The night was heavy and still, as if the city itself was holding its breath. Rain fell softly, dampening the streets and cloaking everything in a muted haze. Mike stood beneath the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp outside his apartment building, the coin resting cold and heavy in his palm. It felt different now — as if the metal had grown denser, pressing weight onto his skin and deeper still into his thoughts.
The whispers that had once been faint and distant now pressed at the edges of his mind, insistent and impossible to ignore.
Feed me.
The words slid into his consciousness like a cold breath, unsettling and impossible to push away. Mike closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, but the voice seemed to echo inside his head, mingling with his own thoughts until the two felt indistinguishable.
He forced himself to open his eyes again. The street was empty except for the soft patter of rain, and yet the coin pulsed faintly in his hand as if alive. He tried to remind himself it was just a coin — just a strange, old trinket — but the way it seemed to hunger for something he could not yet name made his skin crawl.
Earlier that day, in the hum of the classroom, Mike had noticed how the world felt strange — distant, as if he was watching life through a fogged glass. The chatter of classmates became background noise, and he kept catching flashes of movement at the corner of his vision: shadowy figures drifting behind desks, echoes of moments that never happened.
When he blinked, the illusions vanished, leaving him feeling more alone and unsettled than ever.
At lunch, he sat apart on the school rooftop, clutching the coin in his pocket, heart pounding with questions he dared not voice. The whispers drifted back, subtle yet persistent, threading their way into his thoughts like an unfinished melody.
Open me.
Find the door.
Do not fear.
The voice was neither cruel nor kind — simply patient, waiting. It was hungry, yes, but also desperate.
That evening, the sky grew heavy with storm clouds, the air thick and electric. Mike found himself wandering the empty streets near his home, the coin's weight pulling him forward with quiet urgency. The rain began to fall again, cool droplets pattering against his skin and soaking into his clothes.
He stopped beneath a flickering neon sign, the glow barely cutting through the gloom. His breath came shallow, eyes scanning the dark alley beside him.
And then he saw it.
A figure crouched in the shadows — not quite human, not quite beast. Its form was twisted and unnatural, skin stretched too thin over sharp bones, and from its hollow eyes seeped a black mist that writhed like living smoke. The creature's lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing rows of jagged teeth that gleamed wetly in the neon light.
Mike's heart slammed against his ribs. His feet felt rooted to the ground, panic rising as the creature fixed him with a gaze devoid of mercy.
The coin burned fiercely in his pocket, the whispers now a roar.
Fight. Feed. Survive.
His instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, to scream — but the coin's voice was louder still, filling him with a strange resolve.
He reached into his pocket and grasped the coin tightly.
Focusing, he felt a warmth spread from his hand, a shadowy energy twisting at the edges of his vision. The world around him dimmed as the whispers guided his movements.
Stepping forward, he raised his hand, willing the darkness to obey.
A ripple of shadow surged outward, crashing into the creature with surprising force. The thing staggered back, hissing, caught off guard.
The woman who had been trapped scrambled away, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope.
Mike's breath came fast, his chest heaving. The coin's voice sang louder in his mind.
Good. More.
But with the surge of power came a sharp, stabbing pain in his temple — a gnawing ache that threatened to overwhelm his senses.
He staggered, clutching his head as vertigo threatened to pull him down.
The creature snarled, furious now, and lunged toward him.
Before it could reach him, the hunter from the alley appeared again, moving with lethal grace. A swirl of glowing runes flashed from their hands, striking the creature with a burst of light that turned it to ash.
Mike collapsed onto the wet pavement, trembling, tears mixing with the rain on his face.
The hunter looked down at him, eyes cold but not unkind.
"You're stronger than I expected," they said softly. "But strength without control will destroy you. That coin will consume your mind if you don't learn to master it."
Mike's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't want to be consumed."
The hunter nodded slowly.
"Then you have a choice: learn, or be lost."
The coin lay silent in his palm again — its hunger sated for the moment, but its whispers never far away.
Mike knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of a long, dark journey.