Arc 1: Chapter 2 — Rainfall, Resonance
Shattered: Beyond End [RECODED] Arc 1: Echoes Before Fire
Chapter 2 — Rainfall, Resonance
——
The Takeda Construction Ruins didn't echo like a ruin should.
It swallowed sound. As if the concrete and steel remembered too much—and chose to keep it quiet. The silence pressed inward, thick and unnatural, like a weight against Suho's ribs. Every step felt padded by memory, not air.
Suho stepped past the caution barrier without slowing. It fluttered behind him in the wind, a limp, useless warning long ignored.
His boots splashed through oily puddles, the scent of rust, chemical mold, and something faintly sweet—like spoiled meat—clinging to the air. The same sickly-sweet stench he'd come to associate with Corrupted blood. A flickering warning light blinked from a collapsed security panel, pulsing in and out like a dying heartbeat.
The scanner in Suho's hand buzzed, stuttering across readings.
ESTIMATED COUNT: 4 SIGNAL DISTORTED
He frowned.
From the dark ahead, something gurgled.
Then it lunged.
A Cat-1 Corrupted erupted from behind a fallen beam—jittering, twitching, its limbs too long and moving all wrong. Flesh bubbled with black wires, eyes sealed under skin that convulsed like meat frying on a stove.
Suho didn't blink.
He shifted left, smooth as breath. The creature slammed into a pillar, bones cracking, flesh leaving a smear of black across the concrete.
Before it turned, Suho moved.
One slice.
His blade whispered through its neck. The head hit the ground with a slap, tongue twitching. The body crumpled a second later, shivering like a glitch trying to restart.
Suho exhaled through his nose. A brief thought surfaced—what a waste. Not of life. Of purpose.
A screech answered. Then two more.
From above. Rebar. Scaffolding.
They dropped like spiders.
He ducked the first. Blade through the throat. Down.
Second flanked. He twisted. Boot to ribs. Knife driven into an eye socket with a wet crack.
The last one stopped.
Bigger. Sharper. Wrong.
Its arms slammed against the walls like it didn't understand pain.
Suho didn't move.
The air rippled around him.
Not with power. With absence.
His hand rose.
"Void."
Darkness bloomed from his palm—not like flame, not like shadow. Like reality being overwritten. The arc swept forward.
No flash. No roar.
The thing's left side vanished. Clean. Gone. As if space decided to forget it ever existed.
It collapsed to one knee, mouth opening and closing without sound. Confused.
Suho walked forward.
He didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Steel slid upward into the base of its jaw. Deep. Precise.
It stopped moving.
The silence returned, denser now. Almost expectant.
He pulled the blade free, wiped it against his coat. The scanner buzzed softly.
THREAT: NEUTRALIZED CLIENT: WATCHING
He paused.
Above him, in the scaffold shadows—a shape.
Tall. Still.
Polished shoes. A long coat. Watching.
For how long?
The shape stepped back.
Gone.
Suho stared for a breath longer.
That wasn't a client.
That was something else.
——
The rain hadn't stopped.
But Suho had.
He stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, its cold blue light stuttering above him. Blood washed clean, blade lowered, but the scent of steel still clung to him—sharp and metallic, like the taste of a memory.
Behind him, the Takeda Ruins were silent again. No screams. No corrupted. Just wreckage and wet concrete soaked in things better left unnamed.
Then—
Footsteps.
Measured. Deliberate. Too clean for the ruins.
Suho turned slightly. He hadn't heard the approach—but the man was already there.
Coat untouched by rain. Shoes polished like they hadn't touched the ground at all. Even the wind seemed to arc around him.
He tilted his head, eyes scanning Suho like he was appraising a weapon—not for beauty, but for efficiency and wear.
Then he spoke. Softly. Too soft. Like the sound was being woven from threads just above silence.
"You fight with elegance."
Suho didn't respond. Shoulders square, body coiled.
"Void manipulation… not many can use it that way. Not with such control. Or such emptiness."
He took a step forward. The puddle beneath him didn't ripple.
"You didn't kill because you wanted to. You killed because you had to."
Suho's jaw tightened. Barely.
"And yet," the man continued, "you still looked them in the eye."
Another step. The rain curved around his shoulders.
"That's rare."
Finally, Suho spoke—low, cold.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man smiled, faint. Wrong.
"I'm someone who gives people like you… a way out."
He reached into his coat—slowly. Not rushed. Not threatening.
A card. Black metal. Cool. Heavy. When it dropped into Suho's hand, it felt inert at first… then warm. Like it remembered being meant for him.
A silver insignia pulsed faintly—a broken sword piercing an eye. The seal of COUNTERS Academy Recruitment Division.
Suho didn't blink. But his voice dropped, sharper.
"How do you know—?"
The man paused. Just enough.
"Because someone made sure I would."
That hit something under Suho's armor. Not anger. Not fear.
Recognition. A flicker of something long buried—an old conversation, a memory left out in the cold too long to feel real.
"You're with the Administration."
The man's smile thinned. "The ones who pull strings from behind a thousand dead screens? Maybe."
A breath.
"I'm something worse."
He let the card fall.
It landed in a puddle—face up, the silver seal fracturing Suho's reflection.
"I don't recruit soldiers," he said. "I find catalysts."
A step back.
"You're not a killer, Suho. You're the kind of catalyst that can break the world… or remake it."
He turned, fading into the mist.
But just before vanishing, he stopped.
"Tell Kun… the world is waiting to see what you two become."
And he was gone.
No sound. No footsteps. Only rain.
Suho stared at the card.
It pulsed faintly in his glove.
——
District 9 never slept. But it never really woke up, either.
Suho moved through it like a ghost. Hood low. Steps careful.
Lights flickered in jaundiced hues. Neon signs glitched across shuttered shops, their reflections rippling in puddles like dying thoughts.
Gunshot, two blocks over. A scream. Unremarkable.
A girl with neon hair sat on a vending machine, vaping something that hissed ultraviolet. An old man hosed blood off his steps, still whistling.
A drone scanned Suho's face.
TARGET: NON-THREAT. STATUS: CLEAN. VOID RESONANCE: 3.4%
Suho exhaled. A faint buzz danced across his skin. Static curled along his sleeves. The backs of his fingers tingled faintly.
The echo of Void didn't leave easily.
He didn't know what haunted him more—the man's words, or how much they felt like prophecy.
You're not a killer. You're a catalyst.
He hated that it made sense.
An ad flickered. DEFEND YOUR WORLD. BE A HERO.
The screen died.
He kept walking.
His mind drifted to Kun. To nights of ramen, fire escapes, and choosing who got the last med-inject.
This could end that. Or make it worse.
Still…
He touched the card again. Still warm.
Not from his glove.
From something else.
——
District 9 smelled like rust, rot, and regret.
As Suho turned down the alley toward their building, a junkie stumbled from the shadows.
"Suho… hey, man. You got creds? Just a few. I'm good for it—swear…"
Suho didn't stop.
Didn't speak. Didn't even glance.
The junkie's breath fogged the air, reeking of synth-rot and broken promises—but he didn't follow. No one did.
Suho kept walking, boots hitting the cracked steps of their building like a metronome counting down to nothing. The stairwell reeked of mildew and old smoke. Mold slicked the walls in dark veins. The overhead light flickered once, then died completely.
Third floor. Same creaks in the same places. Same tension in the air, like the building knew how many ghosts it held. Suho's fingers brushed the railing once. Static snapped at his knuckles.
He reached the door.
The metal was cold beneath his hand. Familiar. Final.
The rain dripped outside. But for the briefest moment… the air behind him felt watched.
He didn't turn.
He stepped inside. The air felt heavier now—like the dark had been waiting.