Connor stirred at the sound of his phone alarm ringing. It was blaring at him from beneath his pillow, and he groaned as he fumbled with the screen using his thumb, blindly attempting to turn it off. Taking a deep breath with the relief of silence returning, he turned his head and glanced at the baby cot next to his bed. Somehow, having slept through the alarm, his baby sister, Susan, gently snored, having spent most of the night crying while he desperately tried to soothe her. Content that she was happy to remain there for a while longer, he turned his head the other way, wanting to get more sleep, until a wet squelching sound erupted half a second before her cries shattered the bliss he had been experiencing.
“You little shit factory, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” Connor grumbled as he climbed out of bed in his boxers and lifted her up. There was a revolting green and brown stain in her cot, and his hand suddenly became wet, making his face scrunch up in disgust as he fought to suppress his gag reflex.
Looking at him, her cries turned into giggles as he tried to breathe through his mouth and not his nose while carrying her through the family apartment. Passing the living room, he saw the pizza boxes still on the table with some beer cans from the night before. The couch was empty, and he figured Grace and Peter must have left at some point to return to their apartment several floors above. Arriving in the bathroom, he gently bathed Susan and threw their dirty clothes into a bag for him to clean later.
Pulling the towel from its holder, he stood in shock as the entire fitting ripped away from the wall, tearing a chunk of plasterboard. The shock quickly turned to panic as he let out a high-pitched squeal at the thought of his parents returning from their cruise to find a hole in the bathroom wall. Desperately holding it in place as if the fitting might magically reattach itself, he gathered his senses, left it on the back of the toilet, and exited the bathroom with a swaddled Susan to get her dressed before she decided to go for round two.
Once he finished, he lifted her, a look of concern crossing his face as he set her down, then picked her up again, raising and lowering her, weighing her, while she giggled at the attention, arms reaching out to him. He carried her back into his room, retrieving his weights from beneath the bed and wiping the dust off them. He began doing arm curls, eyeing them suspiciously. “They’re too light,” he murmured, tossing one in his hands and catching it like a cricket ball.
“Goo!” Susan called out, and he turned to her just in time to see a bright flicker vanish. Blinking several times, he felt like a cartoon character, rubbing his eyes and questioning whether he had imagined it.
Unnerved by the situation, he carried her into the kitchen and began warming a bottle for her breakfast, one hand stirring a pot of water with the milk their mum had left in the freezer. In his other hand, he scrolled through his phone, reading news articles about people suddenly being granted superhero powers seemingly overnight. Everyone appeared to have become stronger overnight, with some even gaining magical abilities. He watched a clip of someone repeatedly creating orange sparks from their hand until a fireball erupted and flew at the wall, instantly igniting it.
Leaving his phone on the counter, he went into the sitting room with Susan to feed her and turned on the news. As she greedily drank from the bottle, Connor focused on the television, which displayed footage of more people demonstrating their newfound powers. When he heard frantic knocking on the door, Connor flinched, causing Susan to cry as milk splattered across her face. Trying to wipe it off, Grace appeared in the sitting room, holding up a key.
“Sorry, I let us in when I heard her crying. What on earth is going on?” she asked, sitting on the other couch to watch the TV.
“Check this out,” Peter said, picking up a slice of pizza. He snapped his fingers beneath it, and Connor was astonished to see sparks flicker like a lighter.
“Damn, how’d you do that?” Connor asked, amazed at the magic, and stuck the bottle back in Susan’s mouth to quiet her back down again.
“I don’t know. Just this morning, I woke up and snapped my fingers. Hey-presto, sparks. What about you?” Peter asked, biting into the cold pizza, while Grace glared at him scornfully for his choice of breakfast.
Looking down at Susan, he adjusted his grip. “I’m not sure; I think I’m stronger. Look in the bathroom — I accidentally pulled the hand towel holder off the wall. I thought I was imagining it, but I could have sworn I noticed a glow around Susan’s hand earlier as well.”
“We’ll see about that,” Peter grinned as he dropped to his knees on the other side of the table, preparing to arm-wrestle Connor. Grace leaned forward, playfully slapped him on the back of the head, and pointed towards Susan, who was nearly finished with her bottle. “Oh, yeah, sorry, maybe later.”
Hearing a loud banging on the door again, all three turned around anxiously. As Connor passed Susan to Grace, who reached for her while she started crying from the noise, he silently crept down the hallway towards the door. Standing next to the intercom, he activated the camera and felt a wave of relief upon seeing his neighbour Mathew. He gave Peter a thumbs-up and opened the door, nervously sticking his head out to scan the corridor, which was surprisingly busy with people returning with supplies like water and toilet paper.
“You’re a hard man to reach, Connor,” Mathew laughed, rubbing his grizzled head, leathery and splotchy from decades of working outside. “Your grandmother has been trying to get hold of you and called me in a panic.” He reached in and lightly thumped Connor’s shoulder as a mock punishment.
“Damn, thanks, I completely forgot to bring my phone with me while feeding Susan. I’ll ring her now.” He replied as he turned, just as Grace stepped into the corridor. Mathew’s eyes narrowed briefly before his expression softened into a gentle smile, which Connor noticed from the corner of his eye, though he said nothing.
“Good lad, we’re living in quite interesting times,” Mathew said before leaning in to whisper. “You have the physique of a warrior; I suggest something to protect yourselves.”
Stepping back with a knowing smile, he walked away whistling a tune before entering his apartment next door. As he slammed the door, Connor’s eyes narrowed upon hearing heavy bolts seemingly slam down on the other side, as if he were barricading himself inside. Looking up the corridor, he felt a knot of unease in his stomach as he observed other neighbours rushing from the stairwell, carrying bags and boxes of emergency supplies. Upon entering, both Peter and Grace regarded him with concern.
While devising a plan and leaving Grace with Susan, Peter led Connor upstairs to his apartment, where they gathered everything they could carry in one trip. Upon returning with large suitcases filled with clothes and food, Connor realised he could easily manoeuvre the furniture and lift the couches by himself, even though it had taken three strong movers to get it through the door when they purchased it. Peter observed that while his strength had increased, it paled in comparison to the growth Connor had undergone overnight.
Connor picked up his cricket bat and felt a tingle run down his arm. His body twitched momentarily as if muscle memory were trying to take control. Perplexed, he stood in the middle of the now-cleared living room and swung his bat, finding his body moving for him as if it had been practised before. He had spent a few years learning to fence as a child, but this was nothing like it. As he swung his bat around, it lit up with a yellow aura, bathing the entire room in its glow, causing the other two to jump back to the doorway, shocked.
Seeing the other two, he gradually stopped and let his arms drop to his sides, hardly out of breath yet surprised by himself. “Well, I suppose we’ve discovered my speciality. You two and Susan possess magic; I have… this,” he remarked after a moment.
“Breaking news: We are receiving reports of further strange phenomena appearing throughout the streets,” the news broadcast announced, drawing their attention back to the television. Various pundits had attempted to theorise what was occurring all morning, but the trio had stopped paying attention when it became clear they had no idea what they were discussing.
As they cut away from the studio, footage from outside revealed a crowd gathering around the strange, pulsating light. It resembled a star, with small flares drifting away—captivating yet dangerous. Outside, the sound of a car crash was heard, tyres squealing before the unmistakable noise of metal being crumpled. Turning to the window, Connor felt a cold chill in his stomach upon seeing one of those pulsating stars on the street below, near their building.
People drifted in to look at it while the police tried to keep them back but failed miserably. Those with common sense moved away, trying to distance themselves as much as possible from the light. Looking out towards the rest of the city, he spotted the tops of at least three more, poking above the surrounding buildings. They were in Manchester, with the TV footage coming from London, and soon, more footage of other cities worldwide began to be shown.
Peter held Grace close as they both stared at the television in fear, and Connor shared the same sentiment. Hearing a rumble from the kitchen, he went inside and noticed his phone vibrating on the counter, neglected since breakfast. It fell silent as he turned it over. Thirty-seven missed calls and forty-three texts, all from his grandparents and, suspiciously, none from his parents. He glanced at the fridge, which bore the brochure from the cruise ship Andromeda, wondering why they were silent.
“Connor!” his grandmother cried out as he called her back, and she answered immediately, panicking. “There you are! Are you safe? Are you at home? How’s Susan? Have you heard from your mother? What’s it like in Manchester? Have you seen the news? Why didn’t you answer?”
“Granny, Granny, Granny! We’re alright." He raised his voice to drown her out. “The two of us are safe at home, and no, I haven’t heard from Mum yet. I texted her but she didn’t reply. It says the message wasn’t delivered, but I’m sure it’s just an issue with the ship.”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re safe. Stay there! We’re sending someone to pick you up,” she said, sounding hysterical on the phone.
“Listen, umm, I think I should stay here. It’s probably not safe to be moving at the moment,” he said, crossing to one of the windows to look out onto the street below, where the crowd had gathered around the strange, pulsing light, like moths to a flame.
“Alright, if that’s what you want. Call me if anything happens; don’t make me bother Matthew again. Pack a bag for yourself and Susan if you need to leave in a hurry.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll keep my phone with me. If anything changes, I’ll call you this evening. Love you.”
“Love you too, dear; stay safe.”
Standing in the kitchen, he rested his head against the cool glass as he pondered what to do next. Was it worth retrieving the car from the garage and making a dash for the family estate in the countryside? It would likely be better than staying here, but reaching it would be perilous with the chaos outside, and who could say what those peculiar orbs of light were?
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“Entrance rifts are generating as anticipated; all verified at green level starter simulations,” Adonai called from his station in the Spire control room.
“Good,” Athena acknowledged as she paced at the back, watching the culmination of their efforts, a nervous expression etched on her face. “How is their distribution? Is it going as planned?”
“Indeed, all major population centres are receiving their allotment, focusing the spread of mana to the largest number of people. I’m seeing multiple reports of groups already entering, although the results are… unfortunate.” Belial grimaced as he read the reports scrolling across his screen.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“How are they responding to the reintroduction of mana? If it doesn’t reawaken their strengths, we can increase the output as we gradually return it to pre-Scouring levels,” Athena said, turning to Osiris and Horus, who were working on the opposite side of the room.
“No need; they are responding well, and their bodies are adapting to the change, just as our previous test subjects experienced. Their latent abilities are resurfacing as we expected, with the genetic imprints we seeded acting like a lottery, although it will take several generations for it to settle.” Horus’ deep voice rumbled with a rare display of emotion beyond its usual solemnity.
“Those savages!” Thor barked as he transferred a live feed from his station to the main screen at the far end of the room. The entire screen went completely white, engulfing the dimly lit room in brightness before the white shifted to orange and grey began to emerge as the footage revealed the mushroom cloud rising above the city that had just been obliterated from existence.
Athena stood in shock as she witnessed the aftermath of the Gaeian’s most fearsome weapon. It was crude and barbaric, its lingering effects horrific and ugly, but it was by no means the most destructive weapon she had ever seen. “Change of plans, Adonai; seed the area with several high-level test rifts; we’ll clear them out later. Hopefully, we can mitigate any lasting damage and rejuvenate the area. Freya, patch me into their communications; let’s try to thwart their desire for mutual annihilation once again.” She spat the last word bitterly, painful memories of their previous attempt rising unbidden.
At her main control station, she held her hands above the input module, trying to find a way to divert them from their course of action. They valued honesty, but if that honesty came at the cost of their inferiority, she would merely be igniting the match of the powder keg that the world had now become. Allowing her hands to flow freely, she crafted a message she hoped would provide them with some unity to survive what was coming, before devolving back into barbaric tribalism.
“Freya, have a look at what I’ve written,” Athena said, sharing it with the others as they read. “We’ve miscalculated their response, and I don’t want to repeat the same mistake. Adonai, how soon can you push the Rifts to unleash their strengths?”
Gazing at the ceiling while rocking and calculating, Athena glared at him for taking his time, fully aware he already knew the answer. “If I divert mana from some of the weaker ones, perhaps for half a cycle, it might result in unpredictable repercussions from those we leave too long. Four-fifths may come out under-strength, but the remaining ones will rise to weakened intermediate ranks.”
“Do it,” Athena commanded as she turned to Freya, who was approaching her.
“I’ve made a few changes,” she whispered, dropping to Athena’s eye level. “Their greed should buy us the time we need, and we can create some trials to filter out the chaff. I’ve sifted through the database, and the Heir doesn’t exist; well, they do, but it’s peculiar; the Spire either refuses to acknowledge them or is unable to.”
Athena felt a faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth as she gazed at the devastation that had sent her into a panic. “The time has not yet come, but soon. We can monitor where his attention appears to linger and attempt to search for the Heir illuminated by the spotlight he casts. Knowing that micromanaging bastard, he won’t be able to resist trying to salvage as much of the situation as he can.”
As she spoke, Athena’s eyes twitched at the vengeful pressure she felt at the back of her mind, but she scowled at his feeble rebuttal while his presence faded once more, too weak to do anything further. A self-satisfied smirk crossed Freya’s face as she watched her receive her comeuppance for her harsh words. She stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her pristine robes. “You would do well to watch your tongue and consult the twins about the history of the punishments they endured for their reactions.”
Athena waved her off with a scowl while the twins quickly looked away, realising that their delay from hearing their own names mentioned had been noticed.
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Sitting in his room with Susan asleep in her cot, Connor felt tired as he endlessly scrolled through the videos people were posting online. The shocking news of the nuclear strike had been nerve-wracking, with everyone waiting with bated breath for the end of humanity. Doomsayers found themselves being broadcast to the world, and riots broke out globally. Connor saw the smoke drifting across Manchester outside his window as more places were set alight in the inner city.
“Come quickly!” Grace panted in a panic as she burst into the room, the door slamming against the wall behind her and leaving a hole.
Frowning at the now empty doorway, he picked up the disturbed baby, who was suddenly screaming at the interruption to her post-breakfast sleep. Bouncing her as he walked down the hall, doing his best to soothe her back to sleep, he heard Peter and Grace nervously arguing in the living room. Standing in the wide doorway, he glanced at the TV as Peter scrolled through every channel, discovering they had all been replaced with a single image of a crest, something that royalty might use as their heraldry.
“It’s on every channel,” Peter remarked, stating the obvious as Connor ignored him. Glancing down at his phone, he discovered that it too displayed the same image as the TV while he hurried to join them. In his attempt to open a different app or perform some action, his phone stubbornly refused to respond to his inputs, regardless of which button he pressed.
“The world is in peril..." Grace began reading as the text appeared, but another strange voice, a woman’s, started to read the text while it scrolled up the television, on their phones, and even on the radio down the hallway in the kitchen. It was unsettling to hear its echoing effect as she spoke flawlessly, yet there was also an otherness to it; the accent sounded odd, as though English were not her first language.
The World is in peril once more from an ancient and imminent threat.
Heroes must awaken to face this challenge and find the Heir who will Ascend to lead your defence.
Glory awaits those who slay the beasts within to claim their prizes.
The Gifts we seeded give you the tools to seek your salvation.
The Rifts will train you to fight what once was but myths and fables.
The Spire awaits those who seek to be a Hero.
Prove that you are the Heir we seek by completing its Trials.
We await your arrival to the Isle.
Reading through the text faster than the voice spoke, Connor leaned back against the doorframe as silence settled over the apartment once more. Susan had calmed down and gurgled softly in the crook of his neck. Magic had suddenly become a reality, and each of them struggled to devise an explanation to refute her words, whoever she was. Reflecting on the strange sources of light outside, Connor walked to the far end of the hallway and gazed out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the street below.
People began to flee from the ball of light, and he wondered if that was what they called a rift. Pressing his head against the glass, he glanced down at his phone, which rang again. His grandmother was calling him. Answering, he tried to reassure her amid her desperate pleas to reach safety at the family estate. After hanging up with a promise to arrive that night, he turned to find Peter hugging Grace at the other end of the hallway, staring at him.
“We should go. It’s better than here, plus, if someone sets fire to this place…” he said, allowing his voice to fade as she nodded desperately, letting them add their own ending to his words.
Hearing screams, he spun around and placed his free hand against the glass, glimpsing down as a lump formed in his throat. Rushing from the ball of light, he realised that giant dogs—no, wolves—were tearing at those standing around the oddity. Grace cried out in fear and fell to her knees as Peter rushed to the window and gazed out, his face mirroring Connor’s shock.
“Connor, we can’t…” he whispered, glancing at him. “How can we with that?”
Kissing Susan’s face as she began to cry again, Connor was at a loss for words. He glanced at the front door barricaded with sofas, intent on preventing humans from trying to enter, but wolves? Peter followed his gaze, and they exchanged looks, both understanding that leaving wasn’t an option now. Connor’s stomach lurched as he saw the corpses littering the street below from those unfortunate enough to have remained standing near the light. Pressing a button on the nearby remote, the shutters slowly descended to shield their view of the carnage below and attempt to conceal their presence.
Peter led Grace into the kitchen, where Connor heard the kettle fill and switch on. How quintessentially British, he mused, but what else could they do? Returning to his bedroom, he placed Susan in her cot, where she immediately began to cry again, but he ignored her, instead concentrating on packing his hiking bag with supplies for her. When the door opened, he was taken aback by Grace, who entered and lifted the screaming child into her arms, doing her best to comfort her. Without acknowledging him, she wandered off as he grabbed whatever came to mind that they might need.
Dropping his bag by the door, he heard a scream from the other side, muffled by the couches pressed against the heavy wooden door. Stepping onto one and balancing precariously, he reached over to the intercom and held his breath as he activated the camera. Placing his hand over his mouth to stifle a squeal, he saw that the hallway was suddenly filled with wolves, along with something smaller, resembling a child. On closer examination, it had green skin, pointed ears, and a long hooked nose, and as it caught sight of the camera, the last thing he saw was two rows of sharp, pointed teeth, or what remained of them, as it seemed to have lost many while attempting to eat the camera.
The door shook, and the nearby lamp rattled as something heavy struck it. He shuffled backwards, away from it, gripping his bat as he prepared to protect the others. Another violent rattle echoed as the door was hit again, and they heard the wood beginning to splinter and crack from the assault. Raising his cricket bat, he held it aloft, ready to strike at anything that might attempt to break in, while Grace and Peter rushed into the kitchen and shoved the table against the door.
A loud snarling sound erupted, and while waiting for the door to be struck again, he was taken aback as the noises receded until he realised they were coming from the living room. Human shouts intermingled, and he understood they had broken into Mathew’s apartment next door. The wall shook as something collided on the other side, causing a family photo to tumble from a shelf, the glass shattering as it hit the floor. With his arms dropping to his sides, Connor was astonished yet fearful of what was unfolding on the other side as a window shattered, and he heard a howl fade as if a wolf had leapt out, or was thrown.
As he turned to head back towards the kitchen, the wall behind him exploded, forcing him to duck behind the door while a dust cloud filled the room, merging the two apartments into one. Coughing and attempting to wave the dust away from his face, Connor froze when he heard a low snarl followed by a crunch. Just as he dove out of the way, a wolf leapt into the hallway, its claws and fangs narrowly missing him before it crashed hard into the opposite wall, taking a moment to shake its head and dispel its dizziness.
Scrambling backwards along the floor, Connor felt the adrenaline racing through his body as he attempted to distance himself from the beast. It looked horrific, covered in mange, with cracked and bleeding skin where clumps of fur had come away. Blood flowed from a wound in its front left shoulder, and it kept that leg lifted off the ground. Hopping a little, it slowly followed Connor down the hall until he was pressed against the shuttered window at the end, with the kitchen door beside him.
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Connor roared, summoning as much courage as he could when he realised he needed to protect the three behind the door. Holding his bat at the ready, it lunged at him, and he kept his weapon in front of him as it sank its teeth into the wood, trying to reach him, a claw scratching at his leg.
Grunting in pain, Connor hurled the creature away, using all his newfound strength to propel it back several metres as it struggled to regain its footing and launch at him once more. Exhaling as if his fear had vanished, a yellow aura enveloped his bat, illuminating the hallway. He swung at the wolf as it lunged again.
A terrific booming sound filled Connor’s ears as the two of them collided, sending him backwards into the glass, cracking it, but thankfully he was cushioned by the shutters as he fell forward. With glass raining down on him, he coughed, struggling to get air into his lungs after being winded by the blow. Looking up, he was horrified to see that the wolf had become a bloody mess, half of its body missing. No, not missing, he realised; it had exploded everywhere, and feeling wet, he recognised he was covered in its gore as he lay on the floor.
Picking himself up from the floor, he discovered the remnants of his bat and tossed it aside in frustration, his only weapon lost. Leaning against the wall, he grunted in pain at the gash in his leg, unable to distinguish between his blood and that of the wolf. Hopefully, it wasn’t infected. He grimaced as he attempted to push the thought from his mind and slowly limped down the hallway back towards the living room. Leaning heavily against the doorframe, he surveyed the carnage of the room and gazed beyond the wall into Mathew’s apartment, which resembled a bloodbath. Five wolf corpses sprawled across the ground, and several smaller green creatures lay scattered about.
Falling to his knees, he sighed in relief as it seemed to be over. He wanted to call out to Mathew to check if he was still alive, but nothing came from the other side of the wall. Turning his head, he noticed Grace entering the hallway and passing Susan to Peter, who stood there staring at Connor with bewilderment.
Grace's hands glimmered with a green light. They brushed against Connor’s leg, and he felt his skin crawl and sting as he realised she possessed healing powers. The warmth radiated through his weary body, gradually restoring his strength and allowing him to stand upright. When he put weight on his healed leg, he was astonished to find that the pain had disappeared completely and he felt refreshed, as if just out of bed that morning.
Reaching out to thank Grace with a hug, she gagged and sidestepped his outstretched arms, and he realised he was still covered head to toe in gore. “Thanks,” he said softly, shaking his arms in disgust and splattering the wall with more blood.