Richard woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—no beeping monitors, no muffled hospital footsteps, no distant voices arguing over charts. This silence was vast, pressing, like the air itself was holding its breath.
His eyes opened slowly.
Stone. Smooth, black stone beneath him, cold enough to seep through skin and bone. He tried to move and pain flared instantly—his ribs screamed, his leg felt wrong, unstable. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to shout.
ICU, his mind supplied at first.
But this wasn't a hospital.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, disappearing into darkness. Faint blue symbols pulsed along the walls, moving like slow heartbeats. The air smelled metallic, ancient—nothing human.
Richard pushed himself up just enough to sit. His heartbeat steadied. Panic didn't come. It never did. He observed. He assessed.
Then he felt it
A presence
"You are awake," a voice said
Not one voice.
Three.
They emerged from the shadows ahead—tall, humanoid silhouettes wrapped in layered armor that looked grown rather than forged. Their faces were hidden behind smooth, mask-like visors, each etched with different symbols. All three radiated pressure, the kind that made the air feel heavier.
Richard swallowed. "You took me.
One of them tilted its head. "Yes."
Another stepped forward. "And no."
Richard's eyes narrowed. "Pick one."
A faint sound—almost like amusement—echoed through the chamber.
"We are Collectors," the first said. "You have encountered a lesser echo of us."
Richard's jaw tightened. So there isn't just one.
"There are three of us," the second continued. "Each bound to a purpose. Each bound to something greater."
The third finally spoke, its voice colder than the others. "You called it a monster. You were wrong.''
Richard exhaled slowly. "Then what are you?"
"Servants," they said together.
The word landed heavier than any threat.
The chamber darkened. The blue symbols dimmed, replaced by something else—nothingness. Not darkness. Absence. A hollow void spread across the far wall, swallowing light without reflection.
Richard felt his instincts scream.
"This," the first Collector said, "is Nekros."
No shape formed. No body. No eyes.
Just presence.
"God?" Richard asked quietly.
The second Collector shook its head. "Titles are insufficient."
"King of kings?" Richard pressed.
The third answered. "Closer. Still wrong."
Richard's breath came shallow now, not from fear—but from the pressure. The void didn't move, yet it felt as though it was leaning closer, studying him.
A thought brushed his mind.
Not words.
Recognition.
"If it's that powerful," Richard said, forcing his voice steady, "why does it need me?"
Silence stretched.
Then the first Collector spoke carefully. "That… is the question you should not have been able to ask."
Richard's eyes flicked to it. "Meaning?"
"You are broken," the second said, gesturing subtly toward his injuries. "Human. Limited."
"And yet," the third added, "you survived what you should not have. You see patterns faster than trained minds. You connect truths without guidance."
Richard scoffed weakly. "You kidnapped me because I'm observant?"
The void pulsed.
The air bent.
"No," the Collectors said, their voices overlapping unnaturally.
"We brought you because Nekros cannot enter your world directly."
Richard's blood ran cold.
"It requires anchors," the first explained. "Minds capable of comprehension without collapse."
"Vessels?" Richard asked.
The second paused. "Not quite."
"Keys," the third finished.
Richard laughed once, humorless. "And you thought, 'Yeah, let's grab the injured teenager.'"
For the first time, something like hesitation rippled through them.
"You were not chosen at random, Richard Solace," the first said.
Richard froze.
They knew his full name.
"You stand at a convergence point," the second continued. "Between human will, engineered horrors, and something older than history."
The void expanded slightly.
Nekros noticed him now.
A pressure settled behind Richard's eyes, not painful—evaluative. Like a god weighing the worth of a single, fragile life.
What does a king of kings need with you?
The thought wasn't his.
Richard met the emptiness head-on.
"I don't belong to you," he said.
The Collectors did not deny it.
"No," the third replied softly. "But you will decide everything."
The chamber trembled.
And somewhere far away, in a hospital room meant to keep him alive, machines screamed as Richard Solace's body lay still—while something ancient began to take interest in his soul.