V - 000003.7 - This Means War

  My shifting eyes froze in place, locking with the crimson screen that had just forced itself over the Pantheon menu. My racing thoughts ground to a halt as runes carved themselves violently into the surface, writhing like wounds opening in flesh.

  “Legends Never Die?” I muttered, my voice barely audible as the ominous words burned themselves into place.

  The rage, anxiety, and dread that had consumed me only moments before were torn from my mind in an instant, replaced by something far more dangerous — a sharp, predatory glee.

  “So this is the backside to the world quest? If they fail—” “Which they will!” a voice snarled through my mouth, hijacking the words and cutting me off mid-sentence.

  “—then we get to reap the rewards,” I finished, more out of spite at the interruption than any need to complete the thought.

  But just as quickly as that monstrous joy spread through me, my rational mind reasserted itself. It never stayed buried for long. My momentary triumph withered under the weight of a harsher reality.

  “Get us the fuck out of here, Viktor. That quest may be vague as hell, but let’s not leave any dots to connect while we’re kneeling in a pool of splattered human remains.”

  My eyes flicked to the side, then rolled almost of their own accord. Muscles bunched and coiled tight around my bones like springs. A moment later, I exploded into motion — feet pounding the ground, launching me from stillness to a twenty-five mile sprint in a heartbeat.

  As my body carried me, my thoughts drifted, leaving me more passenger than participant. My legs knew the way home. Buildings gave way to the cracked green of overgrowth, then to the twisted concrete veins of suburbia, and finally to the psychedelic forest I called my own.

  The further I went, the stronger the embrace of the energies that marked my domain — deathly, demonic, suffocating. Home.

  My claws tore deep furrows into the soil, dragging stone and roots free as I dug in, calves flexing as I leaned back to arrest my momentum. The stop should have been epic, clean. Instead, I overcompensated and toppled backward, landing slowly and spectacularly on my ass.

  I sat there for a beat, scowling at myself. Picking myself up, I considered dusting off before deciding it was pointless — no use sweeping ash when the whole building was already on fire. Instead, I pulled up the Global Quest, comparing it against my personal one.

  My eye twitched as I scanned the quest again and again. A smile tugged at my lips when every attempt to pry deeper into the system’s information ended in the same way—partial results. Unlike my status screen, where details layered neatly, anything tied to my location, level, Class, or Legacy trait pushed back. Each time I tried to dig further, a strange resistance pressed against my mind, the Genesis Engine itself rebuffing me. Even the rewards resisted—only the levels and the advancement token revealed themselves fully.

  I gave a slow, almost eager nod. The realization settled in: the system was hiding far more about me than I’d suspected. With a flick of thought I dismissed the display and strode toward my shack. Reaching for the handholds on the door, I misjudged and cracked my nose against the wood.

  “Godsdammit—”

  Another screen forced itself into my vision, blotting everything else out.

  I rubbed my poor, abused nose, eyes darting over the message. A bubbling mix of annoyance, anger, and near-hysterical laughter clawed its way up my throat. My chest seized, heaving as I tried to smother it all at once.

  “Fuck it. What’s one more amorphous, disembodied fuck sticking its nose into my life?” I muttered once I had control of myself again.

  My frustration needed an outlet. My clawed foot slammed into the door, kicking it inward with a crack. The thing toppled across the floor, and I dumped the trinkets and clothing I’d hauled back from the city onto the growing mess of my life. Then, halfway through the motion, I froze—head cocking slightly to the side.

  “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do, Vik.”

  My eyes flicked to the other side as I muttered back, “Ah, I don’t think we exactly need to. You’re in my head — you already know what I want to do.”

  “Uh-huh. And I also know you usually don’t know what you’re doing until you’re already doing it. Half the time, you’re just dragging us along by instinct. So maybe, for once, let’s plan instead of letting your subconscious throw us into the grinder again.”

  The nagging voice droned on, scraping against my nerves. My focus slipped, my mind wandering into the rhythm of another voice humming low, a faint chorus of lyrics echoing in the corners of my skull.

  Then — crack.

  “Ow, what the fuck?” My hand dropped back down, stinging where I’d slapped myself hard enough to welt.

  “FOCUS, you idiot! We’re trying to keep you alive.”

  Heat surged up in my chest, clashing against the pit of ice that had taken root in my heart. My eyes narrowed, voice sharp as glass.

  “I don’t need your help to stay alive, you arrogant little asshole. It wasn’t you who kept us going. You didn’t kill the Reapers. You’re nothing but a fucking parasite — a malady in my twisted head, leeching off every step I’ve taken since this all began.”

  The voice splintered at my accusation. Its tone fractured, splitting into overlapping discordant echoes: some snarling, some singing, each warped from shards of memory.

  “You killed us, Viktor. We died. Because you can’t control yourself. Because you never think ahead. You haven’t had a plan since this nightmare began — just wandering from impulse to impulse, dragging us into whatever suicide note you’re scribbling across the world. The only reason you’re still standing isn’t because you’re strong. It’s because everyone you’ve fought has been weak. The first time you met an organized force, we died. And why? Because you walked right into their arms for some kid whose name you don’t even remember.”

  “Fuck you!” My voice cracked with fury. “I’ve fought for every breath. I’ve killed everything between us and survival. I carved a life out of this wasteland — I held back the storm. I’ve never taken the easy way out.”

  “I’m in your head, Viktor. Don’t bullshit me. You’ve wanted every fight to be your last. The only reason you’re still alive is because your twisted ideals won’t let you quit. You’ve thrown us into every suicide mission you could dream up — cops, soldiers, gangs, even the weather. All because deep down, you don’t think it counts as your fault if you just weren’t strong enough to survive.”

  My eyes sank to the grimy floor. Silence. My chest burned hot with rage, but no answer came. Only fury, raw and mindless, clawed at me as memories cracked open like rotten wood. Alice’s death. Betrayal. Endless survival. Targets upon targets. My hatred for the world swelling into something vast enough to drown me.

  Then came a new voice, slithering from that hatred.

  “Don’t listen to that inferior fuck. They’re garbage. All of them. We were never in danger. I have protected you every single day. I made you immune to your father’s fists. I stopped you from breaking. Let me help you again. Just like when we were kids. I can take the wheel. You can rest. Just like I saved you after Alice died.”

  Visions assaulted me. My father’s face twisted in rage, fists slick with my blood. Marcus’s dead eyes staring blank. Alice’s smile — a phantom, jagged in its purity. Red flooded my sight. Then one final memory erupted from the depths, a memory I had buried so deep even this new voice snarled in fury at its emergence.

  The taste of blood. Flesh tearing beneath my teeth. My dying body surging with unnatural vigor. The mistakes of my death march burned away in a haze of hunger. Bloodlust as salvation. My body breaking down yet still moving forward.

  And through it all, one thought, raw and desperate, screaming through my skull:

  “Why am I still here? I can’t do this without you.”