CALAMITY : Legends Of The Chosen

The moon hung low over the flooded city square, casting warped reflections across the stagnant water.

Fallen lamp posts leaned like tired sentries. The corpses of the demon horde—still sizzling in some places—lay scattered across fractured concrete and snapped rebar. Steam drifted in lazy plumes from broken pipes and scorched soil.

The Chosen were alive.

Barely.

But alive.

They had regrouped in a semi-circle near the fractured memorial statue in the plaza center. Everyone nursed some wound or another—burns, bruises, fractured bones—but the atmosphere was quiet. Not somber. Not tense.

Just quiet.

Zans sat beside a wall, his temple wrapped in a thin cloth soaked with crimson. He traced a circle into the dirt with his fingertip, watching as his shadow obeyed — twisting up into a smoky tendril and sharpening into a knife-like edge before collapsing into nothing.

"Nightmare Leech…" he whispered to himself. "I can drain VYTHRA from anything touching my shadow now."

He clenched his fist once. A ripple surged down his palm — cold, alive, dark.

"It's like Kuro left something behind," he muttered.

Not far from him, Shojiro flexed his newly reconfigured muscle. He'd detached and realigned one of the fiber clusters in his shoulder—threading it into a new configuration that pulsed faster, stronger, cleaner.

"Less stress on the ligaments… higher torque output…"

He threw a practice punch. The gust alone stirred ripples across the water.

Morgz, still barefoot, stood in the shallows of a fountain, smiling faintly as tiny aquatic orbs floated around him. Each one shimmered like crystalized rain — slowly orbiting him like protective satellites.

"Piercing Rain," he said, proud. "Auto-firing droplets. Target-lock. Pressurized strike. They track movement without needing input."

He held up a hand. One of the bubbles elongated, twisted — and fired, smashing through a chunk of rubble like a sniper bullet.

Enme applauded softly. "Not bad, tide boy."

She, too, had changed.

A small sigil pulsed just beneath her collarbone — a glowing glyph of green and silver. Her fingers dragged through the air, shaping invisible barrier threads that hardened into glowing weapon silhouettes — bows, swords, even chakrams, hovering near her.

"My barriers are weapons now," she explained. "I call it Refracted Arsenal. I can bend my shields into actual kinetic offense."

Zans whistled. "Damn."

Leone chuckled, lying back with her bow over her stomach.

"I scream now," she said bluntly. "Like... banshee-style. I guess my Ghoul form unlocked Banshee Wail. Short-range auditory pulse that disorients anyone in a cone. Works even on low-tier demons. It's freaky as hell."

She snapped her fingers. A faint hiss reverberated off the ruins as a small area behind her warped in tone.

Max sat apart from them.

Silent.

Watching.

Studying.

Measuring.

He traced his eyes slowly — from Shojiro's shifting muscles, to Zans' glowing shadow tendrils… to Morgz's floating rain drones… to Enme's blade-barriers… to Leone's ethereal wail pulse…

Then he looked down at his hand.

It sparked. Sputtered. Then fizzled.

Just black lightning.

Same as ever.

Nothing new. No special mode. No personal evolution.

His voice cracked before anyone noticed—

"...Why am I the only one stuck?"

Scene: "Spark of Resentment"

Karl heard it.

He turned, visor adjusting, and stepped over.

"Hey, you okay?"

Max forced a grin. "Yeah. Sure. Just tired."

But his voice betrayed it.

The others looked up as Max stood and slowly walked toward the center of the group — his footsteps slow, heavy, uneven. His fingers twitched. The air around him began to buzz faintly — like a rising hum of static through a blown-out speaker.

Then—

"Y'know what? No. I'm not okay."

He turned toward them, his grin twisting into a half-laugh, half-sneer of disbelief.

"I've been electrocuted. I've died once. I've fought off two thousand demons. I've saved half of you multiple times. Hell, I literally rerouted lightning to cancel out a falling debris cluster last week—"

He jabbed a finger toward Shojiro.

"Muscle reconfig. Custom built biceps. Cool."

To Karl.

"Freakin' Chariot Mode. Mech-wheeled speedrun armor."

To Morgz.

"Bubble turret water bullets?! Anime as hell!"

To Enme.

"Forcefield blades! Spinning chakram laser disc shit!"

To Leone.

"SCREAM. You evolved into a musical horror movie."

He whirled to face Zans.

"And you? You knocked yourself unconscious just to awaken a monster that killed a whole squad of demons in like ten seconds AND unlocked a leech ability."

He pointed both thumbs at his own chest, voice cracking.

"Me? Still the same black lightning that shorts out my jacket whenever I sneeze."

Shojiro opened his mouth to reply—

"Don't say it!" Max barked, eyes wide. "Don't do the whole 'you're useful the way you are' speech. Not tonight."

The static around him buzzed louder now. His eyes gleamed.

"I don't need pity. I need progress."

Scene: Max's Breaking Point — "Alone With the Storm"

Later, long after the laughter died and the conversations faded, Max stood alone near the city edge — looking out toward the blackened forest ahead.

The moonlight framed his silhouette like a ghost in a static storm.

His hands sparked again.

Still nothing new.

Still… him.

He exhaled.

Then, in a whisper no one heard—

"Why are you waiting, Voltraeus…? I've given everything. When will you answer?"

He turned to walk — boots kicking up small arcs of lightning with every step.

He didn't say goodbye.