Chapter 18. City Ruins

  Raven prowled through the hospital halls, scanning each room he passed for any sign of Uri. He checked the cafeteria, the main hall, even the rooftop in case she had a habit of perching like a smug, all-knowing gargoyle. Nothing.

  "Figures," he muttered. It was becoming a pattern—whenever he actually wanted questions answered, she vanished. Probably off gathering whatever cryptic observations she had for the day.

  He wasn’t about to waste time playing hide and seek. Turning on his heel, he made his way to the back of the hospital, where an old service exit had been boarded up. He pressed his palm to the decayed wood, focusing, and stepped through with ease. The cold grip of phasing washed over him for a split second before he was outside, standing in an alley filled with shattered glass and abandoned cars.

  The streets stretched out before him, eerily silent save for the occasional distant echo of movement. Finally, alone, he exhaled, his boots crunching softly against the cracked pavement as he moved.

  Now that he had a moment to himself, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressed in.

  Darryl was dead.

  And now he was tethered to a hospital full of people expecting leadership he never asked for. And somehow, he was supposed to be okay with all of it?

  Raven let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he moved. Did he really want to lead? Was that who he was now—protector, guide, commander? The idea felt foreign.

  He had never been a hero—not in his own eyes.

  He shook the thought away and kept moving. There was no point in thinking about it now.

  As he slipped through the city, he took advantage of his new ability, phasing into buildings to bypass obstacles, cutting through apartments and storefronts rather than dealing with collapsed streets. It was a strange way to travel—like a ghost slipping through the ruins of civilization—but it kept him off the main roads and away from prying eyes.

  The city was in a worse state than he expected.

  Only the second morning, and already buildings sagged, their windows webbed with cracks, like time itself was chewing through the city. Cars sat abandoned in the streets, their metal corroding at an almost visible rate.

  Something about this wasn’t natural.

  In one cracked window, ivy had grown up the wall—leaves pulsing faintly with veins of deep green. Ether wasn’t just breaking the city. It was reshaping it.

  The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Near the five-hundred-meter mark, movement caught his eye. He ducked low behind the frame of a broken window, peering into a looted storefront.

  Goblins.

  A dozen of them. All armoured.

  They had made camp in what used to be a small convenience store, skins spread out across the floor, rusted weapons leaning against overturned shelves. Some gnawed at stolen food, others dozed against the walls, their sharp eyes flicking open at the slightest sound.

  Raven’s grip tightened on his knife.

  This close to the hospital, they were a threat.

  Taking them all head-on would be suicide, but he didn’t have to. He had a better advantage.

  Phasing through the walls like a ghost, thinning their numbers in quick, brutal strikes, and slipping away before they could react.

  Hit-and-run.

  Raven’s lips curled into a grin as he adjusted his grip on his weapon.

  Time to get to work.

  He moved like a shadow, slipping through the outer wall and emerging in the dim interior of the store. The first goblin barely had time to shift in its sleep before Raven clamped a hand over its mouth and drove his dagger into its throat. It thrashed, but only for a moment, before going limp. He phased back through the wall before its absence could be noticed.

  Pausing outside, he listened.

  No immediate reaction.

  Good.

  He circled to the side of the building, found another weak spot in their defences, and phased in again, appearing between two more slumbering goblins. He drove his knife into one’s heart while muffling its mouth with his free hand. The second stirred, its eyelids fluttering open just in time for a scream to rise in its throat—only for Raven to silence it with a brutal stab through the skull.

  The damage was done.

  A shriek rang out as another goblin spotted the carnage, the store exploding into chaos. Weapons scraped against the floor, bodies scrambled upright, and snarling faces twisted in rage as they scanned for their unseen attacker.

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  Raven phased out again, reappearing in the alley. His cover was blown—but that was part of the plan.

  He slipped his bow from his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him. For the cheapest option in the ether shop, it felt surprisingly well-crafted—smooth and balanced in his grip.

  He knocked an arrow and waited.

  The goblins stormed out of the shop, blinded momentarily by the early morning light. The first took an arrow to the chest and crumpled before it could react. Raven let another fly, catching the next goblin in the throat.

  The rest finally adjusted, their beady eyes locking onto him. With a collective snarl, they charged.

  Raven dropped the bow and readied his dagger.

  The first goblin swung a crude club at his head. He sidestepped the blow and drove his blade up through its chin, straight into the brain. Another lunged at him, snarling, and he phased—slipping straight through it and striking the one behind, burying his dagger deep into its chest before twisting free.

  A flurry of blows, a dance of steel and phasing, and the goblins lay dead at his feet.

  A grin split Raven’s face. The previous day had been a relentless cycle of reaction—surviving, running, barely keeping ahead of the chaos. But now? Now he was in control. He had a plan, executed it, and won. The feeling settled in his chest, steady and grounding. For the first time since this all started, he wasn’t just surviving—he was taking charge.

  But the grin faded quickly. The blood, the bodies—he’d done worse now than some of the monsters he fought. Was this still survival? Or something else?

  Uri watched from a distance, arms crossed, studying the way Raven moved. She had suspected he would move in this direction—taking the fight directly to the creatures that had torn apart his world.

  What she hadn’t expected was just how quickly he was adapting.

  His movements had grown sharper, his phasing almost instinctive. He no longer hesitated before stepping through walls, no longer stumbled when reappearing. His seed core had given him stamina. He was fighting like someone who had been using the ability for months, not hours.

  It was almost impressive.

  Almost.

  But it wasn’t just skill that fuelled him—it was something else, something darker. His strikes were clean, efficient, but carried a weight beyond just survival. This was vengeance, plain and simple. And while vengeance could be a powerful tool, it could just as easily be a chain.

  Uri’s fingers tightened around her arms.

  Raven was becoming dangerous. That much was certain. If he kept developing at this rate, he could become a truly frightening opponent. Not just for the monsters that plagued this world, but for anyone who stood in his way.

  The problem was, she didn’t know which direction he would take.

  Would he become the leader his actions suggested? The protector she knew Asmodeus sought.

  Or would he allow his pain to consume him, becoming something far more destructive?

  She watched as he finished off the last goblin, standing amid the carnage, chest heaving, a grin spreading across his face.

  She hoped that the despair that had seized him the day before didn’t become a force that controlled him, leading him to a path of destruction.

  Raven realized he didn’t have a way to keep time. Judging by the sun, he figured he had been out for less than two hours. Not wanting to damage any goodwill he had earned with Wilkes; he moved to the store he had just cleared and began filling his backpack with tinned foods. Seeing there was more left on the shelves than expected, he grabbed a shopping basket and filled it to the brim before heading back toward the hospital.

  By the time Raven reached the hospital, the weight of the supplies in his arms had started to strain his muscles. He adjusted his grip, shifting the heavy basket to his other hand as he entered through the back, avoiding the main entrance where the officers had set up a defensive line.

  The moment he stepped inside, a voice called out to him.

  "Hey! You're back."

  Raven turned to see a young wiry man with short brown hair and a worried expression—hurrying toward him. He vaguely recognized him from the day before, but the guy’s name escaped him.

  "Wilkes wants to see you as soon as possible," the man continued, glancing at the loaded backpack and basket in Raven's hands. His eyes widened. "Holy shit, where’d you get all that?"

  "Store a few blocks out," Raven replied, shifting the basket higher. "Plenty left, but it won’t stay that way for long."

  The civilian nodded, eyeing the supplies like a starving man. "Wilkes will definitely want to hear about that. He’s in the main hall."

  Raven gave a short nod and adjusted his grip before moving down the hall. The tension in the air was palpable. Eyes tracked his every move—some grateful, others wary, a few lingering with something closer to fear. The rumours had already spread—he was the man who walked through a wall, the one who killed the brute. He wasn’t sure which version of the story they believed, but the weight of it pressed against his shoulders all the same.

  It wasn’t surprising. News travelled fast in a confined space like this. They knew what he had done yesterday. Knew what he was capable of.

  And he didn’t know how to feel about it.

  Setting the basket down in the cafeteria, he quickly made his way to the main hall. Wilkes was standing at the far end, speaking with a few officers, his imposing figure casting long shadows across the tiled floor.

  When he noticed Raven approaching, he dismissed the others and crossed his arms. "Took you long enough," he grunted.

  Raven arched a brow. "I didn’t know I was on a timer."

  Wilkes exhaled sharply, but there was no real heat in his expression. "What did you find?"

  "Cleared out a small goblin camp. A dozen, maybe more. Armoured ones, so they weren’t just a random wandering pack." He let that information settle before continuing. "There’s still a good amount of food in the store they were holed up in, but it won’t last forever."

  Wilkes’s frown deepened. "Goblins setting up a camp that close isn’t good. We need to keep an eye on that. But food—food we need. We’ll have to send a group to recover the rest before someone else gets to it."

  Raven nodded, then gestured toward the cafeteria. "I brought back what I could carry."

  For the first time, Wilkes’s expression eased into something almost resembling approval. "Good. That’ll buy us time."

  He motioned for Raven to follow him toward a table covered in maps and scattered notes. "I wanted to see you because we’ve got a decision to make," he said, voice lowering slightly. "Now that the hospital is secure, we need to find a more sustainable food source. I want your input."

  Raven raised a brow. "Why?"

  Wilkes gave him a long, measured look. "I don’t care if you asked for it or not, but these people are looking at you just as much as they look at me," Wilkes said, arms crossed. "And I’m not going to deal with people second-guessing my decisions because they’re waiting to see what you’ll do first. You’re already involved. The question is, are you going to do something with it?"

  Raven leaned against the table, considering. Darryl would’ve stepped up, no question. He’d called it “Doing what needs doing.” Raven wasn’t sure if that had made him strong—or just resigned. He hadn’t signed up for this. He hadn’t asked to be involved.

  And yet, here he was.

  Raven exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. He didn’t want this responsibility, but he wasn’t blind either. If they made the wrong move, if they wasted time, people would die. And he wasn’t about to let the first stable foothold he had found collapse because he was too stubborn to get involved.

  "Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let’s talk.”