The Last God

Chapter 1: The Cage

The basement smelled like rust and old blood.

Marcus Chen pressed his face against the cold concrete floor, tasting copper on his split lip. Above him, footsteps echoed. Heavy boots. Three of them tonight.

"Get up, freak."

The voice belonged to Dmitri, the enforcer who enjoyed his work too much. Marcus did not move. Moving only made it worse.

A kick landed in his ribs. Pain exploded through his chest, but Marcus swallowed the scream. They fed on screams.

"I said get up."

Marcus pushed himself to his knees, chains rattling from his wrists. The iron collar around his neck dug into his skin, covered in symbols he could not read. Symbols that kept him weak. Kept him trapped.

"Boss wants to see you," Dmitri said, grabbing Marcus by the hair and dragging him toward the stairs.

Marcus stumbled, bare feet sliding on the slick floor. How long had he been down here? Weeks? Months? Time blurred when you lived in darkness.

They hauled him up three flights to Viktor Kozlov's office. The room was too bright. Marcus squinted against the chandelier's glare, his eyes burning.

Viktor sat behind a mahogany desk, cigar smoke curling around his scarred face. He was mortal, but he worked for something worse. Something that whispered in the dark and paid in blood money.

"Marcus Chen," Viktor said, studying him like a broken tool. "You disappoint me."

Marcus said nothing. Speaking was a privilege he had not earned.

"Six months in my care, and you still have not awakened," Viktor continued. "The Vesper said you carried the mark. That you survived the Crimson Night when everyone else died. Yet here you are, weak as any other mortal."

The mark. Marcus felt it sometimes, burning beneath his skin like a brand. A memory of fire and screaming gods, of Chicago streets running red while something ancient tore through reality itself.

He had been there. He had survived. And that survival had damned him.

"Perhaps the Vesper was wrong," Viktor mused. "Perhaps you are simply lucky. Useless."

Dmitri laughed behind Marcus. "Want me to toss him in the harbor, boss?"

Viktor tapped ash from his cigar, considering. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed. Fear flickered across his face, quick and sharp.

"Get him ready," Viktor said quietly. "She is coming."

Dmitri's laughter died. "Now? But we are not prepared."

"Now."

They dragged Marcus to the rooftop. Chicago's skyline stretched before him, glittering and distant. Freedom, just out of reach. It was always out of reach.

The air shifted. Reality bent.

She appeared between one heartbeat and the next.

The woman was tall, wrapped in shadows that moved wrong, defying physics. Her eyes burned gold, and her presence made Marcus's mark flare with sudden, agonizing heat.

Not a woman. A goddess.

"Is this him?" Her voice resonated with power that made Marcus's bones vibrate. "The survivor?"

"Yes, Vesper," Viktor said, bowing low. "Marcus Chen. As promised."

The Vesper circled Marcus slowly, studying him. Her shadows reached out, testing, probing. Marcus felt them slide across his skin like ice.

"The mark is there," she murmured. "Buried deep. Dormant." Her golden eyes narrowed. "Why does it sleep?"

"We have tried everything," Viktor said quickly. "Pain, deprivation, drugs. Nothing awakens it."

"Because you are fools." The Vesper's hand shot out, gripping Marcus's throat. Her touch burned. "It does not wake from suffering. It wakes from rage."

She leaned close, her breath cold against Marcus's ear. "Do you know what happened that night, Marcus Chen? Do you know what you saw?"

The Crimson Night. Marcus tried not to remember. Tried to keep those memories locked away.

"The Pantheon War came to your city," the Vesper whispered. "Gods clashing over territory. Over power. And in the chaos, you stumbled into the Crossfire. You should have died. Instead, Ares himself bled on you, marked you with his dying breath. Do you understand what that means?"

Marcus's heart hammered against his ribs.

"It means you carry a god's final curse," she said. "A weapon wrapped in flesh. And I intend to use it."

She released him, and Marcus collapsed, gasping.

"Take him to the Crucible," the Vesper commanded. "If he survives the binding ritual, he will be ready. If not..." She shrugged. "Then he was worthless after all."

Dmitri grabbed Marcus's chains, but the Vesper raised one hand.

"Wait." She tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear. Her expression shifted. "Interesting. It seems the Norse faction has moved against the Greeks. There will be blood in the streets tonight."

She looked down at Marcus with a smile that held no warmth.

"Pray you survive until morning, Marcus Chen. Because if you do, I will teach you what it means to be a weapon."

She vanished, reality folding around her absence.

Viktor swore in Russian. "Get him to the Crucible. Now. Before anyone else learns what he is."

As they dragged Marcus toward the stairwell, his mark burned hotter. Beneath his skin, something stirred. Something that had been sleeping for six long months.

Something that was finally, terribly, beginning to wake.