Rylan slumped deeper into his couch, the old cushions creaking under him. The room smelled like cold pizza and the faint buzz of his laptop fan.
He had just hit play on the final episode of Invincible season four.
The credits rolled. Another brutal cliffhanger. Bodies everywhere, Mark hanging on by a thread, and then nothing. Just that black screen and the words
"To be continued."
"Fuck," he said out loud, his voice rough from hours of silence.
"What is up with all these cliffhangers? Just release all the episodes of season four already!"
He rubbed his face hard, feeling the stubble scratch his palms. The frustration sat heavy in his chest like a rock.
He reached over, clicked the web video player shut, and the screen went dark.
His phone sat on the coffee table. He picked it up, thumb scrolling through a couple of notifications. Nothing worth answering.
Just spam and a text from his buddy asking if he was still alive. Rylan snorted softly, set the phone down, and plugged the charger in. The little battery icon lit up green.
"Bedtime," he muttered to the empty apartment.
He stood, stretched until his back popped, and shuffled to his room. The sheets were cool when he crawled in. Sleep took him fast, pulling him under like a heavy blanket.
His eyes opened slowly. Everything felt blurry, like waking up after a bad night. But he wasn't lying down. He was standing. Feet planted on something hard and uneven. The air smelled thick and metallic.
Rylan blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. His hands hung at his sides. They felt wrong. Sticky. Warm. He lifted them up in front of his face. Blood. Dark red blood coated both palms, thick between his fingers. It dripped in slow, heavy drops onto the ground.
His stomach twisted. "What the hell?" he whispered.
He patted his chest, his arms, and his legs. No pain there. No cuts on him that he could feel. The blood wasn't his. At least not most of it.
The ground under his shoes was cracked red rock, stretching out forever. Puddles of blood filled the low spots, some still shining wet.
Chunks of something darker littered the area. He didn't want to look too close. His heart started hammering hard against his ribs.
He tilted his head back. The sky above was a bruised purple-red, with two faint suns hanging low. And up there, on the jagged cliffs and hovering in the air, were thousands of figures.
All of them wore the same gray-and-white suits, tight and clean, not a speck of dirt on them. They floated there like they owned the sky, visors reflecting the bloody ground below.
They were staring straight down at him. Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching.
Rylan's mouth went dry. He dropped his gaze fast, a nervous chuckle slipping out.
'This has to be a dream,' he thought. 'Yeah, too much Invincible before bed. That's all.'
He squeezed his eyes shut tight. Then he slapped himself across the face, hard enough that the sting bloomed hot on his cheek. The sound cracked in the quiet air.
He opened his eyes again. The figures were still there. Thousands of them. Silent. Waiting.
"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" he said, voice cracking just a little. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up at them.
"Hey! Up there! Can anyone hear me? What is this place? How the hell did I get here?"
The words barely left his lips when one of the suits broke formation. It dropped like a stone, cutting through the air with a low whistle. Rylan barely had time to flinch.
The figure slammed into him. An armored fist slashed across his side. Pain exploded along his ribs. He felt the skin and muscle part like wet paper.
Blood poured out hot and fast, soaking his shirt in seconds. The cut was deep. He could see a flash of white bone before the red covered everything.
"Fuck!" he screamed, staggering sideways.
His hand clamped over the wound. Blood squirted between his fingers with every heartbeat.
The attacker hovered a few feet away, visor blank and cold. Then two more dove down. Rylan spun, dodging the first swing by pure luck.
The second caught his shoulder, tearing a long gash that burned like fire. He stumbled but kept his feet, chest heaving.
'Move, just move,' he thought. He ducked under another blurred punch, the wind from it whipping his hair. His side screamed with every step. Blood ran down his leg, making the ground slippery.
He threw a wild punch. His fist bounced off the suit's chest like he'd hit a wall. The guy didn't even rock. Instead, a knee slammed into Rylan's stomach.
Air exploded out of him. He doubled over, gasping.
They were everywhere now. Three, four, circling him like sharks. He twisted left, avoiding a kick that cracked the rock where his head had been. But the next one came from behind.
A boot drove into his back. He flew forward, skidding across the bloody ground. The wound on his ribs tore wider. Fresh pain ripped through him.
He pushed up on shaking arms.
"Stop! I don't even know you!" he yelled, voice hoarse.
Another figure grabbed his arm and yanked. The shoulder popped. Rylan screamed. A fist smashed into his jaw.
Stars burst behind his eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth now, thick and coppery.
He tried to crawl away. A boot stomped on his hand. Bones crunched. The pain was so sharp he almost blacked out right there.
They were laughing? No sound came from the visors, but he could feel the amusement rolling off them.
One of them lifted him by the throat. The grip crushed his windpipe. His feet kicked uselessly in the air. Black spots crowded his vision. His lungs burned.
Then a voice cut through his head. Cold. Mechanical. Not from any of them.
[Host down.]
[System taking precautions.]
Something inside Rylan's chest twisted hard. It felt like fire and ice at the same time. A pressure built fast, pushing outward.
Then it exploded.
Long shadowy tendrils burst from his torso. Dozens of them. Each one was thick as a wrist, black as midnight, and tipped with a single glowing eyeball.
The eyes blinked open, red pupils dilating like they were hungry.
The tendrils shot upward in a writhing storm. The first one slammed into the nearest attacker. The eyeball split wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. It latched onto the suit's arm and tore.
Flesh and metal shredded together. Blood sprayed in a hot arc. The man screamed as his arm ripped clean off at the shoulder, bone snapping like dry wood.
More tendrils joined the frenzy. One wrapped around a flying figure's leg and yanked. The eyeball burrowed into the thigh, chewing through muscle and artery. Blood fountained out in thick jets.
The guy thrashed as the tendril pulled him down and started eating through his chest. Ribs cracked open. Guts spilled in wet loops onto the red ground.
Another tendril caught two suits at once. The eyes opened wide, and the shadows simply engulfed them. Screams turned into gurgles as skin melted off bone.
One man's head popped like an overripe fruit, gray matter and blood raining down. The other tried to blast some kind of energy from his hands, but the shadow just drank it in and grew thicker, crushing his spine until it folded in half backward.
The thousands above started to panic. They scattered, but the horde of shadowy eyeballs was faster. Tendrils lashed out in every direction.
Bodies fell from the sky in pieces. An arm here. A leg there. One suit got his torso torn open from crotch to throat, intestines unraveling like rope as he plummeted.
The air filled with wet ripping sounds and raw screams. Blood misted the sky like red rain. A few tried to fight back, firing beams that lit up the wasteland, but the shadows swallowed the light and came back stronger, ripping throats open and sucking the blood straight from the veins.
It was over in less than a minute. The last few suits were yanked down and devoured alive. One tried to beg, visor cracking as a tendril forced its way inside his mouth and out the back of his skull.
Then the shadowy horde retracted. They slid back into Rylan's body like they had never been there. The battlefield went quiet except for the slow drip of blood from above.
Rylan's vision faded to black.
When he woke up, he was lying in a bed. Soft sheets pressed against his back. The room around him was dim and quiet.
His body ached, but the deep gashes on his side and shoulder were gone. Just smooth skin where the pain had been.
He blinked slowly, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Everything felt real. Too real.