PROLOGUE: THE STORM

My name is Gabriel, and there is no story within me that is my own.

There is only a catalogue of my surroundings, the words and deeds of others.

And beneath all that, there sits only a hunger that could swallow the world.

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IN THE TIME BEFORE THE STORM

𝘔𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮?

𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴? 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺? 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶; 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵?

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨?

𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

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It was winter. Grey, cold, stagnant and beautiful.

My apartment lay a mess, dirty clothes strewn across the floor. Whatever clean washing I had was left piled up on a chair in the corner of the room. As habit, I roused without an alarm to the dull light of midday.

Dreary from a handful of sleeping pills the night before, I forced myself through fatigue and pushed myself up and out of bed. Cracked lips, breath hot and foul. A dull headache pinned to my forehead. Each new step more a stumble. I made my way towards the bathroom and within, I saw my reflection in the mirror, and the thing I saw stared back.

Pale skin, like porcelain. Sharp chin, stubble, eyes a deep blue pit that gave nothing and said nothing. No wrinkles, despite nearing thirty; no laugh lines or creases in the brow. The creature that stood across from me had flecks of white in its dark hair and a disgusting layer of fat around the stomach.

I squeezed the fat and shook it in my hands, before looking back at the thing in the reflection.

Pretty, I thought. Not traditionally handsome, but a sharp yet soft face. Androgynous, on the side of masculine.

Expressionless it stared at me, and I stared back, burning the image to memory before the sound of my phone ringing in the kitchen pulled me away.

"Gabriel speaking!" My cheery voice filled the room.

"Gabe, hi," a man's voice said. "I hope you're well. Look, mate, it's Tyler. I have some bad news - Mana Industries have filled the role."

"Oh!" I said, smile etched on my face. I took a deep breath and continued: "Hey no worries, Tyler, I understand. These things happen. I'll just continue sending out those applications."

"Mate, I'm in your corner. You know that, right? I've got some more opportunities coming up around the corner, believe me. And you'll be the first person I recommend, okay?"

"I know, you've been great."

"Actually, I have something here. Not quite matching the experience you have, but look, I'll send you the PD and you adjust your resume to fit the role. That is, if you're interested, of course. Send it through to me and I'll flick it over to them."

"Always interested when rent's due."

Tyler's laugh echoed across the line. "Yeah, too right. Too right. Anyway mate, you take care, I'll flick it through now."

The muscles in my face relaxed and the smile I carved faded into a composed dispassion. "Take care, Tyler."

And with that, I terminated the call.

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THE DAY BEFORE THE STORM

𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶; 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺.

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Time passed and, as it was, only the mundane strung each day together in a series of woven moments.

I forced myself awake, I choked down food and water, I haphazardly stumbled through the afternoon as I always did. My computer desk sat beside my bed, littered with empty cans of energy drinks. Sugar-free, of course. It's where I'd spend my time until the early hours of the morning.

It wasn't that I was depressed, more that I never had any place in society to function. My dreams were grandiose, my thoughts filled with adventure and purpose. When I tried to speak on them, my peers awkwardly smiled and reminded me of the journey that lay before someone who wanted as much as I did.

They said: "it's nice to have dreams, but don't forget to have a day job. If everything fails, you at least will have something to fall back on."

But, what they never seemed to understand, is I cared not for security. I cared not about living a standard life and buying a house and having a family and saving pennies to avoid catastrophes or go on budget trips. I wanted. And that - in the sake of honesty - was who I was. Want. Insatiable want.

For a child that grew up with as little as I did, it didn't seem to me that great a problem. After all, when even love is a rare and fleeting commodity, one will desire anything to take hold of before it eventually fades away. Even if that created within me a bottomless pit of longing.

codeChat: Yo, Gabe, you finally awake?

The distinct pop of Discord played through my headset. I opened the app, responding without hesitation to the faceless person I entrusted so much of what was left of myself to.

writtenwinter: Well I did go to bed at like 4 in the morning playing with you, haha. But yeah, awake.

codeChat: any news on the job front?

writtenwinter: unfortunately, no. Just my luck to study software just as the market for engineers collapses after a decade of demand.

codeChat: don't beat yourself up.It's tough for everyone at the moment. Why don't we use this time right now to play some games, chat shit, and enjoy this freedom while you still have it?

writtenwinter: that sounds really nice. TBH, I wish I could just do this permanently, haha. Anyway, I was thinking maybe tonight we could voice call while we play? It feels like we've known each other forever.

codeChat: haha - maybe on the weekend. I'll think about it.

writtenwinter: fine, fine. I'm ready anyway

codeChat: let's go :)

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THE DAY OF THE STORM

In hindsight, it should have been obvious how non-standard the day was when it happened.

I woke, as usual. I pottered and bided my time, waiting until night to fall as I sipped at energy drinks. But while my mind sat focused on the evening and my time with [codeChat], something deeper and unknown scratched at the corner of my mind.

An uneasy distraction.

For reasons even I couldn't comprehend, I started cleaning. Doing chores I'd avoided for weeks; some I'd avoided for months. It took nearly two hours to clean and the winter air, carrying with it an unusual chill, settled in the apartment.

Going to close the door, I glanced through the window and was greeted by a somber sheet of dark clouds. Once again, unease gripped me, but I stared up at it unable to articulate my emotions.

Shaking my head, I settled down at my desk and pulled up Reddit. Frontpage, identical posts - one after another. My body froze as I scrolled. A freak event had captured the world's attention.

It wasn't a global catastrophe by any means, but significant still: the planet was blanketed by a thick sheet of clouds from the south to the north to the west to the east. Not a single ray of light pierced the obsidian shroud.

"What the fuck," I said under my breath.

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THE STORM

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘶𝘱? 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴? 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴? 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴? 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦?

𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦?

𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘍𝘰𝘳, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 - 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭.

𝘞𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘥.

𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦.

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The most vivid memory of that time lay in the moments leading up to the tragedy that would befall so many, heralded by the first crash of thunder.

It was unlike any I had heard; a flash of light bright enough to blind you even if you were looking away, followed by a sound so violent it ripped through my apartment. I was certain that a bomb had gone off somewhere on the streets below. The world shook; the stiff hairs on my neck stood to attention.

A war? I thought. But why us? We're a nothing-country of hills and mounds and grassland.

But the wrath from the heavens above continued without pause.

No, I realised, this was no war.

At least not one that was fought on the terms of us mere humans.

It was a storm. One so great that the shockwaves of each clap of thunder sent my head into a spin and the lights of my apartment flickering. I could hear cries and shrieks from outside my apartment and dogs in the distance howled in a frenzy of panic.

I tried to get my bearings, scrambling to reach for my mobile but it was too late. The power went out.

And there, at that moment, I realised the sheer scale of the situation.

Darkness. True, unfettered darkness.

Where only minutes before the faint evening light had washed the city in an orange glow, only a blanket of nothingness remained. A rich and dense darkness. One that seemingly swallowed all it touched.

I peered out my window and my stomach sank. Even the sky itself was no more, replaced with a starless and horrifying abyss of void and blackness, despair and emptiness.

And it was within the pit above, that I glanced the occasional and savage jolts of lightning that looked as if they would tear our world apart.

Then I felt it. That persistent niggling feeling, the slight tug. My head spun. My mouth was dry. Every fiber of my being was screaming out to run.

I spun around desperate and afraid, trying to peer into the darkness of my apartment but I was alone accompanied only by the sharp sounds of my breath, and the crackling thunder that shook me.

And then, it all went quiet.

Death.

I'm dying.

No, no, no. I haven't done anything. I haven't achieved anything. Please… Please, please, please. Let me live.

I begged and begged, but as it was, and always had been in my life, no one answered. No one came. There was never going to be a saviour. I was alone, as always, and now certain of my demise.

God… pl-

Like being hit by a strong gust of wind, I was torn from standing and thrown out into a bright green light.

Whatever God lived in our world never heard the end of my prayer. A silent and feeble cry for help. The last proof of my existence. A life lived and left without a mark.

-ease save me.

I finished my prayer in the sunlight, arms spread out to my side, resting on dirt and moss. The trees above let beautiful rays of hope and light filter through, warming my body.

Is this…?

I shook my head and glanced to my right and then left.

A forest?

Taking stock of what I knew, I did what I did best: I thought and observed.

Afreakstorm.greenlight.sunlightabove.forestaroundme.bodystillintact.eyeswork.breathingsteady.stillalive.stillherephysically.dullpain.notadream.heaven?no.painsuggestsnot.hell?teleported?summoned?maybe.asecondchance.findfood.findwater.stayalive.civilisation?dontholdouthope.focusonstayingalive.no.secondchance.focusonadapting.focus.adapt.focus.learn.adapt.adapt.adapt.

Adapt!

Never would I allow myself such weakness, I thought. I will make my mark. I will not let this go to waste.

My name is Gabriel and I have no story that is my own.

But I will adapt. I will survive. I will become strong.

There will be nothing to stop my hunger.

I shall become death.

And I shall finally live.