Max's Nature

Without hesitation, Gerry stepped through the portal, the two guards flanking him. A familiar pull tugged at his gut as the world distorted around them, and in an instant, they emerged on the other side. The air was thick with the scent of blood and something else—something old and wrong.

The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting jagged shadows across the cracked stone walls. At the center of it all—Max.

Gerry's gaze locked onto the kid, and his smirk vanished. Max was on the ground, pinned by a massive black sword, his face pale, his breathing ragged. Blood pooled beneath his broken arm.

And standing over him…

A demon.

A big one.

"...Shit."

Revechol turned slowly, the weight of his presence pressing down like an avalanche. His grin was lazy, indulgent—like a cat caught toying with a half-dead mouse.

"Well, well," the demon mused, his voice like velvet dragged over steel. "Visitors."

Gerry sighed, rolling his shoulders. "You know, I was hoping for something simple. Maybe a lost kid, maybe some overgrown goblins."

Revechol's grin widened.

"Oh," the demon purred, "this just got interesting."

Gerry reached for a communicator in his pocket. 

"Requesting 3 units. Demon infiltrated F-rank dungeon." 

"Copy that. Units en route. ETA: five minutes."

"Five minutes," Gerry muttered under his breath, slipping the communicator back into his pocket. "Kid better last that long."

He turned to the portal, jaw tightening ever so slightly. Max was tough, sure—but a demon? That wasn't in the script for an F-rank.

His grip tightened around the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. "Alright, boys," he said, voice calm but carrying a weight behind it. "Let's move. If the kid's still breathin' when we get there."

Gerry took a slow step forward, his boots echoing against the stone. His grip on his sword was firm, tension coiling in his stance like a spring ready to snap. Beside him, the second swordsman mirrored his readiness, while the bowsman kept an arrow nocked, eyes locked onto the towering figure before them.

Revechol simply laughed. A low, hollow sound that slithered through the air, as if he were savoring the moment. His form, though undeniably humanoid, held an unnatural grace—something too fluid, too detached from the weight of reality.

"I'm only an F-rank in this body," he mused, amusement dripping from every word. "How disappointing. But entertaining, nonetheless."

Gerry didn't move, didn't take the bait. His eyes flicked to Max for the briefest moment before locking back onto the demon.

"Bid you a'doo."

A portal crackled to life beneath Revechol's feet, its swirling darkness reaching up like grasping hands. He let himself fall, grinning even as he vanished into the abyss. The portal collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Gerry exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

"God damn it," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the frustration. Then, sharper—"Any way we can track that portal?"

"I'm on it," the bowsman answered, already moving. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the exit, vanishing through the portal that led back to the surface.

That left Gerry and the remaining swordsman standing over Max.

The kid was in bad shape.

Gerry crouched beside him, placing two fingers against his neck. There was a pulse—faint, but there. His breathing was ragged, and uneven. Blood soaked through his clothes, dark against the fabric, but it wasn't just the physical damage that concerned Gerry. He could see it in the way Max's fingers twitched, his jaw clenched even in unconsciousness. That kind of thing—the way someone reacts to a fight they had no business surviving—stuck with a man.

"He's alive," Gerry said, but his voice was grim. "But he got fucked up."

His fingers flexed against the hilt of his blade, a sharp exhale pushing past his lips.

…

Max opened his eyes to darkness.

A tunnel. Silent. Endless. The air was thick—stagnant, pressing against his skin like something unseen was watching.

"Hello?" His voice barely echoed. It just... disappeared.

His throat tightened.

"Solas?"

Nothing.

Max swallowed and took a step forward. The ground beneath him felt uneven, shifting underfoot, and as he moved—

The tunnel vanished.

He was in a classroom.

Not Nexus Academy.

New York.

Max stopped breathing for a moment. His desk. His old desk. The rows, the chairs, the smell of old books and cheap cleaning supplies. The place was untouched, as if nothing had changed. As if he had never left.

'Am I back?' His thoughts raced. 'Did I die?'

Hesitant, he took a step forward, weaving through the desks, fingers ghosting over the worn wooden surfaces.

Then—

Flames.

They erupted from the floor in sudden bursts, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls. The glow twisted the familiar into something warped. Distorted.

A voice cut through the crackling fire.

"Alex."

Max's blood ran cold.

His head snapped toward the front of the room.

The teacher was staring directly at him.

Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

"You need to leave, Ale—Max."

The teacher's voice stuttered over his name, like a broken record trying to correct itself.

Max tensed.

"You will die if you stay. Die. Die. Die."

The words droned on, flat, mechanical.

Behind him, the fire spread.

Slow at first. Then faster. The walls, the ceiling—consumed in a creeping inferno, inching forward with unnatural intent.

The air thickened with heat, with smoke, but the teacher didn't move. Didn't flinch. He just kept staring.

"If you stay, you burn. Burn. Burn. Burn."

Max's pulse hammered against his ribs.

'Not real. This isn't real.'

But the heat was.

The flames surged forward, devouring desks, licking at his heels. His instincts took over—

He bolted.

Without thinking, without looking back, he threw himself out of the classroom door and hit the ground hard.

Pain jolted through his body, but he barely felt it.

The flames roared behind him.

He didn't stop.

Max stumbled through the darkness, his breath ragged as his feet hit the cold, uneven ground. The weight of the world seemed to press down on him with every step.

The scene shifted, the air growing heavier as the sounds of the city bled through the silence. The darkness broke into the dull hum of the New York subway tunnels—graffiti-streaked walls, flickering lights above, the faint, distant rumble of trains long since gone.

Max's heart skipped a beat.

"What is going on? Why is everything changing—?"

The whispers came next, soft at first, then louder. Children's voices. So many voices. Their words blurred into a high-pitched chorus that scraped against his mind, growing more persistent as he tried to make sense of it.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the whispers, trying to block them out as he walked deeper into the subway. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, an oppressive sense of something wrong pulling at him from all directions.

Then he saw him.

A lone kid, sitting against the wall of the tunnel. His brown hair was matted, his eyes green but distant, like they weren't really seeing anything. He was playing with a Rubik's cube in his hands, twisting it aimlessly.

Max's feet moved on their own, the urge to approach overwhelming. He knelt in front of the boy, who recoiled slightly at his presence, as if startled from some inner place.

"Huh?" The boy's voice was small, barely a whisper, and yet it seemed to echo in the dark.

Max hesitated. "Where am I?"

The boy didn't answer at first. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo, holding it out to Max with a quiet, almost mechanical gesture.

Max took it.

It was a family picture—a man, a woman, a small girl, and the boy. Their faces, however, were obscured by blurriness, as if they couldn't quite exist in this place.

Max glanced back up at the boy, his confusion deepening. "Thanks… Do you know how I get out of here?"

The boy didn't speak. He only pointed upward.

Max followed the direction of the boy's finger.

Above them, in the darkness, a flight of stairs seemed to materialize from thin air. The stairs led up to a door—unmarked, heavy, out of place in the otherwise desolate tunnel.

The boy's hand tugged harder, his fingers gripping Max's wrist with an almost unnatural force. The urgency in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Kid, I don't know what's up there. It could be dangerous. Can you please stay here?" Max tried to reason, pulling back slightly, but the boy's grip didn't loosen.

With a soft, disappointed sound, the boy let go and took a few steps back toward his spot against the wall. He sat cross-legged again, the Rubik's cube still turning between his fingers. His gaze never wavered from Max's face.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the shifting darkness, the distant echoes of whispered voices growing louder and then fading, like half-formed thoughts.

The boy's voice, soft but insistent, broke the silence. "Can you help me, Max?"

Max's heart tightened, a strange sense of responsibility tugging at him. But before he could respond, the boy began to twist the cube faster, each click of the sides punctuating the increasing pressure in the air.

A crack appeared in the ceiling above them, the concrete splitting with a low, ominous groan.

And then, water.

It poured from the fracture above, splashing down like a burst dam. It hit with the force of a tidal wave, surging into the room with a deafening roar. Max was thrown backward, his body tossed around like a ragdoll, the water now rising rapidly. He gasped, trying to brace himself, but it was useless. The current had him. The boy's figure was swallowed by the rushing tide, a mere blur as the water pushed Max toward the far side of the tunnel.

He fought to keep his head above the surface, but the water dragged him down again, spinning him in the current. Panic surged within him as he kicked and flailed, gasping for air. His lungs burned, the cold, murky water filling his throat.

Desperately, Max pushed himself up, his arms and legs weak from the violent churn. The surface was close—he could see the faint glow of light above. His muscles screamed as he reached for it, each stroke slower, each breath more labored.

Max's lungs burned as he gasped for air, his body desperate for the cool, fresh breath of life after the suffocating depths of the water. He broke through the surface, the dark waters swirling around him, choking out the faint light that barely reached through the oppressive blackness.

His eyes darted, trying to make sense of where he was. The water stretched endlessly in every direction, but the landscape around him was lost in a void of shadow.

"Am I under a spell?" Max whispered to himself, barely able to hear his own voice over the deafening silence.

Before he could ponder further, a voice cut through the heavy stillness, as soft and familiar as a forgotten dream.

"It's me, Max."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his heart skipped a beat. The voice… it was one he knew, but couldn't quite place. It echoed in his mind, pulling him further into the depths of his confusion.

A small, frail fishing boat emerged from the darkness ahead, its silhouette barely visible against the backdrop of the inky abyss. Two figures sat on the boat, the soft creak of the wood barely audible over the water's gentle lapping.

The woman sitting in the boat had the same face as the one in the blurry family photo the boy had given him—the one with the parents and the little girl. The woman's hair was a dark shade, flowing slightly in the still air. Beside her, a little girl, no more than six or seven, clutched a Rubik's cube in her hands, twisting it in small, calculated movements.

Max's heart stuttered as recognition began to claw its way to the surface of his mind, a feeling of eerie deja vu gripping him. The two people in the boat… they were from the picture. The boy had given it to him. But now, they were here, in this strange, endless darkness.

The little girl shuffled the Rubik's cube with a slow, deliberate motion, her eyes focused on it, unaware of Max's gaze. The sight sent a shiver through him, the puzzle moving in her small hands like a piece of something larger, something that didn't fit.

Suddenly, arrows whizzed past him, each one narrowly missing as they struck the water with sharp, metallic splashes. Max's instinct kicked in, and he swam towards the boat, desperation driving him forward.

"Wait! Please, wait!" he shouted, reaching for the edge of the boat as it slowly began to drift away from him, the sound of the wood creaking under the weight of the figures in it.

But the boat moved faster now, pulling away from his outstretched hands as if mocking his attempt to escape the storm of confusion that had been building around him.

Max looked over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dark expanse for any sign of who—or what—was attacking him. The sound of more arrows being released echoed from behind him, the piercing whine of them cutting through the air. The shadows loomed closer, sharp and menacing, but before he could react, the world shifted again.

The scene around him blurred and twisted. One moment, he was struggling to stay afloat in the endless dark, and the next, he was atop a speeding subway, the clattering of wheels over metal tracks sending vibrations through his body.

An arrow zipped past Max's head, the wind from it whipping his hair as he ducked behind the cover of the subway car. The sudden rush of adrenaline coursed through him, and he could hear the thudding of his heart in his ears. His eyes flicked to the side, and a male figure next to him took cover as well, his bow drawn, his focus sharp.

"Who are you?!" Max shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaotic sounds of arrows piercing the air. "Why are we being shot at?"

"Fight or die," the man replied coolly, his voice steady despite the violence surrounding them. He peeked out from behind the cover and let an arrow fly, hitting one of the attackers square in the chest. The man crumpled, a silent scream frozen on his face.

Max gritted his teeth, frustration burning through him. "Fine," he muttered, pushing himself off the cover and charging toward the gunmen, adrenaline clouding his thoughts. He leaped over the subway cars in a single bound, his legs working instinctively.

But as he soared over, an arrow embedded itself deep in his stomach. A sharp gasp escaped him as the pain bloomed, searing through his core. He stumbled mid-air and crashed to the side, just barely grabbing the top of the subway car window to steady himself.

The pain was overwhelming, but there was no time to focus on it. He could feel the blood trickling from the wound, his hands slick with it as he reached for his daggers. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body protesting the movement.

Through blurred vision, he saw the man who shot him standing above him, poised with another arrow. Max's grip tightened on his dagger, his fingers almost slipping from the slick handle. Without thinking, he threw it with all the strength he had left. It flew, slicing through the air, and buried itself in the man's head with a sickening thud. The man collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.

Max barely registered the victory before his eyes fell to the other side of the subway car window. There, on the opposite side, was the boy he had met in the tunnel—the one who had handed him the picture. The boy was still holding the Rubik's cube, turning it slowly in his hands.

The moment Max looked into the boy's eyes, something inside him snapped. The grip on his dagger faltered, and his body, drained and battered, gave in to gravity. He fell.

"Max!" The man with the bow shouted as Max tumbled from the train, his voice lost in the rushing wind.

Max plummeted through the air, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow. The freezing wind bit at his skin, colder than any he'd ever felt before. Snowflakes began to fall around him, their delicate forms glowing against the darkness, fluttering like ghosts

The cold intensified, biting into his back as he landed with a heavy thud on the frozen ground

Max's heart pounded in his chest, the cold air biting at his skin as he stumbled to his feet. The sudden burst of light from the flashlight in his hand illuminated his surroundings—snow-covered streets, blanketed buildings, and an eerie silence. His breath came in shallow bursts, forming clouds of mist in the frosty air. He squinted through the darkness, confusion clouding his mind.

'Am I in Valthesis?'

The name rang in his head like a distant memory, but it didn't make sense. He hadn't seen this city before, or this landscape. There was no sign of life, no sounds of movement, save for the crackling frost underfoot. But then—

The ripping sounds pierced the silence.

Max's gaze snapped to the source of the noise. His hand tightened on the flashlight, and he swung it towards the alleyway. The light revealed three feral goblins, hunched over a bloodied body. Their sharp teeth tore into the human's flesh with grotesque hunger, their guttural growls vibrating in the air. Their eyes glinted as they turned towards him, a sickeningly predatory gleam flashing in their gaze.

Max's pulse quickened, and for a split second, panic surged through him. The goblins' savage hunger was unmistakable. He reached for his weapons—daggers—his instincts kicking in.

But when he tried to activate Nightstalker, nothing happened.

'What?'

His breath caught, panic creeping up his spine as the familiar technique failed him. Fear gnawed at the edges of his mind, making his fingers tremble as he steadied the flashlight in one hand and the dagger in the other.

"Oh god…" Max muttered, the realization sinking in. He had no power here. No tricks, no skills to rely on. It was just him, a blade, and raw instinct.

The goblins growled in unison, their eyes narrowing as they charged. Max didn't hesitate. He dropped into his stance, a basic defensive position, as the first goblin lunged at him, its claws slashing through the air with terrifying speed.

Max moved. Not as fluidly as before, but just enough. He sidestepped, bringing his dagger up in a swift arc and sinking it into the goblin's neck with a sickening squelch. The creature gurgled in pain, but before it could collapse, Max twisted, narrowly dodging a follow-up strike from the second goblin. He threw his dagger with precision, the weapon sinking into the rushing goblin's chest, knocking it off course.

The third goblin howled, its twisted face contorting with rage as it charged, but Max was faster. He closed the gap in an instant, his heart thundering in his chest, and drove his blade deep into the creature's neck. The goblin screeched in agony as it crumpled, blood splattering the snow at his feet.

Max stood over the corpses, chest heaving, his dagger slick with blood. He wiped his brow, the sweat mixing with the chill in the air. But his breath was ragged, and his body felt heavier than it should.

Max's heart pounded in his chest as the two goblins emerged from the building, their wild, bloodshot eyes locked onto him. They wasted no time charging forward, snarling as they moved with surprising speed.

Max didn't hesitate. He dropped into his stance and reacted without thinking, the movements fluid and practiced. His first strike was precise, his dagger cutting through the first goblin's throat before it even had the chance to react. The second goblin was quicker, but not quick enough. Max sidestepped its attack and thrust his blade into the creature's chest, the blow cutting deep.

Both goblins collapsed in the snow, but Max's relief was short-lived.

Two or three goblins were easy to handle, but a horde?

Max's pulse quickened as he heard the unmistakable noise of more goblins coming from the other end of the street. The sound of their claws scraping against the concrete echoed down the narrow alley, followed by their guttural growls and snarls.

A horde. He could already feel the weight of the situation pressing on him, the realization settling like a stone in his stomach. There was no way he could take on that many.

Without a second thought, he turned and sprinted down the street, heading for the nearest apartment complex. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself harder, the adrenaline making his limbs feel heavy but fast at the same time.

He bolted inside the building and immediately ran for the basement door. It creaked open with a loud groan, and Max slipped inside, the shadows swallowing him up. He moved fast, his heart hammering in his ears as he descended the stairs and reached a room at the bottom of the steps. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang.

Max pushed a filing cabinet in front of the door with a grunt, its metal frame scraping against the floor, blocking his only exit. 

Max shut himself off from the world. 

He took a few steps back, his eyes scanning the room, his breath still uneven.

His gaze shifted to the small basement window, the frost-covered glass distorting his view of the street outside. He pressed himself against the wall, heart in his throat, and peered through the gap.

He saw them.

The goblins were searching the street now, their snarls filling the air as they scavenged, looking for any trace of him. The flashlight he had dropped earlier glowed faintly in the snow, casting long shadows across the bodies of the two goblins he had killed.

A shiver ran down Max's spine. They were too close.

And then, the whispers came.

The voices—soft, almost unintelligible—slithered through his mind like a cold wind. The same whispers he had heard in the subway tunnels earlier. Max turned away from the window, covering his ears in an attempt to block them out, but the voices grew louder, more insistent.

'You're failing us, Maximus.'

Max froze. The boy. He was there again, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, his green eyes locked onto Max's with that same unsettling intensity. The Rubix cube spun in his hands, twisting and shifting with a life of its own.

The boy spoke again, his voice chilling in the silence of the basement.

"You're failing us, Maximus."

Max's heart clenched, but he didn't have time to process the words. The whispers grew louder in his mind, drowning out everything else. His hands balled into fists as he turned away from the boy, fighting to keep his focus, but the words wouldn't stop.

And then, a scream pierced the air.

"Somebody help us!"

Max's blood ran cold as the voice echoed through the city. It was unmistakable—a woman's voice. One he had heard before, etched deep into his memory.

The air around him seemed to freeze. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned, the world around him distorting with each beat. He blinked, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing in an open field of green grass.

Max knew this place. 'I've been here before.'

It was the same field where he had unlocked the Nightstalker art—the place where his journey into darkness had begun. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes locked on a figure in the distance.

Revechol.

The demon was ahead of him, running toward the same forest Max had once ventured into. 

Max took a step forward, his muscles tense, his instincts screaming at him to chase after the demon. But as his foot hit the ground, everything shifted again. The world around him trembled, and suddenly, he was back in the basement.

'What the hell?'

Max staggered, his breath caught in his throat. The familiar smell of mildew and damp stone filled his nostrils. The same filing cabinet sat in front of the door, the same shadows stretched across the room.

His mind raced. 'Reality is converging…'

The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he'd spoken them. But they made sense. 'I'm seeing two places at once.'

In the field, the grass whipped against Max's legs as he ran, heart pounding, pushing himself harder, faster, trying to catch up to Revechol. The demon was just ahead, but no matter how fast he ran, it felt like the distance between them was always growing. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of something—something he couldn't see—bearing down on him.

But in the basement, the echoes of a familiar voice jerked Max back to reality.

"Help! Please! They're coming after my family!" The voice was desperate, filled with panic, and it rattled something deep inside him. That voice...

Max stumbled towards the window, his breath catching in his throat as he looked out. His eyes went wide at the sight. Goblins. The same grotesque creatures he'd just fought, charging toward a small house on the edge of the street, the source of the voice. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, and the air seemed thick with dread.

Max froze for a moment, staring helplessly as the goblins tore through the street, their bloodlust unmistakable. 'I can't… I can't just watch this happen.'

The familiar sense of guilt twisted in his gut. 

"Aghhhhhhh! Fuck it!" Max roared, shaking off the fear, the hesitation. 

He turned to the door, determination solidifying in his chest like a stone. His hands shot to the filing cabinet, and with a guttural grunt, he shoved it aside, the screeching sound of metal scraping against the floor echoing through the room. Every muscle in his body burned as he pushed it aside, but he didn't stop. 

Max's legs burned with every step, and his chest felt as though it might collapse under the strain, but he couldn't stop. The screams for help pierced through the air, echoing through the city.'I need…' His thoughts faltered, his body slowing as fatigue began to overtake him.'I'm so tired…' The doubt started to creep in, and the voices of distress grew fainter with each passing second. 'I don't think I can save these people.'

He staggered, his pace slowing, fighting the pull of exhaustion, but then—

"Maxie! Please! Don't give up on us!"

The voice shot through him like a jolt of electricity. Max's breath hitched. 'Octavia?' His mind clung to the name as if it was a lifeline, but he had only spoken to her once, and in truth, he didn't even fully understand why her voice felt so familiar. Was it her from another time, another world? Or was it the other Max who had felt this pain, this urgency, before him?

But there was no time to dwell on that now.

The cries for help didn't stop. They grew louder, clearer. And they weren't just unknown voices anymore.

It was Max's mom and dad. His mom and dad.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn't know them—he couldn't even picture their faces. But they were his family, and they were in danger.

With every ounce of his remaining strength, Max pushed forward again. He jumped over uneven ground, stumbling across corpses, barely noticing the chaos around him. The city, once a place he didn't recognize, now felt like a maze leading him to a desperate conclusion. His legs screamed for mercy, but Max kept going. 

In the field, Max and Revechol barreled through the forest, the trees blurring as they moved faster. Max's heart pounded in his chest, each step pushing him harder. But ahead, just beyond the trees, he saw them—four figures running through the underbrush.

Max's mom, dad, Octavia, and the boy.

'No... no, this can't be real.'

He didn't know if they were real or just another illusion, but there they were, running, desperately trying to escape.

And then, behind them, was Revechol.

The demon was closing in on them with monstrous speed, his laughter ringing out across the forest. Max's gut twisted.

Without thinking, he reached for his daggers, hands shaking but determined. He threw one with all his strength, aiming for Revechol. The blade embedded itself into the demon's side, but Revechol barely slowed, his laughter only growing louder as he kept his pursuit.

Ahead of them, a house began to materialize—his house. The Augustus house. He had to get there. He had to stop Revechol before it was too late.

His family was right there, within reach. They were still running, still fighting, but Max could see their strength wavering. He pushed himself harder, his legs burning with every step as he closed the distance between him and the house, between him and his family.

The demon wasn't far behind.

In the city, Max caught up with the screams, and his heart sank when he saw the nightmare unfolding before him. His family—his mother, father, Octavia, and the boy—were racing ahead of the goblins. The creatures, relentless and snarling, were gaining on them.

Max's feet hit the ground harder, pushing himself to run faster. The house was just ahead, the one he recognized—the Augustus house. His mind screamed for him to hurry, but the goblins were closing in.

As the family reached the door, they rushed inside, slamming it shut behind them, hoping for a brief moment of safety. But Max's blood ran cold as the goblins didn't stop—they couldn't be stopped.

Two of the goblins crashed through the windows, glass shattering as they leaped into the house, and one broke through the door with a savage roar. The last barrier between them and Max's family was gone.

Max pushed himself harder, running into the broken front door, his heart pounding as screams of pain echoed through the house. His breath was ragged, each step feeling like it was dragging him deeper into something he couldn't control.

As he reached the doorframe, his legs shaking from nerves, Max froze. The sight in front of him was something he couldn't quite process at first. The house—his house—looked normal, like it should. The scent of home, the warmth, the quiet peace of family... it was all there. But the feeling in his chest told him it wasn't.

Against the wall, with pictures of memories scattered around it, was a family photo. Max's blood ran cold when he noticed the Rubix cube beside it, the same one from the boy.

Max reached down slowly, trembling, and picked it up, his hands almost shaking too much to hold it steady. He set the cube on the shelf next to the photo, his gaze never leaving the picture.

It was him—his dad, his mom, and Octavia. His family.

Max reached out and gently placed the picture back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on it for a moment. He stared at it, his emotions a storm inside of him. There was no sense of comfort here.

"Max!"

 An older male voice came from the sky.

 "Gerry?" Max murmured, his voice hoarse as he blinked, still disoriented.

His head throbbed painfully, his senses struggling to make sense of the world around him. The sterile smell of the hospital room mixed with the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Slowly, Max's blurry vision began to clear, and he saw Gerry sitting beside his bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dim room.

Max tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, sluggish, as though it was made of stone. Every movement sent waves of exhaustion through him, and his mind was still muddled, trying to grasp the last thing he remembered—monsters, darkness, and then… nothing.

Gerry chuckled softly, flicking the ash from his cigarette into the tray next to him. His grin was familiar, but there was something in his eyes—something that flickered with concern, quickly hidden behind his usual playful demeanor. "You're a tough kid, but damn if you didn't make things interesting." He leaned back in his chair, his voice laced with that typical, laid-back charm, though it didn't quite hide the worry beneath. "You had me worried for a second. Demon got you pretty good, huh?"

Max's chest tightened as he struggled to process the words, still half-anchored in his dreamlike state. The images of the demon, the monsters, the chaos... it was all a blur.