I wake with up with a lazy groan, my eyes fluttering open as consciousness rushes back like a tidal wave. For a moment, I’m completely disoriented, my mind struggling to make sense of my surroundings. The last thing I remember with any clarity is the cold bite of the razor against my skin, the warm rush of blood mixing with bathwater. Then... nothing but fragments and hazy impressions.

As my vision clears, I find myself in a room so pristine, so impossibly white that it almost hurts to look at. The walls, the ceiling, even the plush carpet beneath the enormous bed I’m lying in, all of it is a shade of white so pure it seems to glow from within. Ornate moldings trace delicate patterns along the edges of the room, their intricate designs a stark contrast to the overwhelming whiteness.

The bed itself is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. I’m nestled in sheets so soft they feel like clouds against my skin.

Sunlight streams in through tall windows, their panes crystal clear and framed by white curtains that billow gently in a breeze I can’t feel.

I try to sit up but find myself tucked so tightly into the bed that movement is nearly impossible. The sheets are wrapped around me like a cocoon, soft but unyielding. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but the restriction sends a flutter of anxiety through my chest.

“Is this heaven?” I whisper, my voice sounding small and lost in the vast whiteness of the room. “Did I kill myself?”

I sigh a heavy exhalation that seems to deflate my entire being. “No,” I murmur. “I wouldn’t have ended up in heaven.”

The words hang in the air, a somber acknowledgment of my own unworthiness. The pristine whiteness of the room suddenly feels oppressive, mocking in its purity.

As I lie there, lost in my gloomy thoughts, a soft knock echoes through the room. My head snaps up, eyes widening as I see a familiar figure enter.

Tyrell strides in. The sight of him, so wonderfully alive and real, sends a surge of joy through me. A wide smile spreads across my face, genuine warmth blooming in my chest.

“Tyrell!” I exclaim, my voice cracking slightly from disuse. “I haven’t seen you in a minute my dude.”

But as quickly as the joy comes, it’s washed away by a tidal wave of memory. The alley, the hands, the pain, the shame. It all comes rushing back in vivid, horrific detail. My smile falters, replaced by a grimace of anguish.

“Dude,” I say, anxiety coursing through my veins, “I got gang-raped.”

Tyrell’s easy swagger falters. He stops short, his body language suddenly awkward and uncertain. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy subject matter I’ve just dropped on him.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice tight with genuine regret. “I was... I was dead while that happened.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My mind reels, struggling to process this new, impossible information. I blink rapidly, my mouth opening and closing as I try to form words.

“Fuck, dude,” I finally manage to sputter out. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of casual nonchalance. “It was Super Star. She killed me like a week ago.”

As Tyrell’s words sink in, the pristine white room suddenly takes on a sinister quality. The walls seem to close in, the air growing thick and oppressive. My eyes dart frantically around the space, taking in details I hadn’t noticed before.

My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as panic claws at my throat. The cocoon of sheets, once soft and comforting, now feels like a straitjacket, pinning me in place as the room’s malevolence grows.

“Tyrell,” I whisper, my voice trembling with fear, “is this... is this actually hell?”

Tyrell rushes to my bedside, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “No, no, no!” he exclaims, shaking his head emphatically. “Not at all, Luke. we’re very much alive.”

His words do little to quell the terror gripping my heart. I struggle against the sheets, desperate to free myself from their unyielding embrace.

Seeing my distress, Tyrell quickly continues, his voice taking on a soothing tone. “I regenerate after some time, good as new. It’s... it’s complicated, but I promise you, this isn’t hell. You’re safe here.”

I pause in my struggles, my racing mind latching onto this new piece of information. “You... regenerate?” I repeat, the word feeling strange on my tongue.

Tyrell nods, relief evident in his posture as he sees me starting to calm down. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” he says with a forced chuckle. “But hey, at least it means I get to keep rocking this sweet jacket, right?”

His attempt at levity falls flat as another realization hits me. “Why did my wife kill you?” I ask.

Tyrell sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “She thought I was the leak about that murder incident,” he admits, his tone weary.

“Ohhhhh,” I say, pieces starting to click into place in my mind. Then, doubt creeping in, I add, “You weren’t, though, right?”

Tyrell shakes his head. “I don’t talk to anyone besides you and the people here,” he insists, gesturing vaguely at our surroundings.

I furrow my brow, trying to make sense of Tyrell’s words.

“Where is here?” I ask, my voice small and uncertain.

Tyrell’s voice softens. “Buddy, you’re in Utopia.”

I tilt my head in confusion, the name stirring something in the foggy recesses of my memory. “That weird place I read about with the barrier?” I ask, fragments of information from countless hero wiki articles floating to the surface of my mind.

Suddenly, like a dam breaking, memories come flooding back. Lady Ruin’s imposing figure silhouetted against a desolate wasteland. The sickening lurch as we teleported. A cityscape of impossible beauty and technology. And... a Blockbuster?

The full weight of what happened crashes over me like a tidal wave. My eyes go wide, frantic with the realization. “Oh my god,” I gasp, my voice rising in panic. “Why would Lady Ruin kidnap me?!”

My mind races, jumping from one horrifying thought to the next. The destruction I witnessed, the raw power Lady Ruin wielded with such casual ease. And then, a memory that makes my blood run cold, Skye, suspended in midair, her arm twisting at an impossible angle as she screamed in agony.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Oh my fucking god,” I choke out, my voice cracking with fear and desperation. “Is Skye alive?”

Tyrell sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of what he has to say. He takes a step closer to the bed.

“It’s okay, Luke,” he says softly, each word measured and careful. “Super Star is…. well, she’s alive, but she is injured.”

Tyrell’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. My mind reels, conjuring up vivid images of Skye’s broken body. I see her lying in a sterile hospital room, tubes and wires snaking from her still form. Monitors beep ominously, their rhythmic pulses a grim countdown. Doctors in crisp white coats huddle around her, their faces grim as they consult charts and whisper in hushed tones.

The imagined scene is so visceral, so real, that I can almost smell the antiseptic tang of the hospital air, hear the soft whoosh of the ventilator breathing for her.

“Oh god,” I choke out, my voice thick with emotion. “Is she... is she gonna pull through?”

Tyrell’s eyes widen, realizing the impact of his words. “Fuck, sorry, Luke,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “She’s fine. She has a broken arm. They just have to heal it. She’ll be all set by the end of the day.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling the tension drain from my body. “Dude,” I say, slumping back against the pillows, “your bedside manner sucks.”

Tyrell laughs, the sound breaking the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room. “Yeah,” he admits with a rueful grin, “I guess it does.”

As the panic subsides, replaced by sweet relief, another thought occurs to me. “When can I see my wife?” I ask, already imagining our reunion.

Tyrell’s laughter dies away, his tone growing serious once more. He shifts awkwardly, avoiding my gaze. “We should probably go talk to Lady Ruin,” he says finally, his voice tight with an emotion I can’t quite place.

*****

As we step out of the castle, I’m momentarily blinded by the dazzling sunlight. I blink rapidly, my eyes slowly adjusting to the radiant world around us. The castle behind us is a marvel of architecture, its spires reaching impossibly high into the sky.

As we make our way down a path, I open my mouth to ask Tyrell where exactly we’re going. before I can form the words, he turns to me with an vibe of intense curiosity.

“Hey Luke,” Tyrell says, his voice filled with genuine wonder, “where does popcorn come from?”

The question catches me completely off guard. I furrow my brow, momentarily distracted from the otherworldly splendor around us. “What?” I ask, certain I must have misheard him.

Tyrell repeats the question. “Where does popcorn come from?”

I stare at him for a moment, confusion warring with amusement. “Uh, corn?” I reply, my tone making it clear I think the answer should be obvious. “I mean, it’s right there in the name.”

Tyrell shakes his head. “No, I mean, like, is it from uncooked corn? Or is it a special kind of corn?”

I feel a wave of annoyance wash over me as I realize I actually have no idea where popcorn comes from. “Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “It’s probably just uncooked corn on the cob, right?”

Tyrell shrugs. “I don’t know, man. It’s kinda pissing me off not knowing too.”

Instinctively, I reach for my pocket to pull out my iPhone and look it up. My hand meets empty air, and I pat my pockets frantically before the realization hits me. “I don’t have my phone,” I say, a note of panic creeping into my voice.

“It wouldn’t work here anyway,” Tyrell explains. “We don’t have the internet here.”

I stop in my tracks, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. “That blows.”

Tyrell must sense my growing unease because he quickly adds, “I’m sure Ruin will give you a special phone hooked up to our network soon.”

His words do little to calm the anxiety bubbling up in my chest. The thought of facing Lady Ruin again, of being at the mercy of her unfathomable power, sends a chill down my spine. “I really don’t want to talk to that woman,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Tyrell nods sympathetically, but his eyes are already fixed on something in the distance. I follow his gaze and feel my breath catch in my throat. Amidst the gleaming spires and impossible architecture of Utopia, a building of pure obsidian rises like a dark monolith. Its surface is so black it seems to absorb the very light around it, creating a disorienting void in the midst of the city’s radiance. The structure is all sharp angles and jutting protrusions, a nightmarish geometry that stands in stark contrast to the flowing, organic forms that dominate the rest of Utopia.

“That’s where she works,” Tyrell says, his voice unusually somber. “Come on.”

As we approach the obsidian edifice, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re walking into the maw of some great, slumbering beast. The very air seems to grow colder, the cheerful sounds of the city fading away until all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.

We step through doors that slide open with an ominous hiss, revealing an interior that’s somehow even darker than the building’s exterior. Our footsteps echo unnaturally as if the sound is being swallowed up by the void around us.

“Is she going to kill me?” I ask, hating how small and frightened my voice sounds.

Tyrell speaks quickly. “Nah.”

As we make our way deeper into the heart of this nightmarish structure, a thought occurs to me. “Could you win in a fight with Ruin?” I ask, desperately seeking some reassurance.

Tyrell pauses. For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of hidden machinery within the obsidian walls. When he speaks, his voice is low and measured.

“It’s... complicated. I think I might have a shot, maybe 50/50 odds. There’s something about her, a weakness I’ve noticed. But...” He pauses.

“If I’m wrong, Luke, she could make my existence a living hell. Literally, imagine an eternity of agony, of being torn apart and put back together over and over again, with no hope of escape or release. That’s what she could do to me.”

Tyrell shudders visibly, his usual bravado cracking to reveal a deep, primal fear. “So yeah, picking a fight? Not worth the risk. Not by a long shot.”

I nod slowly, a chill running down my spine at the implications of his words. “Oh.”

As we round a corner, we come face to face with a set of massive obsidian doors. They tower above us, their surface so dark it seems to devour the light around it.

Standing before these imposing doors is a woman. She has sharp features and neatly tied-back black hair, her grey eyes reflecting a keen intelligence. Her attire is practical yet stylish, exuding an air of efficiency and authority.

“Good morning, Luke,” she says, her voice crisp and professional. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jackie Jones.”

She extends her hand towards me, a polite smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I stare at the offered hand for a moment, my mind racing.

“My wife doesn’t want me shaking hands,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them.

She seems annoyed and drops her hand, her polite smile faltering for just a moment. “Okay,” she says curtly, her tone clipped. “She’s ready to see you.”

Jackie motions towards the imposing obsidian doors. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as sandpaper.

Tyrell places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine, bud,” he says, his voice low and comforting. But I can hear the slight tremor beneath his words, the hint of uncertainty that does little to calm my frayed nerves.

With legs that feel like lead, I step forward. The doors swing open silently, revealing a wall of dense, swirling fog. It’s so thick I can barely see a foot in front of me, tendrils of mist curling and coiling like living things.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and step into the unknown. The fog envelops me immediately, cool and damp against my skin. I hear the doors shut behind me with a soft thud, but when I turn to look, I can see nothing but an impenetrable wall of mist.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, my voice sounding muffled and distant in the strange, mist-filled room. “This is so much fucking fog.”

I hear an awkward chuckle and a familiar voice say, “Sorry, I overdid it, I guess. Just follow my voice.”

I take hesitant steps forward, my arms outstretched as I navigate through the dense haze. Just as claustrophobia begins to set in, the fog ahead starts to thin. A figure gradually comes into focus, standing motionless amidst the swirling mists. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the flowing green cape, the imposing stance that radiates power and authority.

Lady Ruin.

As I draw closer, she reaches up and removes her helmet with a mechanical hiss. The mist parts around her like a curtain, revealing her face in startling clarity.

It’s a face I know better than my own, one I’ve traced with my fingers countless times in moments of intimacy and love. The elegant curve of her cheekbones, the full lips that have whispered words of adoration against my skin, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, it’s all achingly familiar.

Where her left eye should be, there’s only an empty socket, the skin around it puckered and scarred. The absence is nostalgic for me.

Her remaining eye, a vibrant emerald green that I’ve gazed into so many times before, now blazes with an intensity that’s almost painful to behold. There’s a wildness there, a feverish light that speaks of obsession and barely contained madness. It’s the gaze of a predator I never got over.

A maddened smile spreads across her lips.

“Long time no see, Luke.”

End of Volume 1