The underground shelter smelled like rust and old blood.
Valen sat against the wall, one arm wrapped with scavenged cloth. His wound throbbed with each breath, but the bleeding had slowed. The dim light from his Echo flickered softly in the air like a ghost flame.
Lira sat across from him, hugging her knees.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Above them, the city groaned — distant thunder, distant screams, the weight of the world cracking open.
Valen's mind wasn't in the shelter.
It was out there.
He remembered this day from his previous life. This exact day.
He had been part of a squad back then. One of the last mobile hunter units operating in the outer zones. When the second Rift opened, everything changed. The monsters became smarter. Faster. The world didn't fall — it shattered.
But now, he was eighteen again. And he was ahead of it all.
He'd bled. He'd fought. He'd killed.
And the Echo of the End was responding.
Still unstable. Still incomplete.
But it had formed a blade… reacted to combat… synced with emotion.
"Echoes respond to truth," Valen whispered.
Lira stirred. "What?"
He looked up at her. "Nothing."
She frowned. "That sword you summoned… it wasn't tech. That was something else."
"It was mine," he said. "A part of me."
She was quiet for a second, then asked, "Are you some kind of mutant?"
"No. Worse."
Her eyes flickered with something between fear and curiosity.
Valen stood, testing his leg. The pain had dulled. The system he'd been given in his past life had always tracked stats and skill trees, but this power — this Echo — didn't care for numbers. It only cared for survival. Will. Instinct.
And it wasn't built for heroes.
It was built for extinction.
He walked to the gear crate in the corner. Inside were old rations, two flashlights, an energy pistol with one cracked energy core, and a folded jacket covered in dust.
He grabbed the pistol and held it up to the light.
Dead. As expected.
Still, the weight felt familiar in his hand.
"This safehouse," Lira said. "You used to live here?"
Valen didn't answer.
He wasn't ready to explain his life before death. Not yet. Not when he didn't even know if she would survive tomorrow.
"Eat something," he said instead. "We move out in a few hours."
"Where to?"
Valen's voice came cold.
"To the Rift site. We don't stop it — but we can survive it."
Later That Night – Surface Level
They emerged into darkness.
The city was a graveyard.
Smoke hung in the air like a second sky. Monster tracks lined the streets. Burned-out cars were twisted around light poles. Rubble covered everything.
Valen led the way.
His body moved differently now. Sharper. Controlled. The Echo had left a mark in his veins — not power, not yet — but awareness. Every sound. Every vibration. His instincts were being carved again by combat.
Lira struggled to keep up.
He didn't wait.
They crossed a collapsed overpass, then ducked under a tilted bus. Valen paused.
He knelt beside a cracked streetlight.
There it was — a mark scorched into the ground. A black spiral with sharp symbols circling it.
The Rift Anchor.
"It's starting," he said.
Lira gasped. "What is that?"
Valen stared at the mark. "The gate. A Rift to the other side. Once it opens, this entire zone becomes a feeding ground."
"Feeding ground?"
"For what's coming next."
Suddenly, the sky let out a high-pitched shriek.
A sound like metal screaming and glass breaking.
Valen turned slowly.
The clouds were parting.
A thin crack of light split the heavens — jagged and red, like a bleeding wound in the sky.
The Rift was opening.
Monsters started howling from every direction.
Valen raised his hand. The Echo surged — flickering around his arm like smoke drawn to flame.
"It's earlier than I thought," he muttered.
A surge of power raced up his spine. The Echo didn't just wake — it roared.
He turned to Lira. "Run."
"What about you?"
"Run south. Find the tunnels near the river. Don't stop. Don't scream. Hide underground until sunrise."
"What about you?!"
Valen didn't answer.
He walked forward, toward the Rift Anchor, where the ground had begun to glow.
Dozens of creatures were crawling out now.
Some had insect limbs and glowing blue veins. Others walked like men but had no faces. They emerged from shadows like smoke given form, howling with hunger.
Valen stepped into the open.
The first beast lunged.
Flash.
The Echo blade formed in his hand — brighter now. He moved with practiced rhythm. Duck. Step. Cut.
He wasn't a hero.
He was a reaper.
He cut down the first. Then the second. Then two more.
His feet slid across broken pavement, Echo flaring around his arms, his eyes cold and calm.
The third creature stabbed at him — too fast.
Valen caught the blow with his forearm. Blood spilled, but he used the momentum, turned, and slashed upward.
The Echo extended with his will — a shatter-blade, jagged and sharp.
He drove it through the beast's skull.
The creature fell.
Another pounced.
Valen spun, Echo screaming. He cleaved through the beast's midsection. The blade vibrated — pulsing stronger.
The more he killed, the clearer the Echo became.
His body burned with pain, but he didn't stop.
The Rift widened above him.
And still, he fought.
Until the Echo wrapped around both hands — forming twin blades, like wings of darkness.
Until his breathing slowed.
Until he stood alone.
Covered in blood.
The Rift above crackled.
But the creatures had stopped coming.
Not gone — just… waiting.
Valen looked up at the crimson tear in the sky.
His eyes reflected the glow.
He wasn't strong yet.
But he was learning.
"Next time," he said softly, "I'll be ready for what comes out."