APEX RISING

Chapter 4: What the hell!!

 Red and blue lights pierced through the veil of night as an ambulance skidded to a stop outside the warehouse. Tires hissed on the wet gravel. Two paramedics jumped out, their boots splashing into the mud.

“Over here!” one of them shouted, flashlight sweeping through the open space.

They found him in seconds.

Damian lay in a pool of blood, motionless—his body pale, his breaths shallow. One leg twisted unnaturally, his clothes shredded and soaked in crimson. But his eyes, barely open, flicked weakly toward the light.

“He’s alive! Barely!” The younger paramedic dropped to his knees, immediately checking Damian’s pulse.

“Lacerations to the abdomen and chest. Puncture wounds—deep. What the hell did this to him?”

“No time to wonder, let’s move!”

They worked quickly, slipping an oxygen mask over Damian’s face, securing his neck in a brace. His body convulsed slightly as they lifted him, pain slicing through the thin veil of his unconsciousness.

“He’s hemorrhaging. I need pressure here!”

The stretcher rattled as they pushed it through the warehouse doors. The wind howled around them, the rain starting again in icy needles. Damian’s eyes fluttered.

Blurred lights.

Voices.

Pain.

A faint echo of laughter that wasn’t real.

Malcolm.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, and they took off—sirens wailing into the night. One of the medics hovered over Damian, injecting painkillers, applying pressure, calling out vitals.

“Stay with me, kid. Don’t you dare quit now.”

Damian’s mind drifted somewhere between darkness and memory. The storm outside faded, replaced by the white-hot buzz of fluorescent lights as the hospital came into view.

But even as the pain swallowed him whole—

That golden gaze still burned in his mind.

Tokyo Central Hospital – Emergency Trauma Wing

The stretcher burst through the sliding doors as the trauma team snapped into motion. The bright white lights were a sharp contrast to the blood-drenched mess Damian had become. Nurses and doctors swarmed around him like bees in a hive, each one shouting instructions over the other.

“Severe blood loss—BP is dropping fast!”

“Prep the OR, now!”

“Deep abdominal punctures… possible internal bleeding.”

Damian’s eyelids fluttered. Blinding white overhead lights blurred into halos. Masked faces leaned in, voices overlapping—urgent, sharp.

“Pupils reactive but sluggish—he’s fading.”

“Give me 2 units of O-neg and push 10 of morphine!”

His body was lifted onto a metal table, cold against his skin. Someone cut away his torn shirt, revealing the deep slashes across his chest and side. Blood continued to spill freely. One gash exposed a torn muscle and glimpses of fractured rib.

“Multiple fractures—he needs full imaging once we stabilize him.”

“Puncture to the right lung, it’s collapsing—needle decompression, now!”

Metal clattered. The hiss of oxygen. The sound of suction draining blood from his throat.

Damian wasn’t awake, but something deep inside him felt it. His heart beat against death’s door, defiant. Even as everything inside him cried out in agony, his soul screamed louder:

Don’t die. Not yet. You haven’t killed him. Not yet.

The surgeon leaned over him, scalpel glinting.

“Let’s open him up. We’re losing him.”

The first incision was made.

Then darkness.

…

…

Tokyo Central Hospital – Recovery Room

Late Evening

A slow beeping echoed through the room. Steady. Calm. Life.

Damian’s eyes twitched, then blinked open—just slightly. The white ceiling above him was hazy, like staring through water. Every breath he took felt like dragging air through broken glass, but he was alive. Barely.

The dull ache in his body quickly sharpened. Chest, ribs, shoulder, legs—everything screamed, but the worst pain throbbed behind his ribs: rage.

A nurse noticed his movement and quickly moved to his bedside.

“You’re awake... Just stay still,” she said gently, adjusting the IV line. “You’ve been out for over twenty-four hours. You lost a lot of blood.”

Damian turned his head slowly. The motion alone drained him, but his mind burned like a fire rekindled.

The woods.

The creature.

The pain.

Malcolm.

That name thundered through his skull like war drums.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the nurse continued, unaware of the storm behind his eyes. “The paramedics said they found you in an abandoned warehouse near the woods. Do you remember what happened?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched.

He remembered everything.

The way the creature moved. The voice. The glowing eyes. The smirk. That final phrase—“I expect great things from you.”

A burning itch grew in his bandaged hands. His fists tightened. Tubes pulled against his skin.

He turned his face away from the nurse, staring at the window where the sun was beginning to set behind Tokyo’s skyline. Warm orange light spilled into the sterile white room.

He hadn’t seen Malcolm in thirteen years. Not a single sign. Not even a whisper.

But now?

He was back.

And Damian knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t disappear again.

Not this time.

Not with Damian watching.

…

…

Tokyo Central Hospital – Discharge Wing

The Next Morning

Morning light spilled through the thin hospital curtains, casting soft golden slashes across the clean white floor. Damian sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in his blood-stained hoodie and dark jeans—what was left of them. The doctors insisted he stay longer, but he’d refused. He wasn’t interested in recovery. He just wanted to get out.

A nurse handed him a clipboard with the release form, her tone firm but sympathetic. “You really should rest more. That kind of trauma—”

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, scribbling his name before she could finish.

His ribs still ached, his stitches tugged with every breath, and his muscles screamed with every step—but he moved forward. Slowly. With purpose.

…

Tokyo – Morning Streets

The city was alive. Crowds of people swarmed the narrow sidewalks, umbrellas dancing in rhythm as the last of the morning drizzle faded. Neon signs blinked overhead. Traffic horns bleated in a never-ending chorus. The smell of street food, gasoline, and damp concrete filled the air.

Damian walked with his hood up, hands in his pockets, head down. His limbs were stiff, and the bandage under his shirt pressed tightly against his ribs. His breath fogged in the cool air.

He passed a small alleyway near the corner of the main strip when he heard it—

“Damian.”

Soft. Calm. Feminine.

He stopped. Eyes narrowing.

His heart skipped once, then thudded. He slowly turned to his right, scanning the crowd.

A figure moved closer, brushing past him.

Damian looked down.

A girl—no, a woman. Short, black bobbed hair. Pale skin. Piercing gray eyes. Her lips barely parted as she repeated:

“Damian.”

Before he could ask anything—

BAM!

Two large hands slammed onto his shoulders from behind, forcing him forward and down onto the cold sidewalk. His knees hit hard. Pain lanced through his chest. Before he could react, one hand yanked his arms behind his back while another pressed his head toward the pavement.

“Don’t move,” a cold male voice ordered.

A black van screeched to a stop by the curb.

Damian’s eyes widened.

What the hell is this?

Damian struggled against the grip, his body still sore and weakened from the surgery. Pain rippled through his chest as he thrashed, adrenaline kicking in—but his strength wasn’t enough.

One of the men leaned in, gloved hand tight around Damian’s jaw, forcing his head to the side.

Then—a sharp sting in the side of his neck.

“Wha—”

His words slurred instantly.

A chill spread from the puncture, racing down his spine. The street sounds faded. His vision blurred, flickering with bursts of color and static. His limbs went numb, heavy like lead.

The last thing he saw was the woman standing nearby, calm, her expression unreadable as she looked down at him. She didn’t blink. She didn’t help.

Damian's head slumped forward.

Darkness swallowed him whole.