The Echo of Ruin: The skeletal skyscrapers of Dhaka stood like jagged monoliths, reaching out in agony toward a blood-red sky. As Ethan descended from the wreckage of the flyover, every step he took crushed shards of glass and ancient concrete into fine powder. The air had grown heavy, almost stagnant, as if the cosmic radiation from the merging galaxies had frozen the very molecules of oxygen. Ethan could feel the 'Anti-Matter' surging within him, a restless tide of energy that yearned to tear through this stillness. Beneath the fabric of his tattered hoodie, his veins pulsed with a sinister violet glow, illuminating the dust around him like a dying star.
Ethan moved without a destination. In this graveyard of a world, the concept of home was as extinct as the blue sky. Yet, a primal pull in the back of his mind urged him northward, toward the ruins of the Old Space Research Center. Did his past lie there? Was he someone—a scientist, a victim, a weapon—before the heavens broke? Each question struck his mind like a hammer on an anvil, but the answers remained buried under layers of psychic trauma.
Sector-9: The Wolf's Den: Miles away, deep within the fortified subterranean bunkers of Sector-9, the atmosphere was thick with tactical tension. Captain Erik Denver stood like a statue before a sprawling oak table, his eyes locked onto the holographic projection of the drone's final moments. The footage played on a loop: a mysterious youth raising a hand, and the very fabric of reality warping around him.
"Captain, the scientists in the lab are paralyzed by this data," an elderly officer whispered, his voice trembling as he adjusted his spectacles. "That wasn't a standard electromagnetic pulse. That was Pure Anti-Matter Extraction. To put it simply, that boy can ignore the fundamental laws of physics. He can erase an entire city from existence in the blink of an eye if he so chooses."
A cruel resolve flickered in Erik's eyes. He reached into his pocket and toyed with a weathered military medal—a relic from the wars of 2030 where he had lost his entire squad to a cosmic anomaly. Since then, Erik had believed in nothing but raw, absolute power.
"Activate 'Project Sirius'," Erik commanded, his voice cold and devoid of hesitation. "I want him alive. The energy coursing through his veins is the key to reclaiming this dead earth. Ready the Valkyrie gunships. I will lead the strike team myself."
The Last Shards of Humanity: As Ethan passed the hollowed shell of a collapsed hospital, a sound caught his keen ears—a sound so alien to this silent world that it felt like a discordant note in a funeral dirge. It was the crying of a child.
Moving silently through the shadows of the debris, Ethan spotted an elderly woman huddled behind a rusted ambulance, clutching a small girl to her chest. Standing before them were four 'Looters'—human vultures who had long ago shed their morality to survive the apocalypse. The leader held a corroded carbine rifle, while his companions brandished jagged, rusted blades.
"Enough hide and seek, old woman," the leader sneered, his teeth yellowed and broken. "Hand over that silver locket and whatever water you've stashed away. Unless you want this to be the last sunset you ever see."
Hidden in the darkness, Ethan felt the dark entity within him stir. Why should I save them? he questioned himself. Shouldn't I just accelerate the destruction of this filthy world? But then, a feminine voice—cold yet strangely familiar—echoed in his mind: "Ethan, a true King is he who recognizes creation even in the heart of chaos."
Ethan stepped out from the shadows. His hood partially veiled his face, casting a lethal shadow over his glowing eyes. The looters froze, unsettled by the sudden appearance of this calm, imposing figure amidst the ruins.
"Let them go," Ethan said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a thousand storms.
"Who the hell are you?" the leader barked, training his rifle on Ethan. "Another hero born too late? Kill him! Strip the skin off his bones!"
Two looters lunged at Ethan with their blades. Ethan didn't flinch. He simply extended his right hand. Instantly, thick plumes of pitch-black smoke erupted from his palm, coiling through the air like a hungry abyss.
As the first looter reached him, his body began to vibrate violently. Without a single touch, the man didn't bleed; instead, clouds of black ash began to leak from his pores. Within a fraction of a second, his very existence was deleted. His clothes collapsed to the ground, empty.
The second looter tried to flee, but with a mere flick of Ethan's gaze, the gravity around the man intensified tenfold. He was slammed into the concrete with a sickening crunch as his bones shattered under the invisible pressure.
The leader's rifle clattered to the ground. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat. Ethan walked toward him, staring directly into his soul. Seeing the swirling black holes within Ethan's eyes, the man's mind finally broke.
"You are not worthy of this world," Ethan whispered. He closed his fist, and with a silent surge of power, the leader vanished into a void.
Silence returned to the ruins. The old woman was shivering in terror. Ethan looked at her, the hunger for destruction in his eyes replaced by an infinite, hollow sadness. He reached into his pocket and handed a ration of dry food to the child. The girl took it with trembling hands, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and awe.
But the peace was short-lived. A heavy, mechanical roar thundered from the heavens. The clouds parted as the NWO 'Valkyrie' gunship descended like a bird of prey. Erik Denver had arrived.
Ethan looked up at the sky and let out a dark, cynical smile. "Finally... the hunters have come to become the hunted."