Ethan noticed the shifting mass of atoms, their forms flickering with death-marks as they closed in. One stepped forward, a dagger buried in his chest, eyes burning with hatred.
"You've got to strike first or not at all," the atom snarled, lunging.
Ethan stared at his own fist. He hadn't chosen to move, but the corruption did. His fist connected with the atom's chest, driving the dagger deeper. Guilt, followed by a cold, metallic warning, pulsed through his bones. Power didn't feel like safety; it felt like a horrifying mechanism.
The atom staggered, coughing blood. "You're good… but not good enough." He drew back his fist, charging a final, desperate attack.
Ethan's stance faltered. His breath caught. Confidence slipped—like a flame about to go out—before he could even try to fight back.
Then—snap—a thick, spider-like rope yanked him violently away from the swarm.
"What the hell is going on?" Ethan shouted, dragged roughly through the crumbling cobblestone streets.
"Shut up. I'm trying to save you," said a bodiless voice. Her voice wasn't just urgent—it felt rehearsed, as if she'd been watching and waiting for this precise moment.
"Then show yourself!" Ethan yelled, struggling against the rope.
"I will. Once we're safe." The voice softened, teasing. "By the way, my name's Emma. What's yours—or are you nameless?"
Still being dragged, Ethan hesitated. "My name is Ethan."
"Wow. What is your actual name?" Emma teased.
"Yeah… why?" he asked, unsure.
"Most of us pick new names when we reincarnate. To escape the pain. To start over." Her voice dipped into sorrow.
"Anyway, I think we're out of trouble. I can show myself now."
From the deep shadow of a crumbling building, Emma emerged. As light touched her, she flickered with a visible discomfort, a residual mark of the darkness.
"Wow… you're younger than I expected," Ethan blurted.
"What is that supposed to mean? How old are you?" Emma snapped, embarrassed.
"Seventeen. At least… when I died."
Emma's eyes dimmed. "Nineteen," she said quietly. "That's when I passed."
"Want to talk about it?" Ethan asked, feeling a surge of unwanted sympathy.
"Nah. What's in the past is in the past." She paused, then added: "The Devil's always watching. He told me to find you. Sent me here five months ago—after a bus crash. My parents were drunk. Like always."
Her eyes hardened, then she looked straight at him. "He said my purpose is to facilitate your power"
Ethan shivered. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice low and concerned.
"Yep. Like you said—the past is in the past." She brightened suddenly, professional now. "Anyway, what kind of atom are you?"
"I don't know. I just have these marks. And this patch."
"Open your window. See your title. I'm a Boron Atom—I can make web-like ropes and harden them."
Ethan opened his window. The screen didn't load cleanly; it shrieked—a high, digital whine. His title box filled with fractured code, then static.
"I'm a… hold on. That's strange—"
Emma leaned closer, her eyes wide. Then the static cleared, replaced by one definitive word: "UNCLASSIFIED."
The word pulsed once, a sickly, yellow light. Then vanished, leaving only buzzing static. Like the system itself didn't have a name for what the Devil had turned him into.
Before he could finish, a voice rang out. "I found them!"
An atom's voice echoed from a short distance.
"We better go," Emma said quickly, her face serious. "We can figure out what you are later."
Ethan nodded, his voice quiet. "Yeah… okay. Show me the way."
As they ran, Ethan glanced back at the swarm. The dagger still glinted in the fallen atom's chest. And for a moment, Ethan wondered if he'd just buried something more than a weapon.