Chapter 7
The city groaned. Broken buildings shivered in the wind, and the air smelled of ash, rust, and something older—something that belonged to the dead. Even the sun, bruised and dim, seemed hesitant to touch the streets.
I moved through the skeletal remains of the apartment block, scanning every corner. The shadows clung like living things, curling over broken furniture, abandoned cars, and piles of rubble. I could feel the hunger twitching beneath my skin, a coiled predator waiting for release.
Liora followed, close but hesitant. Her hand brushed mine occasionally—a tether, fragile and precious, keeping me tied to the last threads of who I once was. But I knew it was only a temporary anchor. Every step, every soul I had consumed, pulled me further from the man I used to be.
The man we had saved yesterday—he stayed silent, eyes wide, muttering little prayers to gods I knew had abandoned this world. I ignored him mostly. My attention was elsewhere. I felt it before I saw it: the presence.
The stranger.
He appeared suddenly, emerging from the twisted remains of a collapsed streetlight across the street. No warning, no fanfare—just that quiet, impossible stillness that made every nerve in my body scream. His shard pulsed faintly, reflecting the dim light, a silent threat.
"You've resisted," he said, voice calm, measured, like a predator acknowledging the cleverness of prey. "But restraint only delays the inevitable."
I tightened my fists, the shard at my side vibrating with the faint pulse of the souls I carried. "I'm not like you," I said. My voice was rough, low, almost unrecognizable even to me.
He tilted his head, amused. "Not… yet."
The air shifted, tense and heavy. Then the scream came.
Not from the undead. Not from a trapped human. Something else entirely—something louder, sharper, more desperate.
I turned to see a small group of survivors being cornered in a crumbling plaza. Three of the dead surrounded them, eyes flickering like blue embers in the dim light. One of the survivors, a boy barely older than a child, stumbled backward, crying out for help.
The predator inside me surged, coiling in my veins. Hunger, power, fire—it all whispered at once, screaming: Feed. Devour. Become.
Liora's hand found mine. "We have to help them," she said. Her voice was quiet but fierce. The human side of me wanted to answer, to resist the temptation.
I nodded. "Stay close."
We moved through the streets, silent shadows among ruins, approaching the group. The first of the undead lunged. I reacted instinctively, faster than thought, striking with the shard. Its soul flickered, fragile, and I felt it, warm, tempting—but I resisted. Not yet.
The second one came, stronger, hungrier. Its glow pulsed brighter as if it knew what I could do. My hand itched, my pulse raced. The hunger was a living thing now, pressing against my skin, whispering, pulling at the edges of my control.
I struck, letting the shard pierce it. Its soul screamed faintly, a tiny pulse against the walls of my mind. I could have taken it, felt the rush, the fire. But I restrained myself. For Liora, for the survivors, for… something human inside me I wasn't ready to let die.
The last lunged at the boy. Panic flared, sharp and immediate. My reflexes moved faster than thought. I caught the creature mid-leap, crushing it with unnatural strength. Its soul shimmered, pale and fleeting, whispering a promise of power.
I hesitated. My body screamed to take it. To feed. To become unstoppable. But I forced my hands to my sides, letting it vanish, unclaimed.
The boy ran, trembling, while the others stared at me, eyes wide. Liora's grip tightened on my arm. "Jaxon… are you okay?" she whispered.
I nodded, but inside… the predator thrashed, furious at restraint. The hunger's edge was razor-thin, and I was balancing on it, every choice a negotiation between survival and indulgence.
Then I felt it—a tug from the shadows. Behind us, across the street, the stranger moved. Not walking, not running—gliding, silent, deliberate. His presence pressed against me, a weight on my soul, a challenge I couldn't ignore.
"You resist," he said, voice calm, icy, a blade against the night. "But every soul you deny yourself only makes the fall sharper."
I clenched my teeth. "I decide when I fall," I said, though even as I spoke, I knew it wasn't true. Every step, every consumption, every act of restraint or indulgence bent the line between me and what I feared I could become.
The stranger's eyes glowed faintly, and for a moment, I felt something I hadn't before: fear. Not for myself, but for Liora. For the fragile tether that kept me human.
A sudden shriek tore through the ruins. From a nearby alley, more undead emerged, faster, stronger, hungrier than anything I'd fought before. The city seemed to groan around us, collapsing under the weight of death and chaos.
I felt the tug, sharp and demanding: Feed. Devour. Become unstoppable.
I looked at Liora, at the survivors, at the boy. The choice was immediate, brutal: indulge the hunger for power and save them all—or resist and risk everything.
The predator inside me roared. The human part whispered. I made my choice.
I moved, shard flashing in my hands, striking with precision. Each undead fell, and I felt the pulse of their souls. Warmth, fire, temptation. I reached toward one, almost unconsciously—but I stopped, focusing on protecting the humans, letting the shards do the work instead.
The hunger hissed, a low, insistent growl. My body trembled, hands slick with sweat, mind racing. I could feel the predator pressing, claws at my spine, whispering of power, of speed, of invincibility.
And then the stranger stepped forward.
Across the street, his figure blurred and impossible, he raised the shard in one hand. "You can resist, yes," he said, voice calm, measured. "But restraint is weakness. And weakness… has a cost."
I could feel it. The hunger surged in response, reacting to his presence like a caged beast. My mind spun, visions of consuming, of devouring, of becoming something unstoppable—but at what cost?
Liora's hand on my arm grounded me, fragile and human. "Jaxon… don't let it take you," she whispered.
Her words, soft, desperate, were enough to pull me back—just enough. I focused on the present: the survivors, the undead, the crumbling city. I struck again, precise, controlled, resisting the urge to feed.
The stranger's eyes narrowed. He didn't advance. He didn't retreat. He waited. Calculating. Watching. And in that moment, I understood: he wasn't just testing my strength. He was testing my soul.
The last of the undead fell. Silence hung over the plaza, heavy and oppressive. The survivors stared at me, eyes wide, fear and awe mingling in their gaze. Liora's grip was still there, warm, grounding.
But I knew the truth: every soul I had resisted, every moment of restraint, had come at a cost. A fraction of my humanity had frayed. And the predator inside me whispered that the next time, it might not be so easy.
The stranger vanished before I could move, slipping into the ruins like smoke. His presence lingered in my mind, a promise and a threat both.
I collapsed onto the ground, hands shaking, body coiled tight with exhaustion and desire. Liora knelt beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You're still you," she said softly. "You're still human."
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to cling to it. But deep inside, I knew the hunger was patient, persistent, inevitable.
The city groaned again, a chorus of despair and death. Tomorrow, the dead would rise once more. The hunger would not wait. And I… I would be at the edge, balancing on the fractured line between predator and protector.
The question remained, unrelenting:
How far would I go to survive?
How far would I go to protect her?
And at what cost… to myself and to the world?
The hunger whispered.
And I would listen.
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