The city, my city, had once been alive in a way that was hard to describe. Thriving, active, hopeful. Vibrant.

But life, as I had come to learn, sometimes possesses only the most tenuous of grasps. Finally, in the end, it became my city - mine alone.

I was, after all, the only one left.

Nobody knew exactly how it had happened. Nobody could point to some place, some time, or some event, saying ‘This is it. This is where it all began.’

Or at least, if someone did know, they had chosen to keep that knowledge to themselves.

Yet, for all that the cause was shrouded in fog, hidden behind a dizzying degree of mystery, the effect was anything but.

They say that each generation is different from the last. That humanity advances in small little steps, in minute changes from one moment to the next, collating into a gestalt of characteristics, ideas, and attitudes that become the basis for the next era.

What then, one might wonder, happens when the very idea of humanity itself unexpectedly changes?

Shortly before I was born, this change began.

Perhaps my thoughts were overly melodramatic. After all, for the vast majority, the world was as it ever had been. Not in every aspect, of course, but certainly in the ways that truly mattered. We were born, we lived, we struggled, we loved, we died - some of us with greater degrees of success than others.

Yet, melodrama aside, the world had indisputably changed. We had changed - not every one of us, perhaps, but enough of us to matter. Enough to make a difference. Unfortunately, that difference was often destructive in nature.

Then again, when godlike powers are handed out seemingly at random, the result should hardly be surprising. Eventually, someone would decide to play God.

It wasn’t as if humanity was secretly vile, and it only took the appearance of supernatural powers to throw civilization and ethics to the wind. Yet, temptation could be an insidious thing, and the mind was ultimately a fragile existence - subsumed by innumerable thoughts and decisions, each little piece shaping it more and more day by day. And for some, that was all there was to it. A slow cracking of the walls of morality, an inexorable restructuring of thoughts and ideals that carved away slowly here and there, until you could almost convince yourself that the breaches they created had always been.

A man named Alan Walker was one of the first to step through that breach. By all accounts, he was originally quite unremarkable. Your everyday office worker, living a life indistinguishable from his peers.

Today, he would be better known by another name: Hive.

A simple touch was all that it took. One moment free, the next a slave. A member of the hivemind.

Perhaps it began as a simple mistake. I’m even willing to give a small measure of trust, on that account. After all, powers didn’t necessarily come with an instruction manual. You could feel that they existed, a tingling in the back of your mind, the desire to be used, but hardly anything more. It was easy to imagine that Alan, before becoming Hive in truth, did not want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’d have liked to believe so, in the midst of my own troubles. After all, I had almost never wished to harm anyone, either. There simply wasn’t always a choice.

Yet, regardless of how it began, the results were unjustifiable. Horrible. Terrifying.

Before long, he had become the ruler of his small town, his misdeeds only discovered by pure chance. It was only through the concerted effort of a group of newfound heroes that Hive was struck down. And with him, his thralls went as well - collapsing like puppets with cut strings, mindless shells, lost forever.

Alan Walker was the first shot in an unending war, a spark that set the world aflame.

Yet from the ashes of that horrible tragedy arose true heroes among us. Heroes of grit, of compassion, of resolve, of ideals, of strength.

Heroes to protect us.

To save us.

The names of the greatest among them resounded across the world. Haven, able to generate nigh-impenetrable forcefields. Champion, who grew in strength and durability proportional to his own resolve. Nomad, who could teleport across the world in the blink of an eye. These heroes and more acted as a light during some of humanity’s darkest hours, keeping the monsters at bay.

For monsters, there truly were. Destruction was always easier than protection, action more potent than reaction.

This was the world that I was born into. A world that had been changed.

I spent my youth hearing stories of heroes and villains, of good and evil, of right and wrong. I wanted to do more than that. I needed to do more than that.

I needed to be a hero.

Unfortunately, sometimes life just spits in your face.

“Tensions continue to rise in response to the repeated failures of the heroes of ‘Guardian’ in quelling our world’s greatest threats. In an interview last Sunday, Champion himself had these words to say: ‘Though the times seem dark, look to one another and remember: we are survivors, each and every one of us. We may bend, but we will never break. New Gifted are emerging every day, and among each of you exists the potential to become a new champion for humanity. A new hero for the world. Remain steadfast. We will endure. We will survive.’

“Hopeful words from one of the leaders of Guardian. I would certainly sleep better, should a new hero at the caliber of Champion appear. We could certainly use them. To that effect, there may be hope on the horizon: a new Gifted has recently appeared claiming the ability to empower others. Though her abilities have not yet been fully vetted for safety and effectiveness, one can only hope that her appearance will help to right the balance between good and evil.

“In the meantime, Colossus continues his rampage through Castow, slowed only by the concerted efforts of the nation’s various heroes. Evacuation plans are in full effect, and the assistance of Nomad has reduced the death toll significantly. The villain Impel is rumored to be behind the former hero’s aberrant behavior, having been sighted by credible sources just hours before Colossus went berserk.

“On the other side of the world, The Reaper remains in the ruins of Ancelas, for the moment. Recent assaults upon the villain have been rebuffed, with grievous losses among those participating. The Reaper’s current area of influence has been analyzed by various experts and a cordon has been enacted. As a reminder: remain far away from the walls, as The Reaper’s power has proven to be both wide-reaching and highly lethal. He -”

The voice cut out as I jerked the knob of the radio to the left, forcing the volume to an inaudible level.

“You’re not going to listen to that, Eran? They were talking about you, you know,” a woman’s voice whispered beside my ear.

I ignored her, jerkily pulling myself to my feet and lightly dusting off my hands. The dirt and the grime remained, heedless of my efforts. In another time, I might have shown more concern with my abhorrent lack of hygiene. Then again, I had heavier things on my mind.

I ambled forwards, stumbling as I kicked an empty bottle in my path. And then another, and another. Glass shattered as an oh-so-yielding bottle met an immovable object - relative to itself, of course. Heedless of its plight, I continued to the door, reaching out for the handle in the darkness.

The door opened, and light flooded in. It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.

Light stabbed at my eyes, and the sounds of the city rose to greet me. The sounds of silence.

“The weather is so nice, today! Why don’t we take a drive out of the city - maybe go hiking?” her voice whispered conspiratorially in my ear.

“You know I can’t do that, Mel,” I mumbled in response despite myself. I knew that I shouldn’t respond. It gave her power. It made her feel real - and that was dangerous. But, then again, wasn’t the isolation dangerous as well?

I needed someone to talk to, I knew. Then again, I also knew that talking to her would only be talking to myself. That was insane. And I was the last person that could afford to go insane.

I laughed, a giddy, bubbling feeling welling from deep within me. I sobbed, tears spilling down my cheeks. Maybe it was already too late.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as the wind rustled the leaves overhead.

Called by the whispering leaves, I looked up. A vibrant canopy formed skyward, cresting into a peak as the nearby trees intersected branches. It was beautiful - the main reason I had picked out the downtown mansion that I now called home. That, and the location, of course. Had to stay centered. Mentally. Physically. Always.

A smile lit my face, and I put some pep in my step. Had to stay positive. Had to keep going. I was going to save the world, after all. I was going to be a hero. Everyone was depending on me.

My enthusiasm lasted less than ten paces.

Life had begun to fill me; wonderful, beautiful life. My veins sang with its power, my muscles relaxing under its warmth. I felt strong, undefeatable, immortal.

It was horrible.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe, frozen in horror. Then, it stopped, the flow from elsewhere ceasing.

Horror turned to grief turned to rage in a dizzying shift of emotions.

Why wouldn’t they leave me alone? I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but they kept making me. They just kept coming. Maybe I should listen to Mel. I should just leave the city, visit new places. Give up on the pain, the failure, the dying. Mine, anyway.

For a moment, the thought was tantalizing. Freeing.

I reined myself in before it could take root.

“Just one more day, Mel,” I whispered, repeating the promise of yesterday. “Just one more try.”

I stumbled along the road for a few minutes more, before I had a thought. I turned towards Mel. She wasn’t there, so I just kept turning.

I panicked.

“Melanie? Where did you go? Mel?” I called out. I listened for a moment, ears parsing through my own ragged breaths to hear the sounds of silence that surrounded me.

“I’m still here,” she whispered.

Worries alleviated, I smiled and continued with my thought.

“I have a good feeling about today, you know. We got close, last time, I could feel it!” I was babbling, I knew, but who was going to complain? Mel had always loved to listen, in the same way that I loved to hear her voice. It was one of the things that made us great together. Our mutual friends had always said that we would turn into one of those couples, always telling stories and laughing with one another, growing old an- my mind glitched, backtracking to its previous thought.

I felt a tickling sensation sliding down my face and wiped it away, looking up at the sky overhead. The clouds were sparse, today, but I realized it might be about to rain anyways: a few drops of water had managed to spill their way down my face.

I ran inside the nearest building for shelter, a large corporate skyscraper. The foyer was rather nice, if you discounted the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. Try as I might, keeping a city clean was simply not a one-man job. Unless your superpower was cleaning, I guess.

That was a funny idea for a power, wasn’t it? I told Mel. She agreed.

I found the stairs without too much hassle, beginning to climb. It made me feel a little better about things. I had to stay in the city, but I was going to go on a hike with my fiancée, dammit. She appreciated the effort, I think.

Eventually, we found ourselves on the roof of the building, panting in exhaustion. I walked to the edge, surveilling my domain.

“Hey, Mel?” I whispered, staring at the ground below.

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“I miss you, you know.” My words felt choked now, straining to get past the lump that had found its way into my throat.

“I know.”

With that, I stepped off the edge, surrendering myself to gravity.

There was an undeniable clarity that came with certain death, as uncertain as it truly was. It gave me time to think, unobstructed by the chaos that had become my mind. Only me and the whistling wind that filled my ears.

I had always looked forward to the possibility of developing powers of my own. As a child, I had fantasized about possessing world-bending powers of immense proportions, of being a hero that the entire world looked up to.

Yet, in the end, it was not meant to be. I was not one of the unfortunate, powerless majority. Nor was I one of the unlucky Gifted saddled with weak powers of little consequence.

Instead, my power was world-bending indeed. They certainly bent my world. Bent it, twisted it, shattered it into pieces, and stomped on the remains.

When I realized my Gift, its applications were a complete mystery. That was disappointing, maybe, but those days of blissful ignorance may have been some of the happiest of my life.

Mel was happy for me, when we found out, as worried as she might have been. The life of a hero wasn’t entirely safe, after all. Yet, she knew how much it meant to me - and so she helped in my attempts to understand my Gift.

Despite that, I was never able to fulfill my dreams. Not while she was alive, and certainly not after she…I forced myself to complete the thought.

After she died.

It was the events following her death that spelled disaster for the world. My own disaster had already arrived, of course.

During that time, my power had grown with use - my terrible, wonderful power. What began as a touch-based life absorption accelerated into something unmanageable. Something unfathomable.

In my more lucid times, I compared its growth to the relationship between mass and gravity. The greater my own life force became, the stronger the pull that it exerted upon others. Then, as it pulled, it became even greater still.

And so, it pulled and it pulled and it pulled. I couldn’t say the exact moment when touch became an optional component. All I knew is that, one day, it did - and wrapped up in my grief, I missed the greater implications.

The radius of my power grew, and its strength grew alongside it. Soon enough, I became a walking calamity, unable to approach others for fear of the consequences.

I tried to get away; I tried to go somewhere safe, somewhere safe from me.

Safety was an illusion.

With each new source of human life, my power grew. And they just kept coming. I tried to warn them. I told them to stay away.

They didn’t - until, eventually, there was nobody left. Their lives went up in flames like matchsticks: quick, brief. Futile.

Soon enough, the heroes of the world tried to finish the job. It was too little, too late. With each life that I had absorbed, my own lives had increased. I had become nigh-immortal, unimaginably deadly. A villain of the highest caliber. The Reaper.

Try as I might, I couldn’t even end my own life. Not the unfathomable number of times that it would take to make it stick, anyway; that would surely have driven me over the edge before it succeeded. Death was ephemeral, a brief and intangible thing that existed between the moment when one of my lives ended and the next asserted itself.

Yet, it was in the midst of one such death that hope blossomed. I noticed it.

In that brief instant before my life reasserted itself, I glimpsed the chains that held me to my moorings. The restraints that bound my many lives to my own body.

And so, time after time, I worked to find them once more. To find them - and tear them apart.

Whistling wind filled my ears.

Below me stood the city.

The city, my city, had once been alive in a way that was hard to describe. Thriving, active, hopeful. Vibrant.

For now, I was the only one left.

With a smile on my face, I hit the ground and pulled. My bones shattered, my flesh pulped - and before they could become whole once more, the moorings twisted, ruptured, and split. The chains came undone.

At that moment, I knew that I was free.

I died.

I saved the world.

I became a hero at last.