The moment Cain’s eyes snapped open, he was met with a dimly lit alley, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something far worse—blood. His body ached, as if he’d been dropped from a great height, but the pain was secondary to the disorientation flooding his mind. He wasn’t in his apartment anymore.

He pushed himself up, his hands brushing against the rough cobblestones beneath him. The alley stretched out in either direction, narrow and confined, hemmed in by towering buildings of dark stone. The night sky above was unfamiliar—no city lights, no neon glow. Only a deep, vast blackness speckled with stars.

“Where…?” His voice was hoarse.

Memories surged back. That strange sensation, the unnatural decay spreading from his fingertips. Then—darkness. Now, he was here. Somewhere entirely different.

A groan reached his ears.

Cain turned sharply, his muscles tensing instinctively. A man was slumped against the alley wall, barely visible in the dim light. His clothes were ragged, his body covered in bruises and dried blood. He coughed, spitting out something dark onto the stones.

Cain hesitated. He knew nothing of this place or its people. But something told him that ignoring a man on the verge of death wasn’t an option—at least, not if he wanted to understand what was going on.

He took a step closer. “Hey. You alive?”

The man lifted his head weakly, his eyes barely focusing. “Not for long,” he rasped.

Cain knelt down, keeping his distance. “What happened to you?”

The man let out a weak chuckle that turned into a pained cough. “You must be new here.”

Cain narrowed his eyes. “Here?”

The man gestured weakly around them. “The Slums of Black Hollow. You won’t last long looking that clean, stranger.”

Cain glanced down at himself. His clothes weren’t exactly pristine—just a dark hoodie and jeans—but compared to this man, he looked practically untouched. That alone told him this place was dangerous.

Before he could ask more, the man shuddered violently, his body wracked with pain. Cain instinctively reached out, then froze.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The decay.

He clenched his fist and pulled back. If what happened before was real, then touching this man could very well be the end of him.

The man noticed his hesitation and smirked weakly. “Smart. You never know what kind of sickness someone might be carrying.”

Cain didn’t respond. He needed answers, not a lesson on street survival. “Who did this to you?”

The man’s expression darkened. “The Black Fangs. A gang that runs these streets.”

Gangs. That much, at least, was familiar.

Cain exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of the situation. He was in a foreign world—one where gangs ruled the streets and the weak were left to rot. And somehow, he had an ability that defied the laws of nature.

Survival. That was the first priority.

Cain stood, scanning the alley for anything useful. “Where can I find them?”

The man chuckled again, this time with a hint of pity. “You don’t go looking for the Black Fangs, stranger. They find you.”

Cain’s jaw tightened. If that was the case, then he’d just have to make himself known.

The Law of the Streets

The streets of Black Hollow were unlike anything Cain had ever seen. Filthy, crowded, and filled with people who looked ready to slit a throat for a scrap of food. Fires burned in metal barrels, casting flickering shadows across the broken cobblestones. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the lingering scent of blood.

People moved in clusters, always watching their backs. Cain could feel their eyes on him, assessing him, weighing whether he was prey or predator.

He didn’t like being prey.

A group of men loitered near a collapsed building, their clothes torn but their eyes sharp. Gangs. He could tell by the way they carried themselves—like they owned the streets.

Cain approached without hesitation. If the Black Fangs ran this place, then someone here had to know where to find them.

One of the men, a lanky figure with a jagged scar running down his cheek, noticed him first. “You lost, fresh meat?”

Cain stopped a few feet away. “Looking for the Black Fangs.”

The group exchanged glances before breaking into laughter. “You hear that? He’s looking for the Black Fangs!”

Scarface stepped forward, his grin sharp and full of malice. “And why’s that, huh? You got a death wish?”

Cain met his gaze without flinching. “I just need to talk.”

The laughter died down. Scarface tilted his head, considering him. “You serious?”

Cain nodded.

Scarface licked his lips. “Tell you what. We could take you to them. But first…” He cracked his knuckles. “You gotta pay the toll.”

Cain knew what was coming. The way they shifted, the way the others started spreading out. They were going to test him.

Good.

He was going to test something too.

Scarface swung first, a wild hook aimed at Cain’s head. He moved instinctively, sidestepping just enough to let the blow graze past him. His hand shot out, grabbing Scarface’s wrist.

Decay.

The moment their skin made contact, Cain felt it—like a current running through him. Scarface’s flesh darkened, veins turning black as rot spread up his arm. His eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

Cain let go, and Scarface collapsed, clutching his arm as the flesh withered away. The others stumbled back in horror.

“What the hell?!” one of them shouted.

Cain looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. The decay was real. It was under his control.

He turned his gaze back to the group. “Take me to the Black Fangs.”

No one argued.

Into the Den

The gangsters led Cain through the twisting alleys, past rows of makeshift homes and underground hideouts. Eventually, they reached a large, reinforced building with a rusted iron door. The Black Fangs’ symbol—a snarling wolf with crimson fangs—was painted across it.

One of the men banged on the door. “We got someone who wants a word with the boss.”

A slit in the door slid open. Cold eyes assessed Cain before the door creaked open.

Cain stepped inside.

The room was filled with armed men, their faces hard, their weapons sharp. At the far end sat a man in a high-backed chair, his fingers adorned with rings that glinted in the dim light.

He looked up, interest flickering in his eyes. “Well now… who do we have here?”

Cain took a step forward, his voice calm but firm.

“Someone you’re going to want to know.”

End of Chapter 2