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Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

I: Dark Currents

@chaotic-orphan

TW: choking, strangling, strangulation, stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.

Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.

Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.

"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.

"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.

Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."

Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.

"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.

"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.

In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.

"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.

Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.

Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"

"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.

As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."

The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."

Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"

Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."

Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.

Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.

"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.

"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.

Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.

"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."

As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.

Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.

Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."

Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"

The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.

"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."

Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."

"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."

Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."

Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."

"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.

With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.

Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."

Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"

Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.

This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.

Continued here

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

II: The Edge of the Knife

@chaotic-orphan

TW: stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

A thin, pale light filtered through the grimy window of Kit’s apartment, casting long shadows across the room. Dust motes hung in the air, untouched by the frail dawn that did little to banish the clinging darkness. The night had been a war of attrition, and now, with the arrival of morning, Kit felt no more victorious than when it had started. His body was heavy, his limbs tingling with the remnants of whatever Ambrose had slipped into his drink, and his mind was a haze of confusion and anger.

In the corner of the small, cluttered apartment, Ambrose stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on Kit with an intensity that made Kit’s skin prickle with unease. There was something about Ambrose that always felt too much—like he took up too much space, like the very air around him warped under the weight of his presence. It had been that way since the moment they’d met, but now, standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood, it felt suffocating.

Kit pushed himself up from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence between them was thick, electric, like the air before a storm. He needed answers—needed to know what Ambrose truly wanted, why he was here, and what had driven him to this point. But most of all, Kit needed to understand the strange, twisted connection that seemed to keep pulling them together, no matter how many times he tried to walk away.

Ambrose’s face was shadowed, but his eyes glinted in the low light, dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the worn wooden floor, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Kit’s pulse quickened, his muscles tensing as Ambrose closed the distance between them, the air between them tight with tension.

"I’m not playing games," Ambrose said, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with meaning. "This is about survival."

Kit swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. "Survival?" he scoffed, his voice hoarse, barely masking the fear that coiled deep in his gut. "Is that what you call this?"

Ambrose’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humour behind it—only something dark, something primal. "You have no idea what’s coming," he said, his voice a quiet threat. "I’ve sacrificed everything for this. For you."

Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching as Ambrose’s words hung in the air between them. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating, the twisted bond between them thrumming like a live wire. He wanted to push Ambrose away, to demand answers, but his body felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of whatever had been in his drink. His mind raced, but his limbs were slow to follow, like moving through water.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and dangerous. He stepped closer, his presence looming, filling the small space with a suffocating intensity. "This isn’t about what you want."

Kit’s breath hitched as Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a force that was both possessive and commanding. Kit’s body tensed instinctively, his muscles locking as Ambrose shoved him backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it with a grunt, the suddenness of the action stealing the air from his lungs.

The mattress creaked beneath him, the springs groaning in protest as Ambrose followed, his movements fluid and predatory. He climbed onto the bed with a grace that belied the danger simmering just beneath the surface, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Kit’s hips.

Kit’s pulse spiked, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Ambrose’s hands found his wrists, pinning them to the bed with a strength that made Kit’s heart race. The heat of Ambrose’s body pressed down on him, their faces inches apart, and Kit could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding.

"You don’t understand how far I’m willing to go," Ambrose murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a dangerous edge. His eyes bore into Kit’s, filled with something raw and unrelenting—something that made Kit’s stomach twist with a mix of fear and something darker, something he was too afraid to name.

Kit’s mind screamed at him to fight back, to push Ambrose away, but his body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze and the suffocating tension that crackled between them. Panic curled in his gut, but he forced it down, glaring up at Ambrose with as much defiance as he could muster.

"Let me go," Kit hissed through gritted teeth, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "You can’t just—"

"I can," Ambrose interrupted, his grip tightening on Kit’s wrists. His tone was a quiet, dangerous promise. "And I will."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and the suffocating tension that hung between them. Kit’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation, of the weight behind Ambrose’s words, of the twisted bond that seemed to pull them together despite everything.

"I don’t want your sacrifices," Kit spat, his voice hoarse, barely holding onto the thread of his defiance. "I don’t need them."

Ambrose’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. His fingers flexed around Kit’s wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. "You don’t know what you need. Not yet."

With a sudden, violent motion, Ambrose leaned down, his breath hot against Kit’s ear. "But you will."

Kit’s heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. Ambrose’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker, something he was too afraid to admit. His mind screamed at him to fight, to break free, but his body felt sluggish, the weight of Ambrose’s presence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Ambrose pulled back just enough to meet Kit’s gaze again, his eyes burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. "Fight me all you want," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word a dark promise. "But I’m not letting you go."

Kit’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind spinning, the weight of Ambrose’s words settling over him like a leaden cloak. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to push Ambrose away—but something in Ambrose’s gaze held him captive, something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, no matter how much he tried.

And deep down, despite the fear that churned in his gut, a small part of him wondered if Ambrose was right.

Continued here

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

@chaotic-orphan

I: Dark Currents

II: The Edge of the Knife

III: Between the Lines

IV: Run Soon

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

III: Between the Lines

@chaotic-orphan

TW: stalking, drugging, implied noncon, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

Kit stared up at the cracked ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Ambrose’s presence was a weight that pinned him to the bed, but it wasn’t just physical. There was something else, something darker that twisted between them, something that made Kit’s skin crawl and his pulse race.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched thin, taut like a wire pulled to its breaking point. Outside, the city was waking up, the distant sounds of traffic and early morning bustle filtering through the window. But inside the apartment, time felt frozen, suspended in the crackling tension between them.

Ambrose’s grip on Kit’s wrists loosened, but he didn’t move away. He stayed there, hovering over Kit, his eyes still locked on his with a fierce, burning intensity. Kit’s mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. The bar, the drink, the way Ambrose had watched him from across the room like a hawk circling its prey. And then… the blackouts. The missing hours.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Kit finally managed to choke out, his voice hoarse.

Ambrose’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, Kit."

Kit’s stomach twisted at the implication, but there was no time to dwell on it. The fog in his mind was beginning to lift, and with it came a flood of memories—disjointed flashes of the previous night. The dimly lit bar, the feeling of eyes on him, the cold touch of Ambrose’s hand on his arm as he’d leaned in, too close, whispering something that Kit couldn’t quite remember.

Kit’s jaw clenched. He pulled against Ambrose’s grip, and this time, Ambrose let go, sitting back slightly, though his knees still bracketed Kit’s hips, keeping him in place.

"I want answers," Kit demanded, his voice stronger now. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

Ambrose’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "I already told you. This is about survival. Do you think all of this is some kind of game?"

Kit shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Survival? What are you even talking about? You show up out of nowhere, drug me, drag me back here, and now you're talking about survival like I'm supposed to understand what the fuck is going on?"

Ambrose’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he looked away, his jaw tight. For the first time, Kit saw a crack in the armour—a flicker of something deeper, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same cold, unrelenting intensity.

"You don’t know what’s coming," Ambrose said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But you will."

Kit’s frustration turned to anger. He pushed himself up, forcing Ambrose to shift back slightly to avoid being knocked off balance. The movement was sudden, a surge of adrenaline cutting through the lingering fog in Kit’s veins.

"Enough with the cryptic bullshit, Ambrose!" Kit snapped, his voice rising. "I’m done playing whatever game this is. You want to talk about survival? Fine. Start explaining. Now."

For a long moment, Ambrose didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to the window, then back to Kit, as if weighing his next words carefully. The silence stretched on, the tension between them thick and suffocating.

Finally, Ambrose exhaled a slow, measured breath. "There are forces at work you don’t understand. Dark forces. And you… you’re in the middle of it, whether you like it or not."

Kit blinked, his anger momentarily faltering. "Dark forces?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Ambrose’s expression hardened. "Deadly serious."

Kit shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "This is insane. You expect me to believe—"

"I don’t expect you to believe anything," Ambrose interrupted, his voice sharp. "But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The strange things happening around you? The sense that something’s been watching you, following you?"

Kit opened his mouth to argue, to deny it—but the words died in his throat. Because the truth was… he had felt it. For weeks now, there had been an odd sense of unease gnawing at him, a feeling that something was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows. The lights in his apartment flickering for no reason, the strange cold spots that made his breath fog in the middle of summer, the nightmares that left him drenched in sweat, heart racing.

And then there was the strange encounter in the alleyway a few nights ago—the way the shadows had seemed to move, to shift and twist as if they had a life of their own. He’d written it off as a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. But now…?

Kit swallowed hard. "What… what are you saying?"

Ambrose’s eyes bore into his, the weight of his words heavy with truth. "I’m saying that the world isn’t what you think it is. There are things out there—things that want you, things that will stop at nothing to get to you. And if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up dead. Or worse."

Kit’s breath hitched in his throat. Dead? Or worse? The room felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in around him. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands—everything kept slipping through his fingers.

"I don’t understand," Kit whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why me? What do they want from me?"

Ambrose’s expression softened, just for a moment. "It’s not just you. It’s us. We’re connected, Kit. More than you realise. That’s why I’ve been watching you. That’s why I’ve been trying to protect you."

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. "Protect me? You drugged me and dragged me back here against my will!"

Ambrose’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn’t have a choice. They were closing in on you. If I hadn’t intervened…"

He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

Kit felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Who are they?"

Ambrose hesitated, then shook his head. "It’s better if you don’t know. Not yet."

Kit’s frustration flared again. "I deserve to know what’s happening to me!"

Ambrose’s eyes flashed with anger, but it wasn’t directed at Kit—it was something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface. "You’ll know soon enough," he said, his voice tight. "But first… you need to trust me."

Kit let out a bitter laugh. "Trust you? After everything you’ve done?"

Ambrose’s gaze softened again, and for the first time, Kit saw something like regret in his eyes. "I know I’ve made mistakes. But I’m trying to keep you alive. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to forgive me. But if you want to survive this, you’re going to need me."

Kit stared at him, his mind racing, torn between disbelief and the growing sense that maybe—just maybe—Ambrose was telling the truth. The strange occurrences, the feeling of being watched, the sense that something was closing in on him… it all lined up, even if Kit didn’t want to admit it.

But trusting Ambrose? That felt like a step too far.

"I don’t know if I can trust you," Kit said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "But I’m not going to let you call the shots anymore. If we’re going to do this, we do it on my terms."

Ambrose studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Fair enough."

Kit exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. "So… what happens now?"

Ambrose shuffled off the bed, finally giving Kit space to breathe. He crossed the room to the window, looking out at the city below. "Now," he said, his voice low, "we get ready. Because they’ll be coming for you soon."

Kit’s stomach twisted with unease. "Who?"

Ambrose turned, his eyes dark and serious. "The shadows."

Continued here

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

IV: Run Soon

@chaotic-orphan

Kit’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion, dread knotting in his stomach. Ambrose’s cryptic words echoed in his skull—shadows. What kind of shadows could possibly hurt someone? His pulse hammered, each beat a countdown that screamed at him to move. To escape.

Ambrose wasn’t a man who could sit still for long, and Kit knew that. He wasn’t the type to wait patiently by the window forever. Sure enough, Ambrose moved, his presence filling every inch of Kit’s small apartment. He paced across the worn floorboards with slow, deliberate steps, his eyes flicking over the cluttered bookshelves, the chipped counter, the blank ceiling. There was an energy about him—sharp, restless, like a blade barely restrained.

Kit’s apartment was a mess of familiarity, but now it felt foreign. The air was thick, heavy with the remnants of Ambrose’s words, and his perfume. The walls seemed to close in around Kit. The once comforting clutter—the stack of books by the couch, the faded photograph of Kit and the other heroes pinned on the fridge—felt like they were part of someone else’s life. His heart raced, every breath shallow, as if the apartment itself was pressing in on him, waiting for something to happen.

Ambrose paused by the kitchen, his fingers brushing over the surface of the counter. He picked up a chipped coffee cup from the sink, turning it idly in his hands. "You’re afraid," Ambrose said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence like a whip. His gaze flicked to Kit, sharp and knowing. "I can feel it."

Kit’s throat tightened, his pulse spiking. "Who wouldn’t be afraid?" he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You show up spouting crap about shadows and—"

"They’re not just shadows, Kit." Ambrose’s voice was low. He set the cup down, the soft clink of porcelain against the counter making Kit flinch. "They’re something else, I don’t know what, but they’re bad and they’re coming."

Kit stood abruptly, his legs shaky beneath him, the bed creaking loudly as he shifted his weight. He couldn’t stay here, not with Ambrose prowling around his apartment like a predator waiting to strike. He needed air. He needed to think.

Ambrose’s eyes followed him, tracking every movement, but Kit ignored the burning sensation of being watched. He moved toward the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as if it could ground him. His gaze shot to the door—his door. The escape route. If he could just make it out…

"You can’t outrun them, Kit." Ambrose’s voice followed him, soft and warning.

Kit’s pulse quickened. His eyes darted to the door again. Ambrose was still in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey Kit kept for rare occasions. The liquid sloshed into the glass, the sound somehow louder than it should have been in the quiet apartment. Ambrose was distracted, at least for the moment.

Now.

Kit moved silently, slipping toward the door. He’d lived here for years—he knew which floorboards creaked and which didn’t. His fingers curled around the doorknob, turning it slowly, carefully. The soft click of the latch felt like a gunshot in the tense silence. He froze, waiting, expecting Ambrose to react—to grab him, to stop him. But nothing.

His breath caught in his throat as he eased the door open, slipping into the hallway. The door closed behind him with a quiet snick, and Kit exhaled shakily, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dim light overhead flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the cracked walls. The air out here was cooler, but it did nothing to ease the panic clawing at Kit’s chest.

He moved swiftly but cautiously, his footsteps nearly silent against the worn floor. The stairwell loomed ahead, spiralling down into darkness. Kit’s breath hitched. The shadows down there seemed different—thicker, like they were waiting for him. Watching.

Kit shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Focus. Just get out.

He gripped the cool metal railing, his skin prickling with unease as he descended the first step. The shadows at the bottom of the stairs seemed to shift—just a flicker, a ripple in the dark. Kit froze, his breath catching in his throat. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a cold sweat breaking out along his spine.

At the bottom of the stairs, something moved.

It was subtle, barely more than a shift in the darkness, but it was there. A shape. Tall. Broad. Wrong. The shadows around it seemed to writhe, curling and twisting like smoke in water, unnatural and grotesque. Kit’s blood ran cold. His legs locked in place, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, paralysed by the sheer wrongness of what stood below.

The figure didn’t move, but Kit could feel it watching him. Its gaze was like ice, a cold, unblinking force that bored into his very soul. The shadows rippled again, and a tendril of darkness reached for him, curling like a finger beckoning him closer.

Kit’s breath came in short, panicked bursts, his heart pounding in his ears. Run. His mind screamed at him, but his legs refused to obey. He was rooted to the spot, the cold tendrils of fear creeping up his spine, suffocating him.

Then, a hand gripped his arm, yanking him back with such force that he nearly lost his footing.

"What the fuck, Kit."

Ambrose’s breath hitched, a small indicator that only confirmed his fears, vibrating through Kit's bones. Ambrose's grip was bruising, his fingers digging into Kit’s arm as he dragged him back up the stairs. Kit stumbled, his mind reeling from what he’d just seen—what he’d almost walked into. The thing. The shadows. They were real. They were here.

Ambrose didn’t say another word as he shoved Kit back into the apartment, slamming the door behind them with a force that rattled the frame. Kit collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His skin was clammy, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

"You really thought you could just walk out of here?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter. He stood by the door, his eyes burning with anger—and something else. Fear, Kit realised, by the way his jaw tightened. "You think you can outrun them?"

Kit’s mind was a mess, his thoughts fragmented, disjointed. "I-I didn’t know," he stammered, his voice hoarse. "I didn’t—"

"You didn’t listen." Ambrose’s voice was cold, his words slicing through Kit’s panic like a blade. "I told you. I warned you. But you didn’t listen."

Kit’s hands shook as he tried to steady his breathing. "What… what the hell was that thing?" His voice was barely a whisper, terror clinging to every syllable.

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "That," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "was one of them. One of the things that’s been hunting you."

Kit’s stomach twisted, nausea rising in his throat. "But… what? Why? Why me?" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding into his words.

Ambrose didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the room, pacing near the window, his movements tense and agitated. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, as though the words pained him. "Because you’re not just some random guy, Kit. You’re connected to this, to them."

Kit shook his head, everything surging to the surface at once. "Connected? What the fuck are you talking about, Ambrose? I’m just—"

"No," Ambrose cut him off, his voice sharp. "You’re not just anything. You’ve never been ‘just’ anything." His eyes locked onto Kit’s, and the corners of Ambrose’s mouth twitched. "You’ve got something they want."

Kit’s skin crawled. "I’ve—?" He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "What do you mean, ‘something they want’?"

Ambrose’s eyes darkened. "Power." The word hung in the air like a curse. "Your alter ego, Kit.” He exhaled. “Frankly, it’s been suppressed for far too long. You need to give it another break"

Kit’s breath hitched, the weight of Ambrose’s words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His voice was small when he finally spoke.

"…What? No.” He took a breath. “Absolutely not. I can’t do this, Ambrose. I don’t know what’s going on. I—" Kit’s eyes pricked without warning.

Ambrose’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but it was enough for Kit to see something lurking behind the man’s cold exterior. "You need to let it go." Voice low, resigned. "We’ll prepare."

Kit swallowed hard, the shadows still flickering in the corners of his vision, the memory of that thing at the bottom of the stairs seared into his mind. "No. What do you mean? Prepare? Prepare for what? What’s happening, Ambrose? Why do I even have to—"

Ambrose’s eyes darkened, his voice heavy. "No time, Kit. We’ll have to run soon."

“Wha—”