The Umbral King

Thump. Thump. Thump.”

The pounding of my heart resonated in my ears as I trudged through the bitter chill of the city night. The chaotic glow of neon lights played across wet pavement, flickering with a strange inconsistency. The wind bit at my face, sharp as glass, as I tightened my scarf and hunched deeper into my jacket. No matter what I do, it’s all the same. I muttered to myself, a dull mantra for a life that refused to change.

The streetlights above flickered ominously, casting long, broken shadows onto the empty sidewalks. I walked aimlessly, guided only by their inconsistent glow, until the pain hit me. It wasn’t new—just the same sharp agony I’d known since I was eighteen. It tore through my chest, clawing its way to my scalp, leaving me breathless.

“Thump. Thump. Thump.”

I stopped, swallowing the tears that threatened to spill. My legs trembled under the weight of my own thoughts as I stood there, isolated, surrounded by nothing but the eerie silence of an empty city. Goddammit, I can’t do anything, I thought, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my palms. Visions of unpaid bills, mounting failures, and endless struggles filled my mind. I could feel my chest tighten further. I can’t afford it. I thought I could, but I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I always fall short.

Frustration took over. I lashed out, kicking a nearby trash can, sending it clattering loudly down the alley. As I looked down, something caught my eye—a burnt, tattered page from a comic book.

“Mr. Sporadic.”

I bent down, hesitating as I picked it up. The page was brittle, its edges scorched, but the title was clear. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I stared at the faded colors, the worn-out image of a hero I once idolized. My mind wandered back to simpler times, when superheroes were more than just stories—they were symbols of hope.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m nothing like him. Life made sure of that.”

The wind picked up suddenly, sharp and angry, tearing the page from my grasp. It slapped against my face before fluttering to the ground again. “Agh, what the—” I reached for it, only to notice something else nearby.

The rest of the comic.

It lay half-buried beneath the trash, its cover charred but intact. My hands trembled as I picked it up, flipping through the scorched pages. The story within was familiar, painfully so. Mr. Sporadic’s civilian life was a mess—late bills, hopelessness, constant struggles. He was angry, confused, and broken. Just like me.

“Maybe he really is like me… minus the super part,” I muttered, rolling the comic up and stuffing it into my pocket. It wasn’t much, but I held onto it, hoping for some inspiration later.

But reality refused to let me dream. I’m going to get evicted. I still need another job. My thoughts raced. There’s no time. No time for anything.

And then I heard it.

“Bang, Bang.”

The sound of gunshots echoed through the still night air, jolting me upright. My pulse quickened as I froze, straining to identify the source. For a moment, there was only silence, but then—

A scream.

Piercing, raw, and full of terror. A woman’s voice, desperate and broken. My chest tightened as the sound reverberated through me, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. She cried out again, begging for help, her words fraying at the edges with panic. I stumbled forward, my legs sluggish but instinctive.

My fingers fumbled with my phone, trying to dial 911. It felt impossibly slow.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello? I— I need help! There’s—”

The scream tore through the night again, louder this time. She was nearby. Too close.

Adrenaline hit me like a tidal wave. My body moved before my mind could catch up, sprinting toward the source. My heart raced, my breaths uneven.

“Hang on!” I yelled into the darkness, clutching my phone. The words felt hollow, swallowed by the immensity of the night. I barked out the name of the nearest gas station to the dispatcher, my voice trembling as I ran.

What could I do? My chest heaved as the question looped in my head, over and over. I had no weapons. No skills. Not a single thing that made me prepared for this. Was I just running to get myself killed? My legs were moving, but my mind screamed at me to stop, to turn around, to save myself.

But her scream—God, that scream—rang in my ears like it was stitched into my soul. I couldn’t forget it. I couldn’t let it go.

Dammit. What was I even doing? Was this bravery or just stupidity? My hands clenched into fists, shaking as frustration and fear battled for control. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t capable. I was just some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But then…

Her location.

The thought cut through the chaos in my mind like a lifeline. At least I’d given 911 her location. That meant something, right? If nothing else, I’d done that. Maybe the professionals could get here. Maybe someone more prepared, someone who knew what to do—

But what if they didn’t come in time?

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, and I nearly stumbled. No. No, that couldn’t happen. I couldn’t just stand here, frozen and useless, while she…

Suddenly, an image burst into my mind, so vivid it startled me.

Mr. Sporadic.

He stood tall, unwavering, just as he always did in the pages of the comic I’d read a thousand times. No matter the odds, no matter how powerless he was, he always faced danger head-on. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate.

My chest tightened, and I felt something unfamiliar bloom inside me—a spark of… courage? No. Not courage. It was raw, desperate determination.

I could almost hear his voice. “You don’t need powers to be a hero. You just need to act.”

The words echoed in my mind, growing louder, stronger, until they drowned out the doubts clawing at me.

“I have to do something,” I muttered, my voice trembling but rising. I swallowed hard, and that trembling turned to resolve.

“I can’t just stand here,” I said, louder now, the words filling the air around me.

The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts, but I forced it down. My legs steadied beneath me. My hands stopped shaking.

Whatever waited for me ahead, I didn’t know. But I couldn’t let her scream be the last thing I heard. Then I saw it—movement. A flicker of something up ahead.

“Ma’am!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Are you okay?”

My lungs heaved, and my legs burned, but I kept moving. I had to. I had to do something.

Then I stopped.

My breath caught in my throat as the scene before me unraveled.

The woman’s body lay crumpled on the ground, her face obscured by the shadows. Her hands were splayed at awkward angles, her chest… Oh God, her chest. Ribs exposed, flesh torn. Blood pooled around her like a grotesque halo.

My gaze darted to her feet. A gun, useless and abandoned, glinted under the moonlight.

And then I saw it.

It.

Its jaw hung loose, swaying grotesquely as if unhinged, dripping with something thick and black. Its arms stretched unnaturally, spanning the alley like grotesque scaffolding. Its eyes—or what should have been eyes—were hollow, cavernous voids that seemed to consume the night itself.

My chest tightened, and I felt my knees weaken. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck, spiraling between disbelief and sheer terror.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The ground trembled as it stepped toward me, its towering shadow swallowing the alley whole.

“Hello? Sir? Are you still at the gas station?”

The voice on my phone snapped me back. My fingers tightened around the device as I spun on my heel, adrenaline surging anew. I ran. I ran harder than I thought possible.

My heart hammered in my chest, each step an echo of the monster’s relentless pursuit. Its heavy, rhythmic stomps grew louder behind me, closing the gap with horrifying speed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t risk seeing how close it was.

But I felt it.

A massive shadow overtook me, swallowing the moonlight.

Then it hit.

“AARRGH!”

Pain like nothing I’d ever known exploded in my chest. My scream was drowned in a wet, gurgling noise that didn’t sound human. My vision blurred, and a blinding heat seared through me.

I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey. I could feel everything—the wet crunch of my ribs breaking, the burn of my skin tearing away like paper. My lungs convulsed, desperate for air that wouldn’t come.

Time slowed.

The monster’s jagged claws tore into me, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. I dangled helplessly, the world spinning around me. Blood spilled from my mouth, hot and thick, choking me. My head lolled forward, and through the haze of pain, I saw it—my own insides, glistening and exposed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound was inside me now, my own heart a violent drumbeat in my ears. Each beat weaker than the last.

I’m going to die.

The thought came unbidden, cold and undeniable. My vision dimmed, the edges going black. My mind raced, clinging to fleeting memories. My family. My friends. The stupid comic that gave me courage when nothing else did.

Mr. Sporadic wouldn’t stand idle.

But he wasn’t here.

I felt the monster’s grip tighten, a final, crushing pressure that squeezed the life out of me. My chest collapsed inward. My heart faltered, the thumping slowing to a whisper.

And then—nothing.

No pain. No sound. Just… silence.

I hovered in that void for what felt like eternity, suspended in blissful nothingness.

Oh. I’m dead.

…

“Thump. Thump. Thump.”

I blinked, disoriented, staring at the familiar ceiling of my room. Was it a dream? My hands trembled as I reached for my phone.

“1:24 PM.”

“Shit,” I muttered, my voice shaking. “I’m going to be late for the interview.”

But as I swung my legs off the bed, I froze. My hand brushed against something in my pocket. Slowly, I pulled it out.

The burnt comic book.

“Mr. Sporadic.”

My breath hitched. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye—and for a split second, my eyes weren’t mine.

They glowed red.