Broken Silence

Chapter One

It's the kind of night that makes you want to punch something. The kind where the city's grimy streets feel like they're closing in on you, suffocating you with the smell of burnt metal, cheap alcohol, and the wet stench of decay that never seems to leave.

The neon lights flicker like dying stars, barely hanging on against the weight of the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. It's a sound I used to fear, back when I was just one more kid hoping to survive the night. But now? Now it's just a reminder that nothing ever really changes down here.

I pull my black boots through the muck in the alley, my black pants soaked halfway to my knees, and the midnight blue shirt clinging to my skin like a second layer of armor. There's no elegance in it. No beauty. Just the grit of survival.

A low growl slithers out of the shadows ahead of me. The city's always hungry. Always waiting for someone to stumble into its jaws.

I don't let it bother me. I've faced worse. And I'm not about to let this forsaken place break me—no matter how many times it tries.

My fingers wrap around the silver shaft of my trident—a weapon made for a fight I didn't ask for but inherited nonetheless. It's not just for show, like so many of the tattoos that litter the arms of the city's hopeless denizens. This thing is real, and so am I.

"Come on," I mutter, adjusting the weight of the weapon against my back as I scan the alley. "Let's get this over with."

The shadow in front of me shifts and a figure steps into the dim light—a man, but not human. Not fully. His skin glistens like wet stone, his eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger. A creature of the city's dark underbelly. The ones that have been bred in the filth, their souls twisted by whatever dark magic the city's gods keep hidden behind closed doors.

I don't need to ask what it wants. I already know. These creatures feed on the broken. They thrive in the pain this city breeds. And if they can't have it from the desperate, they'll make sure they bring it to you, one way or another.

"I was hoping you'd come," the thing growls, its voice jagged and coarse, like a rusted blade scraping against metal.

I'm not afraid. I can't afford to be.

"Yeah?" I take a step forward, my grip tightening around the trident. The sea-green of my eyes narrows. "You got a death wish, or are you just here for the fun of it?"

It smiles—a twisted, inhuman thing that makes my skin crawl. The hunger in its eyes is enough to send anyone running. But not me.

"I know who you are, Chase Moonshine," the creature hisses. "I know what you've become. You've spent your life pretending, haven't you? Pretending to be different, pretending to be better."

I don't flinch. I've heard this all before, in the whispers of the city's forgotten streets. They call me a lot of things. Some of them true, some of them lies.

"Keep talking, but I don't have time for this," I say. "So unless you're here to die, get the hell out of my way."

I know better than to let fear take over. If I let the darkness get to me—if I let this city drag me down like it has so many others—I'll end up just like every other broken soul who's tried to fight and lost.

This place will try to eat you alive. It will twist your fears and make you question who you are. It will pull you into the filth, until you're as corrupted as the ones in charge. But not me. Not tonight.

With a growl, the creature lunges, slashing with claws that gleam like knives in the moonlight. I pivot to the side, barely dodging its strike, and slam the butt of my trident into its ribcage. It lets out a pained roar, but it's not enough. These things don't die easily.

I move with purpose, driven by something deeper than fear. I'm not just fighting for survival here. I'm fighting for what's left of the city's soul, even if that soul is barely recognizable anymore. I'm fighting for the people who won't ever have a chance to fight for themselves.

The creature hisses again, but I'm already on it, my trident slashing through the air, its silver tip glowing faintly as I strike. I'm fast—faster than it expected. I strike again, and this time, the blade sinks deep into its side.

For a moment, there's silence. Then the thing lets out a strangled scream, blood gushing from its wound as it collapses, crumpling to the ground like a discarded doll.

I take a step back, catching my breath, and watch as it writhes in its final moments.

"You think you're different, huh?" it gasps, its glowing eyes flickering as the life drains from it. "You're not. This city—this rotten, twisted hellhole—it'll swallow you whole, just like it swallows the rest of us. Don't you understand? You're one of us now."

It's right, in a way. The city has a way of swallowing everything and everyone. But that doesn't mean I have to let it take me down with it.

I let out a sharp exhale and swipe my trident clean, watching the dark blood drip off the blade.

"I'm not one of you," I say, turning away from the creature's dying body. "I'm the one who's gonna make sure you're the last thing standing in my way."

The night's still thick with fog, the city still trying to crush my spirit. But I won't let it. Not tonight. Not ever.

I have bigger things to fight than a monster from the gutter. Like the ones who pull the strings from the shadows. And I won't stop until I tear them down.