Marvel : Elian Black

The city's midnight air was thick with tension, as if the streets themselves were waiting for something to break. Elian stood on the diner's rooftop, the five fragments arranged in a perfect circle at his feet. The spirals, now fully aligned, glowed faintly in the darkness, casting eerie patterns across the tarpaper and brick. Below, the city's lights flickered, and the distant wail of sirens drifted on the wind.

Mina and Marcus joined him, their faces drawn and serious. They'd slept little—none of them had, not with the mark on Elian's spine pulsing with a new, urgent energy. It was as if the city itself was breathing through him, the hunger he'd felt now a steady throb in his bones.

Mina broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. "This is it, isn't it?"

Elian nodded, his gaze fixed on the fragments. "The pattern's complete. I can feel it… pulling me somewhere."

Marcus shifted uneasily, glancing at the glowing stones. "So what happens when we put them together?"

Elian shook his head. "I don't know. But it's what the Hand's been chasing. What the mark wants."

He knelt, fitting the fragments together. As the last piece slid into place, the spirals merged, forming a single, unbroken line that spun inward toward a central point. The mark on Elian's spine blazed, sending a jolt of pain and power through his body. He gasped, falling forward, hands pressed to the rooftop.

The city seemed to fall silent. Even the wind stilled.

Elian's vision blurred. He saw flashes—stone corridors, ancient rituals, a door deep beneath the city, sealed with the spiral symbol. Shadows moved behind it, hungry and patient. He saw the Hand, generations of them, searching, failing, dying in the dark. And he saw himself, standing before the door, the mark on his spine glowing, the fragments in his hands.

He blinked, the vision fading. Mina's hands were on his shoulders, her face pale with worry.

"Elian! Are you okay?"

He nodded, breathless. "I saw it. The door. It's real. It's under the city—deeper than the catacombs, deeper than anything we've seen."

Marcus knelt beside him, worry and excitement mingling in his eyes. "Can you find it?"

Elian closed his eyes, focusing on the mark. He felt its pull, a thread winding through the city's veins, leading him downward.

"Yes. I know where to go."

They gathered their supplies—flashlights, rope, food, water—and slipped into the night. The city was quieter than usual, the Hand's men nowhere to be seen. Elian wondered if they were waiting at the door, or if the power of the fragments had drawn them elsewhere.

They moved quickly, following the mark's pull through alleys and abandoned subway stations, past sleeping vagrants and flickering lights. The city's underbelly opened before them, a maze of tunnels and forgotten chambers.

At last, they reached a section of tunnel so old it was barely more than rough-hewn stone. The air was cold and damp, the silence absolute.

Elian led the way, the mark on his spine burning brighter with each step. At the tunnel's end, they found a massive stone door, its surface carved with the spiral symbol.

Mina ran her fingers over the carvings. "This is it."

Elian nodded, fitting the fragments into the grooves at the door's center. The spirals glowed, and the mark on his spine blazed with heat.

The door shuddered, dust falling from the ceiling. A deep, grinding sound echoed through the tunnel as the door slowly slid open.

Beyond was darkness—thick, absolute, alive.

They stepped inside, flashlights barely piercing the gloom. The chamber was vast, its walls lined with bones and ancient symbols. At the far end stood an altar, larger than any they'd seen, its surface covered in carvings that seemed to writhe and shift in the light.

Elian approached, the mark on his spine guiding him. The hunger he'd felt was stronger here, almost overwhelming.

He placed his hand on the altar, the mark blazing. The spirals on the fragments spun faster, the air crackling with energy.

A voice echoed through the chamber—not words, but a feeling: hunger, longing, need.

Mina and Marcus flanked him, their faces pale but resolute.

Elian spoke, his voice steady. "We're here. We brought the pieces. What do you want?"

The chamber trembled. Shadows gathered at the edges of the light, swirling around the altar.

The mark on Elian's spine pulsed, and he felt a surge of understanding. The hunger wasn't just for power—it was for release. For freedom from the prison of stone and bone.

He closed his eyes, reaching inward. He let the mark's energy flow through him, into the altar, into the fragments.

The chamber exploded with light.

When the brilliance faded, Elian was on his knees, breathless and shaking. The altar was gone, the fragments fused into a single, smooth stone. The shadows had retreated, the hunger replaced by a deep, aching emptiness.

Mina knelt beside him, her hands gentle. "Elian?"

He looked up, tears in his eyes. "It's over. The hunger… it's gone."

Marcus sat heavily on the floor, relief and exhaustion in his voice. "Did we do it? Is it really over?"

Elian nodded, feeling the mark on his spine cool, the pain finally fading.

They sat in silence, the city's weight lifted for the first time.

They made their way back to the surface, the dawn just breaking over Hell's Kitchen. The city was quiet, the Hand's men nowhere to be seen.

Elian stood on the street, the fused stone in his hand, the mark on his spine now just a scar.

Mina and Marcus stood beside him, their faces tired but hopeful.

"We did it," Mina said softly.

Elian nodded, a smile breaking through his exhaustion. "We did."

For the first time, he felt free.