2025-12-21 04:36:41Ryker braced himself and measured his voice before he spoke.
“Who am I speaking with?” he asked.
A man’s voice responded smoothly, without hesitation. “Dr. Victor Clark.”
Ryker felt his chest tighten instantly, a pressure forming just beneath his ribs. The name carried weight—years of it. Clark Industries. The company that had promised salvation and delivered a cage instead. Two years of experiments, injections, machines humming over his body, scientists watching him like a broken specimen. Two years of false hope. Two years without pay, without answers, without mercy.
“The same Dr. Clark who runs Clark Industries?” Ryker asked.
“The very same,” the voice replied.
Ryker’s jaw tightened. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because,” Dr. Clark said calmly, “I have something you want. And you have something I need.”
Ryker let out a slow breath through his nose. “What do you think I want?”
“I saw everything you did,” Dr. Clark replied. “My special operatives. Their body cams captured the entire encounter.”
Ryker said nothing. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t explain.
“I want you to return to Clark Industries,” Dr. Clark continued. “Immediately.”
Ryker scoffed. “And what exactly do you have that would make me do that?”
There was a pause. A deliberate one.
“Catalina,” Dr. Clark said.
The word froze Ryker in place. His fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. “Where is she?”
“Check your phone,” Dr. Clark replied.
The call ended.
Ryker stared at the screen for half a second before it refreshed on its own. A live video feed opened. Catalina lay asleep on a bed, her breathing slow and even. The room was clean, well-lit, nothing like the places Ryker had imagined in his worst moments. She shifted slightly in her sleep, unaware of the eyes watching her.
She was alive.
Ryker closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “Okay,” he said quietly.
That night, he returned to Clark Industries.
The building stood exactly as it always had—towering, polished, untouchable. Glass walls reflected the city lights, making it look less like a workplace and more like a monument to control. As Ryker approached the entrance, guards noticed him immediately. None raised a weapon. None spoke. They simply stepped aside, clearing a path as if they’d been expecting him all along. Fear lingered in their expressions, unhidden.
Inside, the elevator doors slid open at his approach. He stepped in alone. The ascent felt longer than it should have, the quiet broken only by the soft hum of machinery.
Top floor.
The doors opened.
Dr. Clark sat near the window, wine glass in hand, one leg crossed casually over the other. The city stretched clearly through his windows, distant and insignificant. He looked relaxed, comfortable, like a man who had never lost control of a situation in his life.
“Look who’s here,” Dr. Clark said. “I knew you had something in you. Probably just a late bloomer.”
“Where’s my sister?” Ryker asked.
“She’s fine,” Dr. Clark replied. “I adopted her. She lives in my house now. Safe.”
The word settled heavily in the air. Adopted.
“Now what do you want?” Ryker asked.
Dr. Clark gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
Ryker didn’t move.
“I understand that you’re angry,” Dr. Clark said. “But things are different now. You have power. You can command respect.”
“Where is she?” Ryker repeated.
“She’s safe,” Dr. Clark said again. “As long as you cooperate.”
“I'm here now, what next?”
Dr. Clark chucked. “You need to go back to the lab. I'm curious to see why my systems didn't pick up any unusual activities with your DNA.”
Ryker exhaled slowly. “Then, take me to the lab.”
They went down together.
The lab doors sealed shut behind them with a familiar hiss. Bright lights flickered on overhead, revealing white walls, metal tables, and machines Ryker recognized instantly. Scientists moved quickly, eyes darting between screens and instruments. He was strapped to a steel bed, restraints locking firmly around his wrists and ankles.
Blood was drawn. Scans were run. Sensors attached. Hours passed as data streamed across monitors.
Finally, one of the scientists spoke. “Sir… his DNA is completely normal.”
Dr. Clark frowned. “Run it again.”
They did.
The result didn’t change.
“Again,” Dr. Clark ordered.
Still nothing. Just human.
“No mutation markers,” the scientist said quietly.
Dr. Clark stared at the screen. “That’s impossible.”
He turned away sharply. “Then we force it out.”
Ryker was unstrapped and dragged from the room, boots scraping against the floor. They took him deeper underground, past reinforced doors and concrete corridors. The air grew colder with every step.
They stopped at a sealed chamber.
Inside, something moved.
Dr. Clark’s voice echoed through speakers overhead. “Fight,” he said. “Or die.”
The gate lifted.
A chimera stepped forward. Massive. Misshapen. Gorilla arms fused with a bear’s head. Claws scraped against the concrete as it roared.
The gate slammed shut behind Ryker.
And the beast charged.
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CHAPTER 10: THEROS
When Ryker straightened and looked back, the pain finally loosening its grip, he met a pair of blue eyes—cold, clear and old.They watched him the way mountains watched storms. They belonged to a woman standing a few steps behind him, untouched by the ruin around her. Broken walls leaned away from her boots. Dust never settled on her skin. Smoke bent aside as if it had learned obedience.She did not look surprised by the destruction. She looked like she had expected it.She wore black. The fabric was layered and sharp, cut in strange lines that didn’t belong to any era Ryker recognized. It flowed and held at the same time, refusing gravity when it pleased. The cloth shimmered faintly, like night water under moonlight. Silver thread traced symbols along the hem—old shapes, worn smooth by time rather than fashion.Her sleeves hung loose, but her posture was controlled. Balanced. Like violence was something she kept folded neatly inside herself, ready to unfold if required.She walked cl
CHAPTER 9: The Hound That Hunts God's
The beast stood in the middle of his living room. Too large for the space. Too real for logic.Its four heads hung from a thick, corded neck, each one different. One hissed. One growled low. One breathed slowly and measured. The last grinned, lips pulled back over too many teeth.Cracked tiles bent under its weight. The floor had already begun to cave. Framed photos lay shattered beneath its claws. The couch sagged, half-melted, half-crushed, like the room itself had tried to escape and failed.Ryker stood near the doorway, shoulders squared, heart beating too loud in his ears. His body knew before his mind accepted it.This thing was not meant to exist here.“I guess you’re one of Clark’s experiments,” Ryker said. His voice didn’t shake, though pressure crawled up his spine, cold and invasive. “What should I call you before I kill you?”The beast went still.All four heads stopped moving at once.No breath. No sound.The silence pressed down harder than the noise had. It lasted half a
CHAPTER 8: A System Built To Stop Him
The sky above Helheim did not move. It never did.Ash hung in the air like a held breath. Rivers of black fire crawled through the land in slow, deliberate veins. The throne spire rose at the center, jagged and alive, carved from the remains of wars that never ended.Two gods stood at its edge.Iroas stood with his chin up—armor layered his body like memory hardened into steel. Every plate bore scars. His presence bent the space around him—not violently, but with certainty. As if the world already knew better than to resist.Keranos stood opposite him, staff grounded against the stone. Lightning crawled lazily along its length, crackling, restless. His eyes were narrowed, unfocused, staring through the realm instead of at it.“He’s awake,” Keranos said.Not loudly. Not urgently. Just truth.Iroas did not respond at first.Below them, something howled. A distant sound. Old. Familiar.“How much?” Iroas finally asked.Keranos exhaled. The air shuddered.“Very little,” he said. “Fragments
CHAPTER 7: System Vs Magma
The chopper touched down hard on the roof of Clark Industries.Wind tore across the platform. Rotors screamed like something alive and angry. Ryker stepped out without hesitation. Two days ago, he had left this place as cargo. Now, eyes followed him.Not curiosity. Assessment.Workers paused mid-step. Guards straightened without being told. Scientists stopped, pretending to stare at their tablets. Something about him felt off. Wrong in a way no chart explained. His frame was broader. Not bulky, not exaggerated. Dense. Compact. His posture had settled differently, like his bones had finally agreed on their purpose.Ryker felt it too.The world no longer pressed in on him. It no longer felt heavier than it should.His boots hit the concrete with a weight that carried authority, even if he didn’t try to claim it. He moved forward, unhurried, and the crowd parted a fraction too late, like animals reacting after the presence was already past them.Henry was leaning against the wall near th
CHAPTER 6: Flashes Of The Past
The war zone was already dying when Ryker arrived.Smoke hung low over the land, thick and gray, dragging the sky down with it. Trenches had collapsed into mud. Burned vehicles lay scattered like carcasses. The air smelled of iron, oil, and rot. Soldiers moved without urgency, rifles hanging loose in their hands, eyes hollow. This was not a battlefield anymore. It was a place waiting to lose.The chopper didn’t linger.It dropped Ryker at the edge of the camp and lifted off immediately, blades screaming as it vanished into the clouds. Two soldiers stood waiting for him. Their uniforms were torn. Their boots were caked with dried blood.They didn’t ask questions. They escorted him straight through the camp.Ryker felt it as they walked—the absence of command. No structure. No tension holding the men together. Just exhaustion and quiet resentment. Soldiers glanced at him, then away. Some didn’t even bother to look.The commander’s tent was untouched by the war.Bright fabric. Clean floo
CHAPTER 5: She Called Him Father
Ryker woke up suspended in liquid. Cold pressed against his skin from every direction. Thick. Heavy. It filled his mouth, his nose, his ears. His chest tightened before he understood why—something had been forced between his lips, a tube driven deep, feeding air directly into his lungs. He tried to gasp and couldn’t. Panic flared, sharp and violent, then stalled when his body realized breathing was being handled for him.When he opened his eyes. Blurred shapes hovered beyond curved glass. White coats. Masks. Hands moving with careful speed. Lights blinked in sterile patterns. Voices existed, but only as vibration, muted and distant, like sound heard through stone.He turned his head a fraction.Pain didn’t follow. That was strange. His body felt numb, suspended, unreal.Scientists stood nearby, watching him like a problem that had finally reacted. Not with concern or relief, but with interest.One of them noticed his eyes. Everything shifted.Notes dropped. Screens went dark. Hands pu
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