"I am Zayn. My last name is not needed. And this here is—"
"Call me Nat." The girl interrupted, arms crossed. "I can speak for myself, thank you."
Xavier raised a hand like he was in a classroom full of lunatics. "Okay, let me get this straight. The tiny teenager with the attitude of a blender and zero respect for her elders is Nat—which, let's be real, is obviously short for something. And the sentient brick wall in a tuxedo who could moonlight as stadium seating is Zayn."
Nat bounced lightly on her heels, completely unfazed. "Hmmm… that sounds about right."
Xavier blinked. "Cool. Just checking. Also, I've concluded I'm officially going insane. That's progress, right?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to compress the firehose of information currently drowning his neurons.
"Nat," Zayn said, his voice rumbling like a low engine. "I'll be heading out. I need to report this to Mr. Q."
Xavier raised a finger. "Wait, the elevator's that—"
Too late. Zayn took a few heavy steps, crouched... and jumped. Launched himself into the air like gravity owed him money. Within seconds, he was just a dot in the sky—and then, gone.
Xavier stared. "...Right. Elevators are apparently optional for you people."
He turned toward Nat, intending to demand a rational explanation, only to freeze. She was at the edge now, looking down over the building, black hair swaying lightly in the wind.
"Okay, no. No. Get down now, lady!" Xavier shouted. "I'm not watching you go full bird-mode too!"
She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something far away.
"One piece of advice," she said calmly, her voice carried by the breeze. "Don't expect your days to stay normal. Once your Gate is open—even a little—they will come for you."
Xavier's stomach dropped. "They? They who?"
But she didn't answer. Instead, the air beside her shimmered like heat on asphalt. A ripple formed—a circular tear in space, like someone had punched reality and forgotten to patch the hole. Without ceremony, she stepped into it.
And vanished.
The portal folded in on itself with a gentle pop, leaving nothing behind.
Xavier stood alone on the rooftop, the wind tugging at his suit jacket. For a long moment, he just stared at where she'd been. His lips parted slightly. He considered his next words carefully, filtered them through several layers of existential despair, and finally muttered:
"I knew I should've called in sick today."
He turned toward the door leading back into the building. "Right. Time to go back to work. Nothing screams mentally stable like showing up to your shift after being told monsters are hunting you."
As he walked toward the stairwell, he stopped and looked down at his fist.
"Dejhan…" he whispered.
The warmth pulsed again—faint but steady.
Xavier sighed. "Yup. Definitely going mad."
The fluorescent lights in the office buzzed like dying insects. Xavier sat at his desk pretending he wasn't a walking existential crisis.
He typed something into the computer—then hit backspace. Then typed again. Repeat. He'd been staring at the same blank email for ten minutes, unsure if he was composing a message or just performing the act of sanity.
His right hand tingled. Ever since the rooftop, it had felt… aware. Not painful. Just there, like it was listening.
"Just act normal," Xavier muttered to himself. "Normal people don't think about exploding rooftops or giant men in tuxedos. Normal people worry about emails."
"Rough day?" a voice said from over his cubicle wall.
Xavier nearly threw his stapler at the ceiling.
It was Ezra, the guy from payroll. Ezra with the quiet shoes, the odd sense of humor, and the habit of showing up when you least expected him. Today, he was holding a banana and smiling like the world didn't contain monsters that wanted to eat your soul.
"Uh—yeah," Xavier said, forcing his voice to stop wobbling. "Weird dreams. Long night."
Ezra leaned against the partition, peeling the banana like it owed him rent. "Dreams, huh? You ever have the ones where the ground disappears, and something's chasing you, but it's made of... I dunno. Screams?"
Xavier stared. "What?"
"Never mind." Ezra took a bite and smiled. "You look like someone who's just been promoted to a job he didn't apply for."
"Accurate," Xavier muttered.
"Hang in there," Ezra said, and vanished around the corner.
Weird guy.
By the time work ended, Xavier was barely holding it together. Every sudden noise sounded like a monster. Every shadow looked too long. He needed to go home. He needed a long shower and possibly a religious exorcism.
He stepped out into the evening air, the sun setting like someone dimming a cosmic lamp. The streets were mostly empty—just enough traffic to feel safe.
He turned into an alley shortcut, the one he always took when he wanted to shave five minutes off the walk home. Tonight, it felt... too quiet.
A dry scraping sound echoed ahead. Like claws on brick.
Xavier froze.
"Okay," he whispered. "It's just a raccoon. Maybe a drunk one. That's fine."
The shape emerged from the shadows.
It was not a raccoon.
The creature unfolded—wrong in every direction. Bone-white plating jutted from its limbs like broken armor. Its body was lean, twitching with hunger. Its eyes were like dying stars—tiny, red, and furious.
Xavier stepped back. "Nope. I'm not doing this. I just finished work. I deserve peace."
Xavier didn't scream. He just ran.
The monster shrieked and gave chase.
Xavier turned the corner, vaulting over a trash bin. The thing slammed through it like it was made of paper.
He ducked and swerved, using the maze of crates and fire escapes like a rat in a panic. At one point he grabbed a broken pipe off the wall and spun around, swinging wildly. The pipe clanged against the thing's shoulder—and bounced off like he'd hit concrete.
The monster lashed out.
Its claw tore through his sleeve, drawing a line of fire across his arm. Xavier yelped and staggered back, clutching the wound.
"Okay. Okay, not ideal," he panted, eyes darting around for anything useful.
He threw a trash can lid. It deflected off the creature's face like a frisbee.
"Right. Trash-fu is not the answer."
The monster advanced, slow now, like it was enjoying this.
Xavier picked up a cracked broom handle and held it like a bat.
"Stay back," he said. "I know… I know how to scream very loudly and die in a theatrical fashion."
The creature lunged.
He swung.
The wood shattered across its chest, sending splinters flying. The force barely rocked it. It grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
Pain exploded in his back. His vision blurred.
The monster raised a claw to finish it.
Then something deep inside Xavier snapped. A word—not spoken, but remembered—rose from his gut to his throat.
Dejhan.
He didn't shout it.
He became it.
His hand moved before he thought. His fist clenched—and heat erupted from his core, flowing down his arm like molten light.
Time thickened. The alley pulsed red.
The monster struck.
Xavier ducked low—just barely—and with a cry, he drove his glowing fist into its abdomen.
BOOM!
The air cracked. A shockwave burst from his punch, turning debris to dust. The monster's body twisted mid-air before it was hurled back like a missile, crashing into the far wall with enough force to leave a crater.
Dust rained down. Silence followed.
Xavier stood shaking, staring at his hand—still warm, still humming.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound came from the other side of the alley. Slow. Amused.
Ezra stepped out of the shadows, still in his work clothes, clapping with casual mockery.
"Well done," he said, grinning. "I was wondering when you'd stop panicking long enough to hit something, my dear gatehound."