Chapter 2: Raven

  Raven’s head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of his skull. His mouth was dry, his stomach churned, and a deep, pounding ache settled behind his eyes.

  A hangover. He didn't remember drinking enough for a headache like this, but he didn't remember passing out on the way home either.

  He groaned, rolling onto his side. His cheek pressed against cold pavement, and a dull awareness crept into his mind—this definitely wasn’t his bed. Hell, this wasn’t even his house.

  Flashes of memory flickered through the pain. Cheap booze. A rooftop. Sitting alone, drinking away the weight of everything. Yesterday had been the anniversary of his parents' "accident." He remembered falling and then—

  Golden eyes. A voice like rolling thunder. Words that felt less like sound and more like truth carved into the marrow of his bones.

  He swallowed, throat raw.

  He must've hit his head when he fell. Had he dreamed it? No, somehow, it was inside him, like a part of him now. His rational mind screamed that it wasn’t real, but deep down, he knew it was.

  A sharp gust of wind sent a chill through his body, and he realized just how exposed he was. Looking up at the sky, he guessed it was mid-morning. Closing his eyes, he pushed himself upright, wincing as his muscles protested. His clothes smelled like stale alcohol, sweat, and asphalt. A quick pat-down of his pockets revealed nothing useful. No wallet, no phone—he had left it all in his room, wanting nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts and a cheap bottle of booze.

  He swore under his breath, realizing it was way too quiet. The old warehouse he liked to hang out at was on the edge of town, a couple of kilometres from Darryl’s place, but there were usually at least a few cars driving around at this time of day.

  Opening his eyes, he went to get up but saw something lying in front of him. Raven was surprised to find a book on the ground near his outstretched arm.

  Picking it up, Raven inspected the book, which looked expensive—black leather, bound in polished silver, with a stylized raven embossed on the front.

  The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine, followed by a warmth that created an almost magnetic draw as if it wanted him to open its pages. He didn’t remember picking it up or where he could have even found it, as there were no shops or libraries between here and Darryl’s.

  Darryl was Raven’s godfather, best friends with his dad growing up. He had taken Raven in when his parents both passed in what was described as a tragic accident.

  Staring at the book, unease twisted in his gut, but his hands moved before his better judgment could stop him. The second his fingers brushed the leather, a tingling spread through his palm. The cover turned on its own, pages flipping like a phantom wind guided them.

  They stopped abruptly, revealing a shield-shaped crest, divided into four sections on one page and the message: Find strength in self, find honour on the path forward, and find company in those walking beside you.

  Raven wasn't sure what the message meant. He considered himself fairly strong for his slim build, tried to act honourably, and couldn't really care less about what paths others walked.

  Looking at the emblem again, he noticed three of the quadrants appeared empty.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  But in the upper right section, an image had burned itself into the page—a crude pictograph of a man walking into a wall.

  Raven stared. Somehow knowing that this book was tied to him, that it represented him in some way, which was why he was utterly confused by the little man walking face-first into a wall.

  Then he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

  Was this the universe’s way of laughing at him for falling off a roof? Oh, fuck you too, he thought to the world around him.

  Looking at the book again, flipping through blank pages, he was disappointed. No explanation, no helpful instructions. Just a vague, cryptic message and the sensation that someone, somewhere, was laughing at him.

  He snapped the book shut. Answers could wait. Right now, he needed to get home, get his bearings, and figure out what the hell was happening. As the book closed, it disappeared in a stream of lights that flowed straight into his chest.

  "What the actual fuck is going on?" Raven muttered before standing.

  He hesitated for a moment, disoriented and unsettled, then began jogging down the alley toward the main road, intending to make his way home. As he neared the corner, he heard it—a blood-chilling scream.

  Raven moved on instinct, the sharp spike of adrenaline cutting through his lingering headache.

  The streets were eerily empty, the silence heavier than it should have been. No engines humming in the distance, no buzz of passing conversations. Just the wind, the distant creak of a shifting car frame, and the occasional distant scream.

  And then he saw them.

  A woman, backed against the cracked wall of a retail store, clutching a young girl to her chest. Their faces were pale with terror.

  And standing between them and escape was an oversized lizard?

  It had a vaguely humanoid shape, but its proportions were wrong—too short in the limbs, too hunched in the shoulders. Its skin gleamed like wet stone, deep black-green scales catching the dim light of the sun. It stood motionless for a moment, head cocked to the side, as if savouring their fear.

  Raven paused. "What the fuck do I do?" he thought.

  Then it moved.

  A slow step forward. Claws scraping against the pavement. The woman sobbed, shielding the girl.

  He wasn’t a fighter. Not in any disciplined way, at least. But he’d been in enough scraps to know that when violence started, hesitation got you hurt. That’s what Darryl always told him.

  "You hesitate in a fight, you lose. You hesitate in a hunt, you starve."

  Raven had never hesitated when taking down a deer or boar, but fighting a thing with claws? That was new.

  He didn’t have his knife or his bow—nothing but his bare hands.

  He sprinted forward. "HEY!"

  The thing turned just as he slammed into it. The impact sent them both sprawling, and Raven barely had time to process it before the creature lashed out.

  Pain exploded across his ribs as a claw raked across his side. He rolled away, sucking in a sharp breath, and scrambled backward—bare hands against something with claws that sharp was a bad bet.

  His eyes darted up and down the street, searching—then he spotted it.

  Sticking out of some nearby rubble was a length of rusted rebar—a reinforced steel rod used in construction. Seeing where Raven was looking, the lizard rushed at him. Raven barely dodged, pivoting toward the metal rod—then a whip-like tail lashed out, catching him across the legs and sending him crashing to the ground.

  Battered and bruised, the shallow cuts on his ribs burning, Raven scrambled forward on hands and knees, seizing the bar.

  Turning toward his enemy, he fell back, raising the bar as the lizard lunged. The lizard skewered itself on the bar, impaling its chest.

  Seeing it was stuck and wounded, Raven grabbed a nearby brick. Not hesitating, he swung with everything he had. The brick cracked against the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch, sending it sprawling. It twitched once, then lay still.

  He stared at the bloodied brick in his hand, surprised by how steady it felt.

  As he caught his breath, he scanned the street. Bodies lay scattered—goblins, lizards, and even a grotesque creature resembling a horned rabbit. The image was surreal, almost comical, but its presence added a disturbing edge to the carnage. He forced himself to move, stepping back onto the pavement with unsteady legs. His gaze trailed over the bodies sprawled across the road—human and otherwise. Some had been ripped apart, claw marks tearing through clothing and flesh. Others looked like they had taken injuries in a nasty bar fight and some, to Raven’s disgust, had their pockets pulled out as if they had been robbed.

  A few were slumped against buildings, their expressions frozen in shock, hands clutching at their chests—dead before they even had the chance to fight back. It wasn’t just the monsters dying.

  He swallowed hard, scanning the area for movement. The world had gone still again, the brief chaos settling into something far worse—an eerie, waiting silence.

  Raven sighed, casting one last glance down the street. He needed to get back to Darryl. Before it was too late.