where he was going. This thing was going to catch him, and then he was going to die in some underground hellhole, and nobody would ever know what happened to him.
But he ran anyway. Because what else was there to do?
The tunnel opened up suddenly, spilling into a larger cavern. Silas nearly fell, his momentum carrying him forward, but he managed to keep his feet. The cavern was massive—he couldn't see the walls or ceiling, just darkness in every direction. And in the center...
A pit.
It glowed with a faint blue light, illuminating the immediate area around it. The pit was maybe ten feet across, perfectly circular, and absolutely nothing good could come from jumping into a glowing hole in the ground.
But the creature was right behind him. Silas could hear it breathing, could smell its rotten breath.
He jumped.
The pit swallowed him whole.
And Silas fell again, tumbling through blue light and impossible geometry, until he slammed into hard ground for the second time that night.
This time, when he opened his eyes, the world was different.
The sky above was the wrong color—more purple than blue, with two suns hanging low on the horizon. The air smelled like ozone and ash. And in the distance, Silas could see the ruins of buildings, twisted metal and shattered glass stretching as far as the eye could see.
A broken world.
As he lay there, trying to process what he was seeing, words appeared in front of his eyes. Not on a screen or a sign, but floating in mid-air, glowing with the same blue light as the pit.
[UNIQUE BOND SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[HOST DETECTED: SILAS GRIMM]
[STATUS: POWERLESS]
[BEGINNING CALIBRATION...]
Silas stared at the words, his brain refusing to make sense of them. System? Host? What was this, some kind of video game?
The words shifted, changed.
[CALIBRATION COMPLETE]
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED]
[YOUR SURVIVAL BEGINS NOW]
And just like that, everything Silas thought he knew about reality shattered completely.