The theater doors swung open, spilling a crowd of chattering moviegoers onto the damp Chicago sidewalk. Neon lights flickered above, casting a sickly glow over their flushed faces. They laughed and argued, voices sharp with excitement, dissecting the latest blockbuster—Mr.Carnage. A man in a leather jacket mimicked a dinosaur's roar, earning a chorus of giggles from his friends. Another scrolled through his phone, already posting about the film's "killer CGI." The air smelled of popcorn and rain, a late March drizzle slicking the streets.
Across from them, slumped against a graffiti-stained wall, a homeless man shivered under a tattered blanket. His hands trembled as he held out a cracked Styrofoam cup, coins rattling faintly inside. "Spare some change?" he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. The group stepped around him without a glance, their sneakers splashing through puddles as they moved toward a glowing diner down the block. One woman wrinkled her nose, muttering about "filth" clogging the city.
High above, beyond the clouds, beyond the reach of human eyes, He watched.
I gave them paradise, He thought, His voice a rumble that shook the heavens, unheard by the mortals below. Fields of green, rivers of plenty, minds to create and hearts to love. And this is what they've made of it—temples to their own vanity, feasts for the selfish, stories of blood and terror they cheer while their brothers starve at their feet. His gaze burned through the theater's marquee, through the screens they worshipped, through the tales of beasts they'd conjured from their own dark imaginations. They revel in monsters. Let them face the nightmares they adore.
A crack split the sky, a jagged scar of crimson light that swallowed the stars. The moviegoers froze, heads tilting upward. The homeless man clutched his blanket tighter, eyes wide with something like recognition. Then came the roar—a sound that wasn't sound, but a force, a wave of primal fury that shattered windows and buckled asphalt. The ground trembled, and from the shadows of alleys, from the sewers beneath, from the air itself, they came.
A velociraptor burst from a side street, feathers glinting like oil in the streetlights, claws raking the pavement. Screams erupted as it lunged, snapping a woman's leg in its jaws. Further down, a massive anaconda slithered from a storm drain, scales gleaming as it coiled around a parked car, crushing it like tinfoil. In the distance, a guttural bellow announced something larger—a saber-toothed cat, its fangs dripping as it stalked from the park.
I will test them, He thundered silently, His wrath a storm no human could fathom. Break them. And if they prevail, perhaps they will earn their world anew. But they will not know it is I—not yet.
The crowd scattered, their laughter replaced by shrieks. The man in the leather jacket fumbled for his phone, but the screen stayed black. A woman yanked a pistol from her purse, pulling the trigger at the velociraptor—nothing. No bang, no spark, just a useless click. Cars wouldn't start. Streetlights flickered and died. The world they'd built, the machines they'd trusted, failed them in an instant.
In Another Place
Ethan Carver didn't see the sky crack. He was under a '98 Honda Civic, wrench in hand, cursing a rusted bolt that wouldn't budge. The garage smelled of oil and stale coffee, the radio humming some old rock tune in the background. His coworker, Jimmy, leaned against the workbench, scrolling through his phone and griping about the night shift.
"Man, I'd rather be at the movies," Jimmy said, not looking up. "Heard Mr.Carnage is wild. You see it yet?"
"Nah," Ethan grunted, twisting the wrench. "Not my thing. Rather fix something real than watch fake dinosaurs eat people."
Jimmy snorted. "You're no fun, Carver."
The radio cut out mid-chorus, replaced by static. Ethan frowned, sliding out from under the car just as the ground shook. Tools clattered off the bench, and Jimmy's phone slipped from his hand, screen dark. "What the hell—" Jimmy started, but the words died as a screech tore through the air.
The garage's roll-up door buckled inward, then burst apart. A velociraptor stood there, head cocked, yellow eyes glinting. It was smaller than Ethan expected—about the size of a big dog—but its claws and teeth promised death all the same. Jimmy screamed, stumbling back, and the creature pounced.
Blood sprayed across the concrete as the raptor's jaws closed around Jimmy's throat. Ethan's heart slammed against his ribs, instinct kicking in. He grabbed the tire iron from the floor and swung, the metal cracking against the beast's skull. It staggered, releasing Jimmy—who was already gone, eyes blank—and turned on Ethan.
He didn't think. He lunged, driving the pointed end of the tire iron into the raptor's chest. It shrieked, thrashing, then went limp, pinning him under its weight. Ethan shoved it off, panting, blood slicking his hands. The garage was silent except for his ragged breathing.
Then, something impossible happened. A voice—not a sound, but a presence—echoed in his mind, cold and mechanical:
[Monster slain: Velociraptor]
[Reward granted: +2 Strength]
[Skill unlocked: Basic Tracking]
Ethan froze, staring at the dead creature. His arms felt heavier, stronger, like he'd been lifting weights for months. A faint pulse hummed in his chest, and for a split second, he swore he could smell the raptor's trail—oil, feathers, blood—leading back to the shattered door.
Outside, screams filled the night. The world had changed, and somehow, Ethan had too.