A hush blanketed the city, the kind that only came before disaster. The streets stretched empty, abandoned under the sickly glow of flickering neon. Shadows twisted unnaturally against crumbling walls, their movements just a fraction too slow, too aware.

Merikh stood beside you, a silent force of destruction barely restrained. His presence was suffocating, heavy like the ash that clung to his skin. Power radiated from him in waves, coiling in his tightened fists, waiting. He had always been like this—restless, dangerous, carved from war and suffering.

"You feel that?" His voice was gravel, worn and tired, yet still carrying that undercurrent of something dangerous. Something lethal.

You felt it. The pull, the sharp twist in the air like the universe itself had taken a wrong step. Something was coming, something that had no place in this world—or any world, for that matter.

Merikh exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "I hate when things don't stay buried."

The air shifted. A fracture in reality itself. The ground beneath you groaned, splitting at the seams. Something old stirred beneath, clawing its way to the surface. The weight in your chest tightened, ancient energy pressing into your bones, thick as tar, suffocating as the grave.

Stillness, just for a second.

Then the streets cracked open.