"Ethan, I messed up... I’m sorry..."
In the damp basement of the Calloway house, Ryan Cross was on his knees, his forehead pressed against the dirt floor. Tears and snot smeared across his face as he looked up at Ethan Kane.
"I didn't want to throw Chloe out! You have to believe me! But Hayes... Hayes is a monster! I couldn't stop him! If I tried to fight him, he would have thrown me into the dark too!"
He crawled closer, his hands clawing at the floorboards. "Ethan! Chloe was like a sister to you, but we're family too! I'm your brother!"
Ethan didn't move. He sat propped against the damp wall, watching the display with a chilling, hollow silence.
"Ethan, Chloe is gone, but we still have to live..."
Ryan crept forward, inch by agonizing inch. He was still trembling from the memory of that grotesque, withered finger that had burst from the floorboards, but a desperate greed was beginning to override his terror.
Ethan’s eyes had reverted to their normal, human state.
If that monstrous power truly belonged to Ethan, their lives were about to change. No more starving. No more groveling before the likes of the Calloway brothers. The power was terrifying, yes, but if it was turned outward—if it was used to shield him—then that terror became a comforting armor.
Everything hinged on Ethan's reaction.
But Ethan just sat there. Unblinking. Empty.
Panic clawed at Ryan's throat, but he forced himself to remember who he was dealing with. He knew Ethan. Ethan was responsible to a fault. He had spent years playing the protector, treating Ryan like family. Surely, a little shameless begging and a pathetic display of remorse would soften his heart.
Ethan stood up. The movement was sudden, deliberate.
Ryan instinctively flinched, scuttling backward like a crab. Until Ethan spoke, he was still a wild card. "E-Ethan, what are you..."
Ethan ignored him. He reached down and scooped up the Lumcore, pocketing the glowing device.
Ryan’s heart leaped into his throat. "Ethan! What are you doing?!"
It was only noon, hours away from sunset, but stripping the room of its only light source felt like an execution sentence.
Silence. Ethan began rummaging through the clutter in the corner, dragging out a pile of filthy, discarded clothes left behind by the Calloway brothers. With methodical, quiet precision, he began tearing the fabric into thick, sturdy strips.
Ryan’s teeth began to chatter, the rhythmic rip, rip of the cloth hammering against his nerves. "Ethan, stop it. You're scaring me. What is this?" His voice cracked, dissolving into a pathetic whine.
Ethan stepped forward, towering over Ryan. He grabbed Ryan's wrists, binding them together with the rough cloth strips.
Ryan didn't dare fight back. The image of Hayes Calloway's crushed, mangled body was burned into his mind. Against whatever force Ethan commanded, resistance was suicide. He could only weep, praying that Ethan's legendary conscience would finally kick in.
But Ethan worked with the detached efficiency of a butcher prepping a carcass. When he finished, he shoved Ryan onto his side, leaving him bound and helpless on the cold floor.
Ethan crouched beside him, his gaze heavy and flat. "Do you really regret what you did last night?"
Ryan seized the lifeline. "I do! I swear to God, Ethan, I regret it! If I could go back, I would have killed Hayes myself! I swear!" It wasn't a total lie. If he had known Ethan possessed such power, he would have slit Hayes's throat in his sleep just to stay on Ethan's good side.
"Good. I believe you."
Ethan walked back to his spot by the wall and slid down to the floor. "I'm going to take a nap."
Ryan blinked, a watery, hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "Thank you, Ethan! Thank you! I promise I'll make it up to—"
"When I wake up, we're going to find Chloe."
The words hung in the damp air. Ryan's laughter died instantly. His body went rigid.
"Find... Chloe...?" Ryan squeaked. "How? Where?"
Ethan closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a flat, chilling whisper. "Out there. In the dark."
The pitch-black void welcomed him.
Compared to his frantic first visit, Ethan felt an eerie, unnatural composure settling over his mind.
It wasn't just that he was calm in the face of this bizarre mental space. It was his lack of reaction to the real world. Chloe had been cast out into the abyss, and yet he felt no agonizing grief. Ryan had betrayed them out of pure cowardice, yet Ethan felt no burning rage. Even the manifestation of that grotesque, withered finger had left him cold, devoid of fear.
It was as if his humanity was draining away, leaving behind a hollow shell.
But there was a cold utility to this numbness. Free from the clutter of emotion, his mind operated with razor-sharp efficiency. He began to organize his thoughts, laying out the facts.
First: Chloe.
She had been thrown into the night. The city's golden rule was simple: the dark belonged to the Voidstriders, and Voidstriders killed. But darkness was merely the medium, not the monster itself. Just because humans owned the day didn't mean a human occupied every square inch of sunlight.
Chloe might still be alive.
It was a thin, desperate hope, born of lingering sentimentality, but it was enough to act on. To find her, he had to understand the darkness. And unlike the terrified masses of North Hill, Ethan possessed a unique gateway to the dark—this recurring dream.
Which led to his second problem: What was this place?
Why was he the only one who could see the strange ripples? Was the Voidseep related to the Voidstriders? And why did it manifest that skeletal finger to defend him?
A theory was taking shape.
The power of the ripple was slowly assimilating him. The steady erosion of his emotions was proof enough. He didn't know why it had chosen him, or what he would become once the process was complete, but for now, the Voidseep was actively protecting its investment.
Which meant he had nothing to fear. He was an observer in his own transformation.
In the heart of the void, Ethan lifted his head and stared at the flowing, iridescent ripple.
"I'm flattered," he murmured, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That something so ancient and powerful would choose a piece of trash like me."
He reached out and pressed his palm against the ripple.
There was no hesitation this time, only a cold curiosity. Just like before, the dark energy dissolved into his skin, oozing back out of his pores to coalesce into a writhing, pitch-black sphere. The sphere split open, revealing two rows of jagged, gnashing teeth.
Yesterday, the sight had startled him awake. Today, he watched it with detached fascination.
He felt a faint psychic resonance with the entity. Yesterday, it had vibrated with a strange, alien joy. But today, the sphere was thrashing in a silent, violent frenzy.
It was angry. Absolutely furious.
The tiny, harmless-looking teeth snapped together with sharp, rapid clicks.
Ethan tilted his head, analyzing the behavior.
Yesterday, he had secured the coin for the Lumcore, with enough left over to buy buns. He had been genuinely happy. The sphere had mirrored that joy. Today, his mind was a flat, emotionless void, while the sphere boiled with rage.
Was it feeding on his emotions? Was it a receptacle for the feelings he was losing?
"Was that finger yours?" Ethan asked aloud.
The sphere ignored him, its jaws snapping rhythmically as if venting an internal tempest. Up close, the creature didn't seem terrifying at all. In fact, if all Voidstriders were like this, the dark might actually be... interesting.
Realizing the entity had no intention of holding a conversation, and seeing that absorbing more of the ripple hadn't changed its size, Ethan decided to test its boundaries.
He did something that would have terrified him yesterday.
He slowly extended his index finger and slid it directly between the snapping teeth.
The jaws froze.
"You won't hurt me, will you?"
The entity's compliance confirmed his theory: it was hardwired to protect him. Emboldened, Ethan pushed his finger deeper into its mouth.
Squulch.
The sphere dissolved instantly, turning back into a viscous puddle of Voidseep that dribbled through his fingers and melted into the surrounding floor of the void.
Ethan frowned, staring at his empty hand. A pang of disappointment hit him. The teeth had suggested a mouth, and a mouth suggested speech. He had hoped to pry some secrets of the dark from it, but his intrusion had evidently offended the creature.
With the sphere gone, the dreamscape was empty.
He stood in the silence for a long time. Then, slowly, Ethan opened his mouth.
He began to mimic the sphere.
Snap. Snap.
He opened his jaws wide and bit down on the empty air, repeating the motion over and over. It was a bizarre, mindless exercise, but in a world without answers, even the most absurd experiments were worth trying.
Back in the basement, Ryan Cross was living through a nightmare.
Bound hand and foot on the cold dirt, he stared at the sleeping form of Ethan Kane. He had spent the last hour desperately trying to conjure up a lie, a plea, anything to restore the old dynamic. He wanted to live, no matter how miserable the existence.
He had stayed quiet, terrified of waking the sleeping beast.
But as the hours ticked away, his silent relief curdled into pure panic.
The light filtering through the high basement window was dying. The shadows in the corner were lengthening, stretching across the floor like grasping fingers.
If Ethan didn't wake up soon, night would fall.
And the Lumcore was turned off.
Without the light, the basement would become a feeding ground. Ryan had convinced himself that Ethan's threat of "searching in the dark" was just psychological torture—a cruel lesson to make him feel the terror Chloe had felt. Surely, once the point was made, Ethan would turn the light back on.
But if Ethan slept past six, they were both dead.
"Ethan," Ryan whispered, his voice trembling. "Ethan, wake up. Please."
Before he could shout, Ethan's mouth flew open.
Snap.
The sound of teeth colliding echoed sharply in the silent basement.
Snap. Snap.
Ethan was fast asleep, but his jaw was working with frantic, mechanical speed.
At first, Ryan thought it was just teeth-grinding, a subconscious reaction to a nightmare. But the movements grew wider. More violent.
Ethan’s mouth stretched open, far wider than humanly possible, wide enough to swallow a fist whole. And as the jaws snapped shut over and over, Ryan watched in mounting horror as Ethan’s flat, human teeth began to shift. They lengthened, sharpening into jagged, predatory fangs that glistened in the fading light.
Yet, Ethan’s face remained perfectly serene, his breathing slow and even, completely detached from the violent, spasming motion of his jaw.
"E-Ethan! Stop it! Please, don't do this!" Ryan screamed, thrashing wildly against his bonds. The rough fabric bit into his wrists, but the knots held firm.
The last rays of twilight vanished from the window.
The clicking of the fangs accelerated, a frantic, rattling crescendo that filled the darkening room.
Click-click-click-click!
And then, the sun fully set. Absolute darkness swallowed the room.
"No! No! Help me!" Ryan shrieked, blinded by the blackness. He couldn't see Ethan anymore, but the terrifying rattle of those sharpening teeth filled his ears, closer now, echoing off the walls.
Click-click-click-click—
Suddenly, the sound stopped.
The basement plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.
Ryan’s chest heaved, tears streaming down his face as he shivered in the dark. He realized, with absolute certainty, that the sound of the teeth wasn't the most terrifying part.
It was the silence that followed.
"Ethan..." Ryan whimpered into the blackness, his voice cracking. "Please... let me go..."