Chapter 1: One Time Offer

  The asphalt in front of the daycare split like someone had taken a blade to the street.

  Cole Rourke didn’t have time to process the why of it. One second he was jogging across the strip mall lot with two cardboard boxes tucked against his ribs, the next the ground bucked under his boots and a line of jagged black opened in the pavement. Street lights flickered. The little LED sign on the daycare stuttered through half a word and died. A car alarm started somewhere and never found the rhythm again. It just wailed.

  The warm air hit his face.

  “Jesus…” Cole breathed.

  He dropped the boxes. They hit the pavement with a dull, useless thud. His delivery scanner bounced on his belt. He didn’t care about any of it.

  He cared about the daycare.

  Because there were faces in the windows.

  Kids. Small. Pressed up against the glass with their hands flat, eyes wide and wet. Some crying. Some too stunned to cry yet. A woman with sandy hair was in there, yanking blinds up and down hoping that would fix whatever was happening. She saw him, and her mouth opened, but her words vanished behind another sound.

  The black line in the air in front of the building widened. Something pushed through. At first Cole thought it was smoke, until smoke grew shoulders and horns and a head the size of a trash can.

  It stepped into the parking lot.

  Huge beast. Black skin, burning red eyes. Curling horns. Claws, each one hooked and glossy.

  It turned its head toward the daycare and inhaled.

  It smelled them.

  Cole’s heart did something ugly in his chest.

  In Indianapolis, Indiana, it was generally a good idea to be carrying. Cole didn’t walk around fantasizing about being a hero. He wasn’t some gun guy with a dozen range trophies. But he’d had enough close calls delivering in bad neighborhoods, enough late nights, enough stories, that he’d finally gotten basic training and a permit.

  His hand went to his waistband without thinking.

  He planted his feet square, drew smoothly, and aimed at the center of that monster’s face.

  His arms felt steady.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  The gun boomed. The sound bounced off brick and glass and the dying buzz of emergency lights. Bullets slammed into the monster’s head and shoulder. It staggered, just a half step. Its horns dipped. For one breath, Cole thought he’d actually done something.

  Then the creature straightened like nothing had happened.

  The rounds hadn’t punched through. They’d left pale pockmarks in the black skin. A little smoke. That was it.

  The monster turned toward him and roared.

  Cole’s jaw clenched. His finger tightened again.

  A translucent screen flickered into existence in front of his face.

  It floated, dead center in his vision, clear as if it had always been there.

  SYSTEM CONVERGENCE UNDERWAY…

  STANDBY…

  Cole blinked hard. The words didn’t go away.

  “What the hell—”

  Another roar cut him off. The monster took a step, and Cole saw its body angle slightly. It had decided he was the bigger problem now.

  Good.

  Stay on me.

  Behind him, someone screamed. A man shouted, “Run! Get in your car!” Another voice, high and frantic: “Call 911! Call—”

  As if 911 could do a damn thing about a creature that shrugged off bullets.

  Cole backed up one step, keeping the muzzle trained. He could see the kids through the glass again. One little boy in a dinosaur shirt was crying so hard he couldn’t breathe. Another kid had her hands over her ears, eyes screwed shut.

  Cole’s hand went to his pocket.

  The old photo was in there. Worn edges. A kid’s smile. A face he wasn’t supposed to see anymore except in that picture and in his head at night when the apartment was quiet.

  Cole had failed plenty of things in his life. He’d failed himself. He’d failed relationships. He’d failed court dates. He’d failed promises he’d meant when he made them.

  He couldn’t fail another kid.

  “Hey!” he yelled, voice cracking from adrenaline. “Get the hell away from them! Come get me!”

  He almost didn’t say hell. The word sat wrong in his mouth. He wasn’t big on swearing. But at the moment he didn’t care.

  The beast’s eyes locked onto him.

  It pounded the ground once with a clawed hand.

  Cole didn’t stand and trade shots.

  He turned and ran.

  There was a service alley behind the strip mall. He’d delivered back there more times than he could count, hauling boxes to the back doors where employees smoked and complained about managers. There was a loading bay with a roll-down door. If he could get the monster under it…

  If he could trap it.

  He sprinted hard enough that his lungs immediately felt too small.

  People scattered. Some ran toward the cars. Some just froze in place, staring.

  A teenager stood there with his phone out, filming, mouth hanging open.

  Cole actually barked a laugh, sharp and mean, because it was either that or scream.

  “Are you serious?” he shouted as he ran past. “Move!”

  The teenager flinched and stumbled backward, still holding the phone up.

  Cole cut into the alley. The smell changed. Old grease from the restaurant next door. Rot from a dumpster. Wet concrete. The monster hit the alley entrance behind him with a crash that sounded like a truck wreck.

  Cole risked a glance over his shoulder.

  The beast was right there.

  Close enough that he could see heat shimmering inside its throat. Close enough that he could see the bullet marks and how little they mattered. It barreled through a stack of plastic pallets.

  Metal scraped.

  Cole ducked on instinct and a dumpster came sailing past him, tumbling end over end, smashing into the far wall with a boom that shook the brick. The beast didn’t slow. It didn’t even look tired.

  Cole’s pistol was still in his hand. His magazine felt light. He didn’t even remember how many shots he’d fired.

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  He rounded the corner into the loading bay area, and there it was: the roll-up door, half open, humming as it started to descend. Somebody inside must have hit the button, trying to close it.

  Good.

  Cole didn’t hesitate. He dropped low and baseball slid under the door. His pants scraped hard against the cement. Grit bit into his palms.

  He spun on his back and fired upward into the monster’s face as it ducked to follow him inside.

  The shots were rapid, ugly. The gun bucked. Muzzle flash lit the loading bay in harsh white stutters. The creature flinched, finally, more from surprise than pain, its head jerking to the side.

  The gun clicked, the magazine was empty.

  “Shit,” Cole hissed.

  He slapped the gun aside, scrambled to his feet, and grabbed the bottom lip of the descending door with both hands.

  The door was motorized, but it was slow. Too slow.

  He hauled down, throwing his weight into it. The motor protested with a grinding whine. The door dropped faster.

  The monster surged forward.

  Cole yanked again, and the metal crashed down onto the beast’s back and shoulders.

  It hit.

  The monster hit the ground with a furious bellow. Its claws dug into the concrete. It tried to rise, but the door pinned it at an angle, trapping it halfway inside, halfway out.

  The door shuddered. The monster pushed upward.

  Cole stared at it, chest heaving. Sweat slicked his hands. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.

  The beast was strong. Strong enough that if it got leverage, it would rip through this.

  He didn’t have time.

  Cole’s eyes darted around the loading bay.

  A broken pallet. A stack of dented boxes. A mop bucket on its side. And near the wall, half-hidden behind a plastic bin, a discarded crowbar, rusted and ugly.

  He grabbed it.

  It was heavier than it looked. Familiar in a way that made his hands tighten. He’d used crowbars before. On stubborn crates. On jammed doors. On a few jobs that required a little force.

  Never on something alive.

  Cole stepped toward the monster’s head.

  It thrashed, trying to turn its face toward him. Its burning eyes met his.

  For one second, Cole saw hunger there. Something that recognized small prey behind glass and wanted it.

  Cole’s stomach twisted.

  “No,” he growled, voice low. “Not today.”

  He brought the crowbar down.

  Metal hit skull with a crack that travelled up his arms.

  Black goo splattered. Thick, It stank. The monster roared. Its body jerked under the door.

  Cole hit it again. And again.

  It was something that had to be done, and if he stopped, kids died.

  The monster’s howls turned ragged. Its movements slowed. It tried to lift the door again, but its strength faltered, its claws scraping weakly.

  Cole kept swinging until his shoulders trembled and his hands felt numb.

  Finally, the beast shuddered.

  Then it went still.

  Cole stood over it, crowbar dripping, chest pumping air. The loading bay door was warped, bent outward where the monster had tried to push free.

  But it wasn’t moving.

  Cole had done it.

  He swallowed hard, tasting bile.

  He turned his head toward the alley exit.

  Or tried to.

  A screen unfurled in front of him, hovering mid air.

  WAR-PROOF COMPLETE.

  REWARDING FOR PRE-CONVERGENCE VICTORY.

  SCAN COMPLETE.

  MYTHIC TITLE OFFERED: BLACK HALO (ONE-TIME OFFER).

  ACCEPTANCE GRANTS: BLACK HALO MAGIC.

  CONSTRAINTS: WIZARD CLASS. AUTHORITY-ONLY ATTRIBUTE ALLOCATION.

  REFUSAL: CIVILIAN LOSS PROBABLE.

  Cole’s mouth went dry.

  “What the hell does that even—”

  Another message stacked over it before he could finish.

  CONVERGENCE COMPLETE.

  MONSTER SPAWNS ACTIVE.

  DUNGEON RIFTS ACTIVE.

  Outside, he heard more screaming. The daycare.

  Those faces pressed against the glass.

  He didn’t have time to debate game rules. He didn’t have time to argue with a floating screen. He needed power, and he needed it now.

  He felt his pocket, the old photo pressing against his thigh.

  He exhaled, shaky.

  “Okay,” he said out loud. “Okay. Fine. Yes. Confirm. Give me the damn title.”

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then the air behind his head went cold.

  A sensation settled there. A ring hovering a few inches off his skull. It wasn’t visible to him, but he felt it, and he heard it too, faint and distant, a low choir-hum that made his teeth ache.

  The screen updated.

  TITLE ACQUIRED: BLACK HALO (MYTHIC).

  TITLE STAGE: I.

  CLASS SET: WIZARD.

  SPELLS GRANTED:

  [BLACK HALO LANCE] (TIER I)

  [ASHEN AEGIS] (TIER I)

  [EDICT: DISARM] (TIER I)

  LEVEL SET: 1.

  Cole stared at the words for half a heartbeat.

  Then he shoved past them mentally.

  “Later,” he muttered. “I’ll read your little terms and conditions later.”

  He ducked under the twisted loading bay door, stepping over the dead monster’s arm. Black goo stuck to the concrete. His empty pistol lay near the wall. He left it.

  He ran.

  The alley spat him back into the open lot, and the world looked worse now.

  The sky had a greenish tint near the horizon. The air shimmered in places, as if heat waves had gotten into the geometry of the world. Somewhere, glass shattered. Someone was crying hard enough to gag.

  Cole reached the daycare entrance and stopped short.

  There were monsters at the doors.

  Not the horned thing he’d killed. Smaller. Dozens of them, clustered around the glass like pests. Green-skinned, squat bodies with thick thighs, wide mouths, bulbous eyes. They were naked, and Cole didn’t give himself the time to notice anything beyond the spears in their hands and the way they stabbed at the doors.

  A spear clanged against the glass. A spiderweb crack bloomed.

  Inside, the sandy-haired woman had her shoulder pressed against the door, face red with strain. She’d shoved a broom handle through the handles as a bar. Her eyes snapped to Cole.

  “Help!” she shouted, voice ragged. “Please, oh my God, help!”

  Cole raised a hand. “Get the kids back. All the way back. Away from the doors.”

  “They’re—” She looked over her shoulder, panicking. “They’re in the playroom, but they keep running up here, they’re scared—”

  “I know,” Cole said. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “Just do it. Go.”

  She hesitated.

  Another spear hit the glass and the crack spread.

  That did it. She turned and shouted behind her, words tumbling out in a rush. “Back! Everybody back! Move, move, move!”

  Cole faced the frog-things.

  They noticed him.

  A few turned their heads in that jerky, animal way, spears angling toward him. One hissed something wet and ugly. Another pounded its spear butt against the concrete.

  Cole’s blood ran cold.

  He lifted his chin and yelled, loud enough that the sound bounced off the storefronts.

  “Hey! Yeah, you. Get off the door. Come on. Come get me. I’m right here.”

  Some part of him wanted to add something clever. Some heroic line.

  What came out was more honest.

  “Stop trying to kill kids, you freaks.”

  Three of them broke from the pack and bounded toward him, fast and low, spears up.

  Cole’s stomach tightened.

  He didn’t know how magic was supposed to feel. He didn’t know how to “cast.”

  But the spell names sat in his mind. Tools. Ready. Waiting.

  He lifted his hand, palm out, and said the first one.

  “Black Halo Lance.”

  Black light formed in his palm, thin and sharp. It wasn’t a fireball. It wasn’t a swirl of glittering nonsense.

  It was a line.

  A spear of dark-seraphic light that hummed, muted. heavy.

  Cole pointed.

  The Lance snapped forward.

  It hit the first frog-thing square in the chest.

  For a second nothing happened.

  Then the creature’s skin blackened from the point of impact outward. It screeched, high and ugly, trying to breathe, clawing at itself.

  And then it just… came apart.

  It fell into a collapsing pile of black dust that scattered across the pavement in the wind.

  Cole stared at it, stunned despite himself.

  Somewhere to his left, a man’s voice, hoarse with shock. “What the fuck?!”

  Someone else shouted, “Record that! Record that!”

  A phone was already up. A woman with a stroller held it with shaking hands, filming over the stroller.

  The screen on her phone flickered.

  Then died.

  Cole didn’t have time to care.

  Two more frog-things rushed him.

  He felt the halo’s cold weight behind his head, and something in the air leaned inward.

  Cole raised his voice.

  “Disarm!”

  The word didn’t feel like a request.

  The spears clattered to the ground.

  They fell, as if the concept of “holding a weapon” had been cut out of the frogs’ hands. The creatures blinked, confused, staring down at their empty palms.

  Cole didn’t waste the moment.

  He snapped another Lance through the closest one’s throat, and it fell to ash.

  The second tried to leap at him with claws instead of a spear.

  Cole felt the warning a fraction of a second too late. He didn’t have the timing yet. He didn’t have the instincts.

  But he did have another tool.

  “Ashen Aegis!”

  Something unseen flared in front of him. The frog-thing slammed into it and bounced.

  It croaked, startled.

  Cole’s breath punched out. “Yeah,” he muttered, half in disbelief. “No. Not happening.”

  He finished it with a Lance. Ash scattered.

  More of the creatures noticed him now. The pack peeled off the daycare doors and swarmed.

  Cole’s pulse hammered. His mind raced.

  They’re faster than they look.

  He backed away from the entrance, pulling them toward the open lot so they weren’t smashing spears through the glass while he fought. He could still see the kids through the windows, little silhouettes moving as the teacher herd them back.

  He wouldn’t fail.

  The frogs rushed him, a wave of green bodies and spear points.

  Cole yelled again. “Disarm!”

  Spears dropped. The clatter rang out across the pavement.

  A few were too far, still armed, still charging.

  Cole threw a Lance. Ash.

  Another Lance. Ash.

  He wasn’t trying to savor it. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t gloating.

  But the power hit anyway, quiet and brutal.

  He was deciding outcomes.

  And the world was listening.

  A frog-thing slammed into him from the side, shoulder-checking him hard enough to knock his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt, the impact driving breath out of his lungs.

  His Aegis had faded. It hadn’t lasted long. He could feel that now.

  The creature’s claws scraped at his jacket. Its breath stank like pond scum and rotten meat.

  Cole shoved at it, panic flashing hot.

  “Get off me!”

  Another frog raised a spear, ready to drive it down into his chest.

  Cole’s hand snapped up.

  “Ashen Aegis!”

  The unseen refusal flared just in time. The spear struck something invisible and skittered sideways.

  Cole rolled, scrambled to his knees, and fired a Lance point blank.

  Ash exploded across his sleeves.

  He spat, choking. “Oh, fuck me…”

  The air around him warped again.

  It had been warping the whole time, subtle at first. Now it tore open in a jagged oval of green light just a few feet away.

  Cole stared at it, frozen for a half second because his brain recognized danger and didn’t know what kind.

  A frog-thing slammed into him from behind.

  Cole pitched forward.

  His hands windmilled. The ground vanished under his feet as if someone had yanked the floor away.

  He fell.

  The last thing he saw was the daycare window.

  Terrified children staring out at him, faces pressed to the glass again.

  The sandy-haired woman screamed his name, even though she didn’t know it.

  And then the green light swallowed him whole.