Marvel : Elian Black

The city's dawn was a pale, uncertain thing, painting the diner windows with a watery gold. Elian sat at the counter, a mug of cooling coffee in his hands, the four fragments arranged before him in a careful line. Mina and Marcus slept in the storeroom, exhaustion finally dragging them under, but Elian's mind was restless. The mark on his spine was silent for the first time in days—no burning, no ache, just a strange emptiness that left him uneasy.

He traced the spirals with his finger, watching how the lines curved and connected, forming a pattern that was almost, but not quite, complete. The fourth fragment was larger, its symbol deeper and more intricate. Elian felt certain now: there was only one more piece.

He thought about the hunger he'd felt in the waterfront chamber—the voice that wasn't a voice, the sense of something old and ravenous. It hadn't faded. If anything, it lingered on the edge of his senses, waiting for him to slip.

Mrs. Rizzo bustled in, setting a plate of toast in front of him. "You look like hell, kid."

Elian managed a tired smile. "I've felt worse."

She poured him more coffee, her eyes lingering on the fragments. "You're close, aren't you?"

He nodded. "One more. I can feel it."

She squeezed his shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful. Sometimes the thing you're chasing is chasing you right back."

He nodded, the truth of her words settling into his bones.

When Mina and Marcus woke, they found Elian at the counter, the fragments spread out like a map. Mina rubbed her eyes, her hair wild. "You figure it out?"

Elian nodded. "Almost. There's a pattern—look." He arranged the fragments so the spirals formed a circle, the lines connecting at a single point.

Marcus leaned in, excitement flickering in his eyes. "That's the old hospital, isn't it? The one they closed after the fire?"

Elian nodded. "It's the only place left. The mark… it's pointing there."

Mina's expression darkened. "That place is cursed. People say it's haunted."

Elian shrugged. "So were the catacombs. And the meatpacking plant. We made it out."

She smiled, but worry lingered in her eyes. "Let's just be careful."

They spent the morning preparing—packing food, water, and first aid supplies. Mrs. Rizzo pressed a roll of bills into Elian's hand. "For emergencies," she said, her voice gruff.

He hugged her, surprising them both. "Thank you."

She ruffled his hair. "Just come back, all of you."

They slipped into the city, keeping to the back streets. The Hand's presence was stronger now—black cars parked at corners, men in dark suits watching from the shadows. Elian felt the mark on his spine begin to stir, a faint warmth growing as they neared the hospital.

The building loomed over the block, its windows boarded, its doors chained. The fire had gutted the upper floors, leaving the shell of the hospital blackened and hollow. Graffiti covered the walls, warnings and curses in a dozen languages.

Mina shivered. "I hate this place."

Elian squeezed her hand. "We'll be quick."

Marcus found a gap in the fence, and they slipped inside. The air was thick with the scent of ash and rot. Elian led them through the ruined halls, the mark on his spine guiding him deeper.

They found the altar in what had once been the operating theater. The spiral symbol was carved into the floor, blackened by fire but still visible.

Elian placed the four fragments in the center. The mark on his spine blazed, and the floor trembled.

A section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down.

The stairs led to a chamber beneath the hospital, its walls lined with bones and old medical instruments. At the center was the final fragment, its spiral glowing with a cold, blue light.

Elian reached for it, the mark on his spine screaming in protest. He hesitated, sweat beading on his brow.

Mina touched his arm. "We're here. Together."

He nodded, steeling himself. He grabbed the fragment, and the chamber shook, dust raining from the ceiling.

A voice echoed through the room—not words, but hunger. Elian staggered, clutching the fragment to his chest.

Marcus pulled him back. "We need to go. Now."

They scrambled up the stairs, the hospital trembling around them. Outside, the city's light seemed brighter, the air cleaner.

Elian collapsed on the pier, the five fragments heavy in his lap.

Mina knelt beside him, worry in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, breathless. "I'm fine. Just… hungry."

Marcus laughed, relief in his voice. "We'll get you a burger."

Elian smiled, but the hunger inside him was different—deeper, older, not just for food but for answers, for meaning.

He looked at the fragments, the spirals now forming a nearly complete pattern.

"We're close," he said softly. "I can feel it."

Mina squeezed his hand. "Then let's finish this."

They returned to the diner, the fragments hidden away. Mrs. Rizzo fed them burgers and fries, her eyes lingering on Elian.

As night fell, Elian sat by the window, watching the city. The mark on his spine was quiet now, but he knew it wouldn't last. The Hand was still out there, and the hunger—whatever it was—was waiting.

But he wasn't alone. Mina and Marcus were with him, and together, they were stronger than the city's shadows.

He closed his eyes, letting hope settle in his chest.

Tomorrow, they would hunt for the final piece.