System Activated: Rise of Liam Mercer

Liam Mercer ran. His lungs burned; every breath scraped raw against his throat. The parcel pressed tight against his chest was slick with blood, his blood, and heavier than it had been ten minutes ago. 

Boots splashed behind him, four, maybe five men. “Stop the bloody courier!” someone shouted.

“Not a chance.”  Liam vaulted a toppled rubbish bin, almost slipping on the wet asphalt. 

His sneakers, soaked and tearing, slapped against puddles that reflected the neon glow of Soho’s closed clubs. 

A car horn blared; tires hissed past. The storm muffled everything except his heartbeat.

He ducked into an alley, chest heaving. Water streamed down his face, tasting of metal and exhaust. He pressed his palm against the wound at his ribs, warm, slick, still bleeding.

“Marcus,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You set me up, you bastard.”

The memory hit him like the rain: a normal night, a normal delivery. Marcus Vane’s voice over the headset, “Quick drop-off, easy tip.”

Easy, his arse. He’d walked into an ambush. A flash of movement snapped him back. “Oi!” a voice called, echoing down the alley.

Liam spun, grabbed a rusted metal pipe from the ground. “Come on, then!” he shouted, though his voice shook.

Two shapes appeared, trench-coated and masked. One held a blade, the other a length of chain.

“What’s in the box, rider boy?” the chain-man growled. “You nicked something that’s not yours.”

“It’s mine now,” Liam spat, stepping backward. His heel hit a wall. Dead end. “Of course. Brilliant, Liam. Always the short straw.”

The first attacker lunged. Liam swung the pipe, the crack of metal on bone ringing through the rain. 

The man staggered back, cursing. The second lashed the chain; it bit across Liam’s shoulder, tearing cloth and skin.

Pain flared white. He grunted, swung again, missed. “Keep moving. Don’t die here. Not like this.”

He ducked another swing, shoved the attacker into a stack of bins, and bolted through the side door of an abandoned laundrette. 

The smell of damp and detergent hit him. Machines sat like corpses under flickering light.

He slammed the door, jammed the pipe through the handle. Rain roared on the roof. His breath came ragged. “Think, Mercer,” he muttered. “Think.”

The parcel. The bloody parcel. He tore it open. Inside, wrapped in torn velvet, was a small metal sphere etched with faint symbols. 

It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. “What the hell are you?” he whispered.

The light inside the orb flared, casting gold across his trembling hands. For a moment the pain in his ribs faded, replaced by a pull, something calling him deeper, beneath the skin of the world.

Then the door shuddered. A boot kicked once. Twice. The pipe bent. “Open it, Mercer!” a voice roared. “You don’t know what you’re holding!”

“You’re right,” Liam said, breathless. “But you’re not getting it.”

Another kick. The door splintered. “I’m dead. I’m actually dead.”

The orb’s light brightened until the room was pure white. Symbols floated across the walls, ancient, impossible. The storm outside howled louder, answering the pulse in his hand.

Liam stared at the sphere. His reflection shimmered across its surface, rain-soaked, bloodied, terrified. “Maybe dying isn’t the end. Maybe it’s just another delivery.”

The door crashed open. Figures surged in, shouting. The orb exploded with light. The explosion wasn’t sound, it was force.

A pressure wave slammed through the laundrette, flipping machines like toys. Glass burst, metal screamed. 

The men who had kicked the door in flew backward, hitting the walls with bone-cracking thuds.

Liam was thrown into a dryer. His vision burst into static, then black. For a few heartbeats, there was only the rain, dripping through shattered windows, then, silence.

He opened his eyes to a world washed in white light. He wasn’t in the laundrette anymore. The air shimmered like molten glass. 

Around him floated countless sigils, rotating slowly, humming in deep, ancient rhythm. “What, is this?” His voice sounded like it didn’t belong to him.

A voice answered, cold and resonant, not from outside, but from inside his skull. 

[Divine Power System Initializing]

He stumbled backward, clutching his head. “What, who’s there?”

[Bearer identified: Liam Mercer.]

The pain in his ribs numbed. His pulse steadied. The bleeding stopped, the wound sealing with faint golden light. He gasped, trembling. “This, this isn’t real.”

[Reality: 100%. Welcome to the Requiem Protocol.]

The sphere, or what was left of it, hovered before him, glowing brighter. Sigils wrapped around his forearm, branding themselves into flesh. 

He screamed as the mark burned through skin, light searing into bone. Images hit his mind like lightning.

Gods falling through the clouds, cities drowned in storms, a hand reaching through fire, his hand, gripping something divine.

[Elemental Core Awakening: Stage One, Wind.]

Air tore through the room. The shattered windows screamed as gusts howled inward. The surviving thugs outside tried to rise, but the wind hurled them against the walls.

Liam staggered to his feet, drenched in light and fear. “What are you doing to me?”

[Elevating the worthless. Testing the unworthy.]

The voice was emotionless, but something beneath it pulsed, a whisper that sounded almost human. He clenched his fists. “If you’re saving me, you’re too bloody late.”

[Incorrect. You are not saved. You are chosen.]

Lightning flashed through the broken roof, striking the mark on his arm. Power roared through his veins, raw and wild. The air bent around him, swirling. His hair whipped in every direction.

He looked down, the world around him clear as glass, every droplet of rain hanging midair. His heart thundered. His anger rose with it.

Footsteps scraped from the rubble. One of the attackers, bloodied but alive, raised his head. “W-What are you?”

Liam’s lips curled into a half-crazed smile. “Just the delivery guy.”

He lifted his arm instinctively. Wind coiled around it like a serpent, then lashed out, a violent, invisible hammer. The man slammed into the wall and went still.

The lights dimmed. The hum faded. Liam dropped to his knees, chest heaving. Rain poured through the broken ceiling, sizzling where it touched the glowing mark on his arm. 

He looked at his reflection in a puddle, eyes faintly glowing blue, veins pulsing with light. He exhaled, trembling. “Marcus, you’d better pray I don’t find you.”

Outside, thunder rolled over London like laughter.

[Divine Power System, Installation Complete.]

Liam stared at the ruined doorway, soaked in blood and rain. The system’s voice echoed softly in his skull.

[First Mission Assigned: Deliver Justice.]

He smiled, a cold, broken thing. “Yeah,” he whispered, rising. “I can do that.”

Lightning tore across the sky as he stepped into the storm, the mark blazing brighter. 

The city didn’t know it yet, but the delivery man they’d ignored was about to become their reckoning, and the wind obeyed his rage.