This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
The inn smelled like woodsmoke and bread.
It was warm. Real. The kind of place that convinced people they were safe.
Ethan didn't sit.
Rowan noticed, of course.
"This world," she said lightly as she poured herself water, "has existed longer than your history books would survive."
Kael leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. Brannick took the corner seat, shield resting near his boots. Everyone listened when Rowan spoke—even Kael pretended not to.
"This dimension was built to hold things," Rowan continued. "Before humans learned how to pretend evil was theoretical."
Ethan's eyes stayed on the window.
"The Root of All Evil," she said, her tone finally losing its playfulness, "isn't a concept. It's a living distortion. A dark monster that feeds on collapse. It wants out."
She traced a circle on the table with her finger. "This world is the buffer. Earth is the prize."
Ethan spoke without turning. "So I kill it."
Rowan shook her head. "Not yet."
That got his attention.
"You're strong," she said honestly. "But you're still… incomplete. If you face the Root now, you die. Quickly."
Kael scoffed. "She's being kind. You'd be erased."
Rowan ignored him. "Before that happens, you protect what's left. There's a village near the eastern fields. It's already been hit."
Her smile returned—thin, forced. "That's your first mission."
—
They arrived too late to save the quiet.
Houses burned low, smoke clinging to the ground like regret. The air felt wrong—thick, heavy, watched.
"They're close," Brannick muttered.
Then they came.
Human-sized shapes emerged from the mist—bodies swallowed by moving darkness. No faces. No features. Only red eyes burning with borrowed intent.
Ethan moved first.
Steel cut through mist and resistance alike. Kael followed with brutal precision. Rowan's movements were clever—angles, timing, intelligence disguised as play. Brannick held the line.
The monsters fell without screams.
Too easily.
Ethan felt it before he saw it.
Speed.
A blur cut through the fog, striking and vanishing before steel could answer. A figure stepped forward—normal-sized, almost human in silhouette.
Blue eyes.
Rowan's voice sharpened. "Elite."
It moved.
Ethan barely tracked it.
Pain registered. Distance collapsed. The fight became survival.
Then something inside him unlocked.
Green flooded his vision.
Hair lifted. Eyes burned bright.
And Ethan laughed.
Not loudly.
Happily.
His body forgot limitation.
Speed answered thought. The world slowed, bent, complied. Seven minutes of permission.
The elite monster froze.
Fear.
It turned to flee.
Ethan appeared in front of it.
"I'll give you one," he said, smiling wide now. Alive. Excited. "Two. Three."
He stepped aside.
"A head start."
The creature ran.
Ethan leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"It makes it all the more fun," he whispered, "when I finally catch up to you."
—
Far away, beneath concrete and lies—
Principal Whitmore sat in silence.
Across from him, a man with pale eyes and no warmth adjusted his gloves.
"The experiments were successful," the scientist said calmly. "Pain accelerates evolution."
Whitmore didn't look pleased.
"No," he said. "It weaponizes it."
The scientist smiled faintly.
"And that," he replied, "is why he will survive."
—
"Strength is not what you are given—it is what remains after everything else is taken."
Chapter End