Boom.
A thunderous pound shook the ground, loud enough to be heard from a block away. It marked the clash between elite operatives from the Super Military—humans who believed that technology would always surpass the powers of Evolvers. Armed with advanced weapons, their tech was formidable, easily matching the strength of a C-rank Evolvers or lower B-ranks.
But this wasn't a battle.
It was a massacre.
What unfolded next looked less like a fight and more like a predator toying with its prey—bit by bit, with cruel patience.
Their opponent stood at the center of the chaos: an S-rank Evolver from the villain faction. a figure so feared that people only whispered his name: The Demon. Ruthless. Unstoppable. A walking catastrophe with no regard for life.
He didn't rush. He didn't need to. Every flick of his hand was death. Every step he took left behind a trail of shattered bodies and broken metal. The Super Military soldiers fired relentlessly, but it was like throwing stones at a storm.
And the Demon? He smiled.
Smoke coiled through the ruins like fingers searching for the dead. Screams had long since faded, swallowed by the static silence that always follows overwhelming violence.
Down the block, a figure jogged toward the noise.
At first, the sound had seemed like construction work, maybe a gas line explosion—common enough in this part of the city. Zelpher had been on his way to grab coffee, earbuds in, thoughts drifting somewhere between the latest newsfeed and what to have for lunch. But something about the vibrations in the ground made him pause.
Then he turned the corner.
And stopped breathing.
Bodies. At least a dozen. Super Military soldiers—men and women trained for war, geared in bleeding-edge exosuits—lay crumpled on the street like broken toys. Smoke rose from twisted metal. Sparks danced in the air like fireflies. The smell of scorched flesh and melted circuitry hit him all at once.
And then he saw him.
The Demon.
Still. Silent. Standing amidst the wreckage like he belonged there.
As if summoned by fate, the Demon turned his head. Slowly. Effortlessly.
And their eyes met.
Zelpher froze.
His pulse pounded in his ears.
The stories didn't do him justice. The man wasn't just dangerous—he felt wrong, like something that shouldn't exist in this world. A walking nightmare made flesh.
For a second, neither of them moved. The world seemed to narrow, sound swallowed by a thick, dreadful silence.
Then the Demon smiled.
As he turned his body—and in the next moment, he closed the gap between them.
One blink.
That's all it took.
Zelpher didn't even see the movement. One heartbeat, the Demon was twenty meters away. The next, he was right in front of him.
Breath hot. Eyes glowing. Energy humming off his skin like radiation.
A massive hand shot out in a blur—
and slammed into Zelpher's side.
The impact was instant.
A sickening crack echoed through the street as his body was hurled through the air, crashing into a nearby building.
Concrete shattered. Debris rained down. Dust choked the air.
Zelpher felt his bones snap on impact.
The demon chuckled—low, amused, and utterly unfazed.
"Oh... that was just a normal person?"
A pause.
"By now, he should be dead."
It stretched, the glow in its chest dimming slightly.
"That was fun. But I've got a real job waiting."
And with that, the monster turned—casual, unhurried—vanishing into the smoke.
Zelpher lay there—unconscious, bleeding, broken.
By all logic, he should've been dead.
Any normal human would be.
Bones shattered. Organs ruptured. Blood pooling beneath him.
But Zelpher didn't know—
his body wasn't what it used to be.
Beneath the torn flesh and fractured ribs, something had awakened.
Something old.
Something buried.
His cells stirred.
Regeneration sparked, slow at first—then faster. Tissue knitting together. Bones cracking back into place. Blood reversing its flow, surging with unnatural vitality.
And it wasn't just healing.
His body was adapting. Evolving.
Improving.
Muscles reshaped themselves. Bones reinforced.
Nerve pathways reconnected stronger, sharper.
Zelpher wouldn't wake up the same.
He wouldn't just survive.
He would come back changed.
Moments later, Zelpher stirred.
His eyes fluttered open. The world swam around him—blurred lights, muffled sounds.
Then the noise hit.
Sirens.
Ambulances.
Medics shouting.
"Please evacuate the area!"
"Get the patients stabilized!"
"Someone check the security cameras—find out who did this!"
Voices layered over each other in a chaotic symphony.
Zelpher groaned and tried to sit up—only to feel weight pressing down on him.
Debris. Heavy slabs of concrete and twisted metal.
Instinctively, he braced himself and pushed.
And the debris moved.
Easily.
Chunks of stone and steel rolled off him like they were made of paper. He blinked, confused—but didn't think too much of it.
He wasn't focused on the how. Only one thought burned in his mind:
Get help.
He stumbled to his feet, unaware that his body—just moments ago shattered and lifeless—was now whole. Stronger. Reinforced.
Zelpher didn't notice the healed skin, or the strength in his limbs.
He just knew something terrible had happened.
And somehow…
he was still alive.
Outside, the crowd froze.
A deep rumble echoed from the ruined building—the one with the massive hole punched straight through it.
People stiffened.
Was it the villain?
Or a victim?
Emergency personnel paused. Civilians held their breath. A few heroes had finally arrived on scene, tense and ready, waiting for whatever was about to emerge.
Then they saw him.
A kid.
No older than eighteen or nineteen. Clothes torn, soaked in blood, face pale.
But there wasn't a single visible injury.
Not even a scratch.
He staggered forward from the rubble, eyes dazed.
"Help..." he croaked, voice hoarse.
Then his body went limp.
Zelpher collapsed face-first into the street.
Medics rushed in without hesitation, rolling him onto a stretcher and lifting him into the ambulance van. Vitals were checked.
Monitors beeped steadily.
Heart rate: normal.
Breathing: stable.
No broken bones. No internal bleeding.
But his clothes were shredded. Burned. Soaked in blood.
One medic stared at the scans, then at him.
> "He came out of that hole in the wall, right? The damage… it looked like he was thrown straight through concrete."
She hesitated.
> "With that kind of impact—and how villains usually operate—he should be dead."
Another medic, still watching the monitor, added softly:
> "But he's not. He's perfectly stable."
Confused silence settled inside the ambulance.
Then the older doctor, the one sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke—his voice low, calm, a touch weary.
"Since the Evolution Age began, we stopped asking how."
The others turned to him.
"Because the truth is… we don't know what's next. Not anymore."
He looked down at Zelpher.
"And sometimes," he added, "what survives isn't the same as what fell."
Outside, the sirens wailed.
And the city held its breath.