Darkness presses in from every direction.
Jack wakes to crushing silence, his senses dulled, his lungs drawing shallow breaths filled with dust and smoke. For a terrifying moment, he thinks he is dead again. Buried. Trapped beneath tons of concrete and twisted steel. But pain never comes. No broken bones. No suffocating weight snapping his spine.
Instead, there is warmth.
A faint, pulsing glow leaks through his skin, illuminating the narrow pocket of space around him. The rubble that should have crushed him hangs inches away, held back by a translucent, star-flecked aura wrapping his body like a second skin.
Jack blinks, heart hammering. "What… is this?" His voice echoes weakly.
The Destral Core Seal in his chest burns steadily, no longer frantic, no longer chaotic. Calm. Protective. As if it decided without consulting him that Jonathan Collin would not die here.
He exhales shakily and presses his palm against a slab of concrete above him. He expects resistance. He expects pain.
The slab moves.
Not cracks. Moves.
Jack's breath catches as he pushes harder. The concrete groans, then lifts, sliding aside as though it weighs nothing more than a piece of cardboard. His muscles coil and release with terrifying efficiency. He doesn't strain. He doesn't struggle.
He digs.
Steel bars bend under his grip. Chunks of rubble are flung aside. Dust fills the air as Jack claws his way upward, the glow around his body shielding him from sharp edges and falling debris. Each movement feels instinctive, inevitable, like this strength has always been there, patiently waiting.
He breaks through the last layer of debris and emerges into chaos.
Gunfire cracks across the night. Smoke billows into the sky. Shattered remains of the safe house burn behind him. Lydia's operatives are locked in combat with masked killers flooding in from all directions, muzzle flashes strobing against the darkness.
Jack straightens slowly, eyes scanning the battlefield.
And then he sees her.
Lydia stands near an armored vehicle, shouting orders, her posture unyielding even as bullets tear chunks from the ground around her. She is exposed. Too exposed.
A flicker in the distance catches Jack's attention.
A rooftop.
The world slows.
Jack feels the danger before the trigger is pulled. He doesn't think. He doesn't shout. His body moves before fear can rise.
The sniper fires.
The sound reaches Jack after he's already gone.
The ground beneath his feet explodes backward as he sprints, space tearing under the force of his acceleration. Air compresses around him, screaming as he breaks past human limits. For a fraction of a second, the night warps, sound lagging behind motion.
Jack slams into Lydia just as the bullet reaches them.
The impact hits his chest like a hammer.
The Destral Core flares.
Energy ripples outward, shimmering gold-white. The bullet disintegrates against the aura, its fragments scattering harmlessly across the pavement.
Jonathan skids to a stop, holding Lydia tightly as momentum dies around them. Silence crashes back into place.
Lydia stares at him, breath stolen, eyes wide with something between awe and fear. "You…" Her voice trembles despite herself. "You're not at Stage One. You're not even close."
Jonathan releases her slowly, looking down at his hands as the glow fades back beneath his skin. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. "I didn't mean to… I just knew."
The voice in his mind stirs again, ancient and composed. "Your power was never dormant. It was sealed. What you wield now is only leakage."
Jonathan's stomach tightens. Leakage.
A chill crawls up his spine as the implication settles. If this is just a fragment, just what seeps through the cracks of the seal… what happens when it breaks completely?
He looks at Lydia, fear finally catching up with adrenaline. "What happens to me if the seal opens fully?"
Lydia doesn't answer immediately. Her silence is answer enough.
Before she can speak, engines roar.
Black SUVs screech into the street, tires shrieking as they form a tight semicircle around them. Doors swing open in perfect synchronization. More men pour out, disciplined, heavily armed, their movements precise and confident.
These aren't hired thugs.
These are professionals.
Lydia's operatives tighten formation instantly, weapons raised, but tension ripples through their ranks. Jonathan feels it too. The air hums with something darker than hostility.
One SUV door opens slowly.
A tall man steps out.
He wears a tailored black coat, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if he's arrived at a private meeting rather than an active battlefield. His presence alone shifts the atmosphere, a pressure that makes Jonathan's chest ache.
The man's skin bears a faint, glowing serpent tattoo coiled around his neck, its eyes pulsing with sickly green light. Power radiates from him in waves, refined and controlled.
He smiles.
"Impressive," the man says smoothly, eyes locking onto Jonathan. "Surviving a collapse. Deflecting a sniper round. The rumors didn't exaggerate."
Jonathan steps forward instinctively, placing himself between the man and Lydia. His aura flickers, responding to the threat. "Who are you?"
The man's smile widens, predatory and pleased. "Just a messenger. But you may call me Darric."
Lydia's voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Blackwell's Serpent Guard."
Darric inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the title. "Flattering that you remember."
Jack's jaw tightens. The name echoes in his mind like a drumbeat. Blackwell. The same name spoken by the dying assassin. The same name Lydia reacted to with visible dread.
Darric's gaze sharpens. "Jonathan Collin," he says clearly, savoring the words. "Damian Blackwell sends his regards."
The serpent tattoo pulses brighter.
Jonathan feels the Destral Core react violently, heat flooding his chest as something ancient recognizes an enemy. The Echo speaks, voice colder than before. "This one carries the mark of a Devourer. Be cautious."
Jonathan clenches his fists. Fear coils tightly in his gut, but beneath it lies something stronger. Resolve. Anger. A sense of inevitability.
He meets Darric's gaze without flinching. "Tell your master," Jonathan says quietly, "that I'm still standing."
Darric chuckles, genuinely amused. "Oh, he knows." His eyes flick briefly to the ruins behind them. "That's why he sent me."
The SUVs' engines rumble louder. Weapons click. The night holds its breath.
And Jonathan realizes, with terrifying clarity, that surviving was only the beginning.