Dorian’s co-workers thought he’d lost his mind.

  They weren’t entirely wrong.

  He’d strapped the shark-like glassy teeth of the Starspawn to his gloves with strips of leather, fashioning a crude weapon. It was ugly. Improvised. But it was something. He needed anything that would let him keep killing these things. He couldn’t exactly drag a circular saw through the streets.

  He climbed into his car and drove toward the direction the other meteors had fallen.

  By the time he reached the neighborhood, evening had settled in. Twilight wasn’t what it used to be. Ever since the stars cracked, the sky glowed brighter, washed in an eerie, otherworldly light that made shadows stretch too long and colors feel wrong.

  It was only a matter of time before the Sun followed. The crack was still small. Barely more than a scar, but a scar that would spread.

  Smoke hung thick between the houses as Dorian drove slowly through the streets. He tried to guess how many Starspawn might have landed here.

  Dozens, at least.

  Movement crossed the road ahead of him.

  A Starspawn galloped into view, three-legged and starfish-like, its body rotating unnaturally as it moved with unsettling speed.

  Dorian threw the car door open and sprinted toward it. His speed was nearly double what it had been before, impressive by his metric, but still sluggish compared to most Starspawn.

  The creature turned toward him. Somehow, without eyes, it knew exactly where he was.

  It raised the leg closest to him. At its foot was a circular mouth packed with burning, needle-like teeth. The limb thrust forward like a lance.

  Dorian dropped low, sliding beneath the strike. He drove an uppercut into the creature’s center, using its momentum against it and knocking it off balance.

  Before it could recover, he slipped between its other two legs and hammered its core with a flurry of blows. The teeth strapped to his gloves sliced into ash-flesh, tearing ragged wounds that smoked on contact.

  The Starspawn tried to strike back, but its legs couldn’t bend far enough to reach something directly beneath it.

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  Dorian didn’t give it time to adjust.

  He grabbed two of its legs, wrenched it backward onto the pavement, and kept hitting. Over and over.

  Time blurred.

  When it ended, one of the creature’s legs hung by a thread. Dorian’s hands were blackened and burned, his makeshift weapons cracked and smoldering against the asphalt.

  One final punch caved the Starspawn inward.

  It went limp and began to disintegrate.

  An orange crystal fell free and clinked softly against the road.

  Dorian grinned.

  He snatched it up.

  Power surged through him again. His shredded fists healed, skin knitting together as the burns faded. Muscles relaxed, then tightened with renewed strength. His speed, his resilience, everything climbed another notch.

  But this time, something else stirred.

  At the edge of his awareness, a new sense unfolded. When he focused on it, a faint shimmer flickered around his hand, like an orange field snapping briefly into place.

  The effort left him gasping, lungs burning as though he’d been holding his breath for far too long.

  Instinct warned him not to push it yet.

  Still, he understood. If he gathered more of these crystals – these Remnants – that power would grow.

  The starfish-like Starspawn had left its needle-teeth behind in the ash. Dorian scooped them up, unsure what use they’d be, and tossed them into his trunk.

  He moved on.

  Not long after, he encountered another Starspawn – thin and spindly, stretched out like a monstrous stick insect with ten brittle-looking limbs. At first glance, it seemed fragile.

  Overconfident from his recent kills, Dorian charged straight in.

  He snapped several limbs with ease.

  That was the trap.

  The creature folded at an impossible angle, one limb peeling open to reveal a hidden blade. It swept down in a scything arc. Dorian twisted away, but not fast enough.

  The blade carved a long, shallow gash from his shoulder down across his ribs.

  If he hadn’t already absorbed two Remnants, the strike would have split him in half.

  Pain snapped him back to reality.

  He couldn’t just overpower these things.

  Dorian shifted tactics.

  Hit and run. Quick strikes. Control the engagement.

  Blood loss blurred his vision, but he pressed on. He broke its limbs methodically, forcing it lower and lower until its central body was exposed. He wrapped his arms around it, widened his stance, and heaved.

  The creature’s body section snapped with a sickening crunch.

  The world tilted. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. He barely remembered grabbing the Remnant before collapsing.

  When he came to, the wound was gone. Only his shredded shirt remained.

  That was too close.

  For a moment, doubt surfaced. He stared at his ruined clothes, at the scorched pavement, and realized how reckless he’d been.

  Maybe he should stop.

  Maybe this was suicide.

  Something pulsed in his mind, quiet, insistent.

  The doubt faded.

  Rage rose in its place. The hunger followed close behind, steady and demanding.

  It unsettled him how easily the shift came.

  He didn’t dwell on it.

  Dorian changed into fresh clothes from his car. His body might be adapting to heat and damage, but fabric wasn’t. if he was going to survive, he’d have to be smarter.

  The stick-bug Starspawn had left behind long, glassy blades, shaped like swords. Once cooled, the resembled chipped obsidian, but far stronger than steel.

  He tore the remaining leather from his gloves and wrapped it around the base of one blade, forming a crude hilt.

  It felt right in his hand.

  Reach mattered. Fighting without burning his fists mattered.