Chapter 1: Rebirth
The world was a blur—shifting, twitching, dissolving into nothing. Shapes bled into one another like spilled ink in water, their edges trembling and soft. All around him, an endless expanse of azure liquid rippled with unnatural stillness. The cold wasn't just biting—it was invasive, burrowing deep into his bones, until even thought felt frozen.
Light above the surface fractured through the water like broken glass. It shimmered and danced, teasing him, unreachable. It played across his dull irises like it was mocking him. A cruel trick of warmth in a place where warmth didn't exist. The surface might as well have been the sky.
Breathe.
He tried. Gods, he tried.
But his chest barely moved. His lungs seized. With each panicked gasp, he only took in more silence—more water. The crushing pressure dragged at him, squeezing his ribs like a vice, urging him downward. His muscles screamed in silence, stiff, disconnected, utterly useless. Fingers wouldn't twitch. Legs wouldn't kick.
His mind reeled, foggy, as if waking from a coma—but he wasn't waking. He was sinking.
Distant echoes reached his ears like distorted whalesong—warped voices, muffled screams, or maybe just his own heartbeat reverberating against a watery coffin. Each sound was a ghost slipping through the cracks of perception. He couldn't tell if they were calling to him… or calling him away.
Then came the darkness.
Not sudden. Not violent. It crept in.
It began as the faintest shadow brushing the corners of his vision—timid, careful, as if asking permission. But second by second, inch by inch, the shadows thickened. A curtain being drawn. A stage play reaching its final act.
'The worst way to die…' he thought, each syllable slow, sluggish like his fading heartbeat.
'Some say it's fire—consumed by flame until your nerves give out.'
'Others say it's disease. Rotting away, helpless in a bed you'll never leave.'
A long, icy sigh escaped his thoughts.
'But this…? This is it. The worst of them all. Trapped in this glacial hell, slipping away with no one to hear me scream.'
His mind's voice cracked, strained with the effort of existing.
'No movement. No resistance. Just pressure. Just silence. Just time stretching like a noose.'
His lungs were no longer burning—they were numb. Gone. Useless. The ache in his limbs dulled to a distant throb, like they belonged to someone else.
'I thought I'd be angry.'
'I thought I'd fight.'
'But maybe… maybe I'm just tired.'
The darkness reached for him now—not creeping, but claiming. Tendrils of ink coiled around his awareness, dragging him deeper toward the abyss beneath. They coalesced beneath him like a massive, yawning maw in the deep.
His eyes fluttered once.
Twice.
"Huh," he whispered. Or maybe he only thought it. "This is it, huh?"
The tendrils tightened.
'No warmth. No comfort. Only the cold... only the end…'
And then, with a final beat of silence—his body surrendered. His soul exhaled. The man finally gave in. His body, pale and limp, drifted downward, claimed by the shadow.
Below, unseen in the void, something stirred.
It had waited.
It had hungered.
And now it welcomed its gift with a smile formed of nothing, eyes akin to rivers of blood.
"He is ready."
The voice echoed not through water, but through reality. Soft. Feminine. Ancient.
The tendrils curled tighter, possessive, eager.
"Come, child. We have so much work to do."
…
Earlier that day
"Huuuuggghhh…"
A guttural groan rumbled from my throat like a dying engine, as I flopped an arm over my eyes in protest against the cruel, blazing hellfire that dared pour through my cabin window. The sun, in all its obnoxious glory, was hell-bent on violating my retinas with the subtlety of a flashbang.
"Goddamn treacherous ball of gas…" I muttered to no one in particular, dragging myself upright like a reanimated corpse with joint pain.
I scratched lazily at the rough stubble on my jaw, fingers brushing over old, familiar terrain—raised scars and calloused skin, memories etched in flesh from years as a ranger. The military kind, not the park-brochure-holding kind. Funny how I ended up trading one kind of ranger badge for another. Both came with guns, bruises, and enough trauma to make a shrink retire early.
Feet slapped cold floorboards with a grunt, the chill crawling up my legs like a damn parasite. I shuffled to the washroom in a half-dead zombie lurch, slapping the light switch like it owed me rent.
The mirror did what it always did—told the truth I didn't ask for.
I looked like hell.
Long black hair, tangled and wild, draped past my shoulders like it'd been through a war.
Stubble thick enough to sand wood.
Old scars, pale and ugly, webbed across a face that'd seen too many winters and too few breaks.
And then the eyes—dull emerald green, glassy, joyless. Every time I saw them, I felt the same quiet revulsion crawl up my throat. Like I was staring into someone else's.
Still. The ritual demanded respect.
Splash of freezing water to chase off the ghosts.
Toothbrush to grind out the taste of stale coffee and regret.
Quick drag of the razor, just enough to pass for civil.
Don't bleed. Don't think. Don't stop.
And above all else—don't die of apathy… Yet
Charcoal-gray shirt, still a bit wrinkled, was jammed into navy cargo pants with the kind of effort that screamed "functional but unbothered." My heavy ebony coat hung from my shoulders like a cape that had seen better days. I snagged my thermos of coffee and sat at the tiny wooden table by the cabin window, steam curling into the chilly mountain air.
I took a long sip and exhaled, letting myself believe for just a second…
"Ahhh… this is the life. Waking up to nature, clean forest air, and a nice cup of coffee. Life is goo—"
BZZZZZT.
"—fucking dammit," I hissed through gritted teeth as my radio crackled to life.
"Attention any available units: we've received reports of unsanctioned firearm usage in sector B9. Repeat—sector B9. Over."
My jaw locked.
"B9... B9…" I repeated under my breath.
The coffee cup froze midair.
"...SHIT. That's Ralf's sector."
And why, you might ask, would a disturbance in Ralf's turf concern me?
Because four days ago, Ralf got married in a clumsy, beer-soaked ceremony, and guess which dumbass opened his mouth and said, "Yeah sure, I'll cover your sector, no problem." That's right.
Me.
I slammed the mug down and snatched up the radio.
"This is Ranger Jackson Bram. Orders received. En route to B9 now. Probably some rednecks hopped up on moonshine again…"
Sigh.
A familiar chuckle filtered through the static.
"Understood, Ranger Bram. And hey—try not to get another restraining order this time. Over."
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
"James, those drunk bastards tried to punch me so they could pet a goddamn cougar. Called her 'Fluffy.' One of 'em got scared when she growled and swung at me instead."
My voice shifted into a mocking Southern twang.
"'We jus' wanna pet the big kitty, mister ranger!'"
Then back to normal.
"That man's lucky all he got was a concussion. Over."
James laughed again, less amusement now, more caution.
"Alright Jack. Just get over there before someone gets themselves killed."
The radio clicked off.
I drained the rest of my coffee like it was the last good thing on Earth, strapped on my sidearm, and slung my gear pack over one shoulder. My old Henry rifle, a gorgeous beast of a lever-action I picked up for a steal at RGS, came with me like it always did.
Stepping outside, the cold slapped me across the face.
"I swear my piss tried to freeze on the way out here," I muttered, zipping the coat higher.
I tossed my pack into the back of the Jeep Wrangler, climbed in, and twisted the key. The engine roared awake, echoing through the still forest.
Two Hours Later
The ride into B9 was exactly what I expected: uneven, narrow mountain roads riddled with jagged rocks and the occasional ditch that could eat a small hatchback. Trees pressed in on either side—tall, ancient things with bark like cracked leather and branches heavy with the threat of snow.
But it wasn't the terrain that made my stomach twist.
It was the silence.
Not peaceful silence. Not the kind that comes with untouched wilderness.
This was the kind that choked you. The kind that told you something was wrong.
I found the site just below Moto Peak.
The stench hit first—copper, decay, and cold earth. Then came the bodies.
Wolves.
Nine of them.
Shot down like sport. Their fur crudely stripped from some, others left as mangled, bleeding husks. The snow was stained with dried blood, dark against the ice. No pups.
Fucking poachers.
My fists clenched. A low growl rumbled in my throat, instinctive, guttural. Not wolf. Not man. Something in-between.
Tire tracks ran like scars through the clearing, leading away from the den like a trail of cowardice. Whoever did this didn't even try to cover their tracks.
I stalked toward the Jeep, already raising the radio.
"James. Ranger Bram reporting in. Over."
The response was immediate.
"Go ahead, Bram. What've you got?"
"We've got confirmed poaching activity under Moto Peak. Nine adult wolves. No pups. Some skinned. Others left to rot. Tire tracks head north through the pass."
I reached into the cab, already swinging the rifle onto the passenger seat.
"I'm going after them. Send backup—fast. I'm not letting these bastards get away."
"Understood. Reinforcements en route. Be careful, Jackson."
"No promises."
I slammed the door, fired up the engine, and threw the Wrangler into gear. My foot hit the gas like I meant it, and I tore off after the tracks.
The forest blurred past.
I wasn't a ranger anymore.
Right now?
I was a soldier.
Thirty Minutes Later
Random Shmuck POV
"Haha! What did I tell you, huh?" I hollered, slapping the dashboard with a meaty palm as the van jostled down the mountain trail. "Easy goddamn money! Those mutts didn't even bark."
Behind me, the cargo bay rattled with the sound of pelts and blood-stained hides—our "merchandise," if you squinted hard enough and sold your soul. I could practically smell the cash.
"All we gotta do now is keep movin' and get the hell outta Dodge before some tree-huggin' Ranger gets a whiff."
Of course, that's when karma decided to tap me on the shoulder and say: 'Hey dumbass, remember bragging?'
The roar of an engine tore through the mountain air—louder than it had any right to be.
"What the hell is that?" my buddy in the passenger seat said, twisting in his seat.
The guy in back peeked through the rear window and let out a squeak. "Uh… boss? We got company."
I leaned over and saw him. Ranger. Jeep. Rage.
The son of a bitch had murder in his eyes. Long black hair trailing in the wind, a tanned face carved with fury and scars. He didn't look like a man. He looked like a goddamn banshee with a badge.
My other partner—bless his tiny caveman brain—opened fire.
"ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID—" I started, but it was too late.
BANG.
His head snapped back like a popped balloon, and he slumped forward with a gurgle.
And then I made the worst mistake of my life. I looked. I looked right at the Ranger. Right down the barrel of his revolver.
"Aw, shit—"
Deranged Ranger POV
Jackson Bram
BANG. One less waste of oxygen.
I didn't even flinch as the corpse slumped out of the van window. Unfortunately, I did flinch when the other jackass managed to get a lucky shot and took my revolver out of commission—snapped it clean from my grip.
"Son of a BITCH," I snarled, ducking behind the dashboard.
Slapped the stick into fifth and slammed the gas.
The Jeep lurched forward with a roar, eating up gravel as I rammed the back of their van. A loud thump-thump-thump followed—the sound of their last gunners being introduced to the asphalt at 40 mph.
"Real sorry, boys. Should've picked another national park," I growled through gritted teeth.
Then—pop pop pop!
My tires screamed, the Jeep jerked, and I nearly kissed the steering wheel.
"Great. Fucking landmines?!"
No, just debris. But I was down to one poacher—the driver. And he was hellbent on fleeing, fishtailing like a bastard down the mountain trail.
I gripped the wheel, narrowed my eyes. "Nathan… don't fail me now."
Two deep breaths. No hesitation. I kicked open the door, climbed onto the hood, and with one reckless leap—I was on their goddamn roof.
Wind howled. The metal groaned under my weight.
Crouching low, I made my way forward, crawling like a fucking horror movie come to life. I peeked down the driver's side—bless the idiot, he left the window rolled open.
"Knock knock," I whispered.
WHAM—I yanked him sideways and slammed his skull into the steering wheel. Once. Twice. He went limp after that.
I reached for the door handle—
—and noticed something.
Cliff.
Rapidly. Approaching.
"…Shit."
I did the only thing that made sense in the moment. I drew my knife, flipped it in my hand, and hurled it into the front tire.
POP. The rubber exploded, the van jolted, and I slammed hard against the side panel with a grunt.
Head ringing. World spinning. Nose probably broken again.
I could feel the drop now. Could hear the angry roar of the river a few hundred feet down.
Thinking wasn't really an option, so I grabbed the wheel through the open window, yanked it with everything I had.
The van spun.
So did my stomach.
Centrifugal force turned me into a human carnival ride.
Slip.
"Ah hell—"
And I was airborne.
The van screeched to a stop—barely meters from the cliff's edge.
I, however, was not so lucky.
I spun in mid-air, eyes wide, the wind howling past as the forest floor and the river canyon rushed up to greet me.
"OHHH FUUUUUUUCK—"
Back to… Present?
Or something like it.
Warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed—a creeping heat, slow and deliberate, inching its way into my frozen bones like sunlight slipping through cracks in a cave.
I stirred.
Not much. Just enough to realize something was very wrong.
My eyes cracked open to… nothing.
No sky. No walls. No horizon. Just… black.
Pitch, velvet black, stretching endlessly in every direction like I'd been dropped into the bottom of the universe.
"What the… fuuuuuuck?"
The words crawled up my throat, slurred and weak, like they hadn't been used in weeks.
I tried to move.
Couldn't.
Something thick and semi-solid clung to my limbs—soft, pliable, but firm. Tendrils, maybe. I couldn't see them, but I could feel them. Coiled around my body like warm roots, holding me in place. Like a swaddled corpse. My muscles screamed, oxygen-starved and stiff.
After a few useless twitches and a strangled grunt, I stopped fighting. No point. Whatever had me wasn't in a hurry to let go. So I just… sat there. Floating. Cocooned in the dark. No pain. No noise. No heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was the quietest I'd felt in years.
Then came the red.
Two scarlet pinpricks bloomed in the distance like dying stars. And they were moving—closer with every second. Not floating. Not drifting. Advancing.
And I knew.
Somehow, instinctively, I knew they weren't just lights.
They were eyes.
My breath caught. My chest stayed frozen.
The void around me flexed, and from it emerged a shape I couldn't fully comprehend.
A face. But not a face.
Twin ruby eyes, weeping trails of black ichor that slid into nothingness. Golden horns curled around its head like a twisted halo, tapering into a jagged, tri-pronged crown that seemed to pulse with quiet authority. The rest of it… I couldn't see. It was there, but it wasn't meant to be seen. Like trying to remember a dream you never had.
My nerves screamed to run, to thrash, to beg, to do anything.
But years of fieldwork, of handling dangerous animals, reading subtle shifts in mood, movement, aura—all of it screamed louder.
Don't move.
Don't flinch.
Don't blink.
So I didn't.
We stared at each other. A man and something else.
Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes crawled into forever.
Then—it blinked.
And the voice came.
It didn't speak in words—not really. It felt like speech. Like music made of bone and light. Like a symphony played on the strings of time. It was the wind through leaves in spring, and their crumbling death in autumn. It was ancient. It was newborn. And it was impossible.
"Well… aren't you the most interesting little creature."
My throat locked. My lungs held. I couldn't speak. Wouldn't. Not yet. Not with this thing staring into my soul like it owned the place.
"I have seen titans. Gods. Beasts carved from storms and wrath. I've seen them crawl before me.
Yet you, little human… you fear me, but you do not flee.
You hold your leash tight. I admire that."
Its presence coiled tighter around me, not malicious… but inevitable. Like gravity.
"Yes… I've decided.
Your end shall not be now.
Nor your life so mundane."
A pause. A silence thick enough to choke on.
"I will throw my bid in with you.
Now…"
"Breathe."
And I did.
Like a drowning man finding the surface, my lungs roared back to life, fire in my veins, strength flooding through limbs that had nearly forgotten motion. The tendrils released me.
I surged upward.
The blackness shattered around me into blue—water. Cold and endless. My arms thrashed, feet kicked, instincts took the wheel. I broke the surface with a gasp that sounded like a death rattle.
The shore.
I saw it—muddy, green, real.
Dragged myself toward it like a dying animal, claws of fatigue and panic still gnawing at my back.
I collapsed on the earth like it was holy ground, heaving up half a river with every breath. Chest burning. Vision doubled. Heart slamming in its cage.
I rolled over onto my back, the sky above me foreign and cloudless.
Between sharp, shallow breaths, I managed a few cracked words.
"Where… the hell… am I?"
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the echo of a voice.
Lingering.
Laughing.
Notes:
Ok for this story I at least want to say my reason for making it
you see i wanted to dip my toes into the writing seen and I heard fanfics were a good way to practice, but alas i never possessed the testicular fortitude needed to put my work out there.
Then I read the work of a god amongst me who goes by Fuggmann, author of the ' Born of ' series and to say I was amazed would be an understatement, I loved it. Within 5 days I caught up with all of caution and then a week after I found desires, I devoured that as well and was hooked. But with my supply dry I began to search... surely there were other fics out there created by some of the Billions of people on this planet that could scratch that itch right?... You cant even guess exactly how disappointed I was. those fics either lost themselves to the edge, were dryer than my love life, possessing nothing resembling a good joke, even stereotypical tropes that at least give you a chuckle were met with a blank gaze or some stories were simply abandoned never to be completed.
So I wanted a story to scratch my itch and there weren't any half as good as what started this all, so I decided to throw my hat in the ring and make it myself not just for me but anyone else who feels my blight. I'm not going to lie I'm not much of an author and I don't believe myself to be anyone possessing above average talent in the field but I owe it to myself and to the man who inspired this to at least try and I hope I'm at least capable of making this at the very least readable for you all.