Lufli
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- Jan 2, 2026
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Chapter 1: Don't Blink
The kicks that had been raining down on Levin only moments ago began to lose their weight. The men’s screams grew duller, until they faded out completely.
When he opened his eyes, there was only darkness.
His hand twitched as he tried to push himself up—but that was all. The rest of his body was numb now, and even his hand was starting to go.
There was nothing to hear except the rush inside his own head.
With his eyes half open, Levin forced a small smile. There were worse things than death, if this really was how it ended.
(Screw it. Let it end.)
His inner voice wasn’t panicked. It was calm—almost optimistic. He had nothing left to lose but himself, and a filthy life in a filthy city full of filthy people.
When Levin came back to himself, he wrapped his arms around his body. Goosebumps rose instantly as his breath fogged in front of him.
He pushed himself up slowly—first with both arms, then just one. The ground beneath him was rock-hard. He dragged his hand across it.
Stone.
His eyes widened; one eyebrow lifted higher than the other.
(This isn’t Gorra. Not even close.)
In Gorra, the ground was always wet, always muddy—like the whole place sweated shit.
When he looked up, light from the night sky spilled into his eyes.
It was the moon. Not quite the one he knew—the gray, moody shapeshifter among the stars. That moon was here, sure, but it wasn’t alone.
High in the night hung the familiar moon—Levin felt like he could recognize it in any world, after seeing it so many times—but beneath it were two more.
One glowed blue-green. Levin knew that color from the sea. Back home, the ocean had always been a myth, but he’d actually seen it.
It hadn’t been as blue as he’d imagined—partly, yes—but it threw back a spectrum of colors, mostly green, maybe from all the trash rotting in it. A greasy film drifted across the surface, catching the light in sick, rainbow slicks.
It had been ugly.
Still, he’d thanked his gang leader for taking him.
The other moon, though, was pitch-black. A cut in the sky he could only make out because the stars around it were still there.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the sky.
His body went rigid, his face tightening.
(This isn’t Gorra… and it sure as hell isn’t Earth. Is it?)
On Earth there were rumors—people who vanished. In Gorra, those stories were treated like legends, because no one could prove them.
The few who believed them were either the city’s outsiders—and in the shittiest city in the world, that meant something—or high enough up the food chain to afford believing anything at all.
Levin checked himself for injuries or missing limbs—and then, above all, for the Mark. His body shuddered again.
There it was.
Hard to miss. Only now did it start to itch.
Beneath his torn clothes—patched together from scraps—the Mark clung to his skin like a smear of tar.
It painted the ribs under his right chest black, shamelessly. Levin craned his neck back to take in the full spread of it.
His right side was stained from beside his navel to just short of his spine, with a few vine-like tendrils branching at the edges.
(So they were right…)
“The Mark” was the one thing all the vanished shared—at least, that was what people said.
In Gorra, only a handful paid attention to it. And the ones who warned others were the same outsiders everyone avoided. Most people didn’t have the luxury of watching anyone but themselves.
Levin ran his hand over the Mark, eyes wide. It pulsed faintly, echoing through his whole body. His hand twitched, as if it wanted to claw the Mark off—skin and all.
He jerked his hand back. It was like his hand had a mind of its own, trying to purge anything foreign—and the Mark was definitely foreign.
(Careful.)
New ground meant new rules. Mistakes got you killed.
A moment later, the black tendrils on his skin swayed slightly—then snapped back into place.
Somehow, everything looked too sharp. Too clean. Not just his own movements—everything. A twitch of leaf. A shift of shadow. A sound that should’ve been nothing. His head tracked it all without him meaning to.
The moons’ light flickered for an instant, as if something had passed through it. A thin, whistling vibration hung in the air.
Levin pulled his hand away from the Mark. Probably best not to mess with it.
First things first: figure out where he was. Find water and food.
His legs obeyed him—and they weren’t mangled the way he’d first assumed. That had to have been a dream, or some place between worlds. But he was sure those men on Earth had beaten him crippled. Literally.
(But… it’s all still there.)
His eyes almost popped open. His head turned left and right. Ahead, an opening—ringed with stone—looked out into the world. Mostly sky, and distant hills.
(A cave, then.)
Levin moved along the cave wall, one hand stretched out. Even though he could see perfectly, despite the night.
Outside, a small platform jutted out into nothing. A cliff that dropped hundreds of meters into the dark.
Saliva forced its way down his throat at the sight.
His body froze—his blue eyes, too. His face held no expression at all.
He looked back up at the three moons.
He had to shield his eyes with his hand, as if their light were as bright as the sun.
And then he realized—
He’d escaped. That shithole called Gorra was behind him.
An open land, completely unknown, lay ahead.
Levin had never felt so free that he flung his arms wide, as if he could fly with the night breeze. But his arms couldn’t rise past their reach, like something heavy had chained them to the air.
Still—his heart sped up. He didn’t notice his own quick breathing. He didn’t notice the small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
(Where the hell did I end up?)
The wind hit his face again, forcing him back a few steps. Below him, the leaves of countless trees rustled. When he looked down carefully, he couldn’t even make out what kind of trees they were.
Far beneath the cliff, the forest glowed red—shifting into violet, then magenta, under the different moons.
The canopy stretched to the edge of his sight. His jaw slackened as he realized he could see the ground from this height in sharp detail. He could even make out insects burrowing through the damp soil.
Some kind of beetle.
Probably.
(That can’t be a coincidence.)
To test it, Levin lifted his hand in front of his face and stared, squinting.
(That’s not good.)
This was new. Either his vision was better in general, or he had night vision—either way, neither felt like good news.
Some of the rumors about people who returned to Earth mentioned “supernatural powers.” Of course Levin didn’t believe them. People believed what they saw—and what was on the table to fill their stomach.
He didn’t believe the stories about monsters showing up on Earth, either.
(So my “ability” is better eyesight? Can I get a refund?)
His eyes widened for a moment.
Then he exhaled. He learned fast how to accept things.
He looked around again, just to be sure this wasn’t a dream.
Then he heard something. His ears twitched.
The sound seemed to come from everywhere. The same sound from earlier in the cave.
If this world existed and people got abilities… why wouldn’t there be monsters? The thought shot through him in a split second. His brows jumped as it hit him.
(Do I go back into the cave?)
The sound grew louder, like something was closing in. Now he could feel the vibrations in the air against his skin.
(No. I’d be trapping myself.)
Instead, Levin stared to the right. A narrow path dropped steeply down, scattered with rocks and smothered in moss so thick you almost forgot what lay beneath.
The hair on the back of his neck rose. His Mark began to throb harder. His pupils narrowed.
Instinctively, Levin ducked.
He saw no danger. No monster. But his body was screaming at him. The only reason Levin had survived so long in Gorra was because he never ignored that feeling—except once.
His long black hair was still hanging in the air when something tore over his head. Right to left.
A few strands drifted down in front of his eyes.
He snapped his head left.
Sparks burst.
A thing—painted in absolute black—skidded over the stone on three claws. It moved like a cat, only huge, with unnaturally high knees and long legs that braked too hard against the rock.
The moment Levin brought it fully into view, it froze. Almost like his stare had nailed it in place.
Every movement died mid-motion. One hind leg stayed lifted, bent at a wrong, impossible angle. He couldn’t afford to wonder why; he took what he was given.
Crouched low, Levin didn’t look away.
(What the hell is that?)
His thoughts raced.
No weapon.
Outmatched.
No time.
(How do I use this “ability”?)
Right now it was a disadvantage: moonlight stabbed into his eyes, and the night wind made everything worse.
The moment he blinked, it would start again. The monster had its back to him, standing close to the cliff edge.
Levin sprinted at it anyway, the wind stinging his burning eyes, and drove in low—shoulder into its side.
He kept his head turned, refusing to lose sight of it for even a second.
He shoved. Clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
But the only thing that moved was his own foot, sliding on the rock.
(It won’t budge. Fuck. I’m done.)
No time to grab a rock—and he couldn’t do it without blinking anyway.
Only one option left.
The cave.
It would limit his movement, sure—but it would limit the monster’s too. If the creature relied on speed, then tight space was the only advantage he had.
Levin backed toward the cave entrance.
As soon as stone began to cut off his view, he finally allowed himself to blink—then jumped three steps back until rock scraped his spine.
At the same moment, he heard that sliding sound again.
Luckily, the cave had one main entrance. The monster couldn’t come in without Levin seeing it.
Sweat ran from his nose to the floor. He licked his lips. Salty. Wet.
He raised his hands.
(I’m not dead yet. Not yet.)
His breathing slowed. His eyes caught every crack on the platform outside.
The cave shuddered.
The monster started moving again.
The kicks that had been raining down on Levin only moments ago began to lose their weight. The men’s screams grew duller, until they faded out completely.
When he opened his eyes, there was only darkness.
His hand twitched as he tried to push himself up—but that was all. The rest of his body was numb now, and even his hand was starting to go.
There was nothing to hear except the rush inside his own head.
With his eyes half open, Levin forced a small smile. There were worse things than death, if this really was how it ended.
(Screw it. Let it end.)
His inner voice wasn’t panicked. It was calm—almost optimistic. He had nothing left to lose but himself, and a filthy life in a filthy city full of filthy people.
When Levin came back to himself, he wrapped his arms around his body. Goosebumps rose instantly as his breath fogged in front of him.
He pushed himself up slowly—first with both arms, then just one. The ground beneath him was rock-hard. He dragged his hand across it.
Stone.
His eyes widened; one eyebrow lifted higher than the other.
(This isn’t Gorra. Not even close.)
In Gorra, the ground was always wet, always muddy—like the whole place sweated shit.
When he looked up, light from the night sky spilled into his eyes.
It was the moon. Not quite the one he knew—the gray, moody shapeshifter among the stars. That moon was here, sure, but it wasn’t alone.
High in the night hung the familiar moon—Levin felt like he could recognize it in any world, after seeing it so many times—but beneath it were two more.
One glowed blue-green. Levin knew that color from the sea. Back home, the ocean had always been a myth, but he’d actually seen it.
It hadn’t been as blue as he’d imagined—partly, yes—but it threw back a spectrum of colors, mostly green, maybe from all the trash rotting in it. A greasy film drifted across the surface, catching the light in sick, rainbow slicks.
It had been ugly.
Still, he’d thanked his gang leader for taking him.
The other moon, though, was pitch-black. A cut in the sky he could only make out because the stars around it were still there.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the sky.
His body went rigid, his face tightening.
(This isn’t Gorra… and it sure as hell isn’t Earth. Is it?)
On Earth there were rumors—people who vanished. In Gorra, those stories were treated like legends, because no one could prove them.
The few who believed them were either the city’s outsiders—and in the shittiest city in the world, that meant something—or high enough up the food chain to afford believing anything at all.
Levin checked himself for injuries or missing limbs—and then, above all, for the Mark. His body shuddered again.
There it was.
Hard to miss. Only now did it start to itch.
Beneath his torn clothes—patched together from scraps—the Mark clung to his skin like a smear of tar.
It painted the ribs under his right chest black, shamelessly. Levin craned his neck back to take in the full spread of it.
His right side was stained from beside his navel to just short of his spine, with a few vine-like tendrils branching at the edges.
(So they were right…)
“The Mark” was the one thing all the vanished shared—at least, that was what people said.
In Gorra, only a handful paid attention to it. And the ones who warned others were the same outsiders everyone avoided. Most people didn’t have the luxury of watching anyone but themselves.
Levin ran his hand over the Mark, eyes wide. It pulsed faintly, echoing through his whole body. His hand twitched, as if it wanted to claw the Mark off—skin and all.
He jerked his hand back. It was like his hand had a mind of its own, trying to purge anything foreign—and the Mark was definitely foreign.
(Careful.)
New ground meant new rules. Mistakes got you killed.
A moment later, the black tendrils on his skin swayed slightly—then snapped back into place.
Somehow, everything looked too sharp. Too clean. Not just his own movements—everything. A twitch of leaf. A shift of shadow. A sound that should’ve been nothing. His head tracked it all without him meaning to.
The moons’ light flickered for an instant, as if something had passed through it. A thin, whistling vibration hung in the air.
Levin pulled his hand away from the Mark. Probably best not to mess with it.
First things first: figure out where he was. Find water and food.
His legs obeyed him—and they weren’t mangled the way he’d first assumed. That had to have been a dream, or some place between worlds. But he was sure those men on Earth had beaten him crippled. Literally.
(But… it’s all still there.)
His eyes almost popped open. His head turned left and right. Ahead, an opening—ringed with stone—looked out into the world. Mostly sky, and distant hills.
(A cave, then.)
Levin moved along the cave wall, one hand stretched out. Even though he could see perfectly, despite the night.
Outside, a small platform jutted out into nothing. A cliff that dropped hundreds of meters into the dark.
Saliva forced its way down his throat at the sight.
His body froze—his blue eyes, too. His face held no expression at all.
He looked back up at the three moons.
He had to shield his eyes with his hand, as if their light were as bright as the sun.
And then he realized—
He’d escaped. That shithole called Gorra was behind him.
An open land, completely unknown, lay ahead.
Levin had never felt so free that he flung his arms wide, as if he could fly with the night breeze. But his arms couldn’t rise past their reach, like something heavy had chained them to the air.
Still—his heart sped up. He didn’t notice his own quick breathing. He didn’t notice the small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
(Where the hell did I end up?)
The wind hit his face again, forcing him back a few steps. Below him, the leaves of countless trees rustled. When he looked down carefully, he couldn’t even make out what kind of trees they were.
Far beneath the cliff, the forest glowed red—shifting into violet, then magenta, under the different moons.
The canopy stretched to the edge of his sight. His jaw slackened as he realized he could see the ground from this height in sharp detail. He could even make out insects burrowing through the damp soil.
Some kind of beetle.
Probably.
(That can’t be a coincidence.)
To test it, Levin lifted his hand in front of his face and stared, squinting.
(That’s not good.)
This was new. Either his vision was better in general, or he had night vision—either way, neither felt like good news.
Some of the rumors about people who returned to Earth mentioned “supernatural powers.” Of course Levin didn’t believe them. People believed what they saw—and what was on the table to fill their stomach.
He didn’t believe the stories about monsters showing up on Earth, either.
(So my “ability” is better eyesight? Can I get a refund?)
His eyes widened for a moment.
Then he exhaled. He learned fast how to accept things.
He looked around again, just to be sure this wasn’t a dream.
Then he heard something. His ears twitched.
The sound seemed to come from everywhere. The same sound from earlier in the cave.
If this world existed and people got abilities… why wouldn’t there be monsters? The thought shot through him in a split second. His brows jumped as it hit him.
(Do I go back into the cave?)
The sound grew louder, like something was closing in. Now he could feel the vibrations in the air against his skin.
(No. I’d be trapping myself.)
Instead, Levin stared to the right. A narrow path dropped steeply down, scattered with rocks and smothered in moss so thick you almost forgot what lay beneath.
The hair on the back of his neck rose. His Mark began to throb harder. His pupils narrowed.
Instinctively, Levin ducked.
He saw no danger. No monster. But his body was screaming at him. The only reason Levin had survived so long in Gorra was because he never ignored that feeling—except once.
His long black hair was still hanging in the air when something tore over his head. Right to left.
A few strands drifted down in front of his eyes.
He snapped his head left.
Sparks burst.
A thing—painted in absolute black—skidded over the stone on three claws. It moved like a cat, only huge, with unnaturally high knees and long legs that braked too hard against the rock.
The moment Levin brought it fully into view, it froze. Almost like his stare had nailed it in place.
Every movement died mid-motion. One hind leg stayed lifted, bent at a wrong, impossible angle. He couldn’t afford to wonder why; he took what he was given.
Crouched low, Levin didn’t look away.
(What the hell is that?)
His thoughts raced.
No weapon.
Outmatched.
No time.
(How do I use this “ability”?)
Right now it was a disadvantage: moonlight stabbed into his eyes, and the night wind made everything worse.
The moment he blinked, it would start again. The monster had its back to him, standing close to the cliff edge.
Levin sprinted at it anyway, the wind stinging his burning eyes, and drove in low—shoulder into its side.
He kept his head turned, refusing to lose sight of it for even a second.
He shoved. Clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
But the only thing that moved was his own foot, sliding on the rock.
(It won’t budge. Fuck. I’m done.)
No time to grab a rock—and he couldn’t do it without blinking anyway.
Only one option left.
The cave.
It would limit his movement, sure—but it would limit the monster’s too. If the creature relied on speed, then tight space was the only advantage he had.
Levin backed toward the cave entrance.
As soon as stone began to cut off his view, he finally allowed himself to blink—then jumped three steps back until rock scraped his spine.
At the same moment, he heard that sliding sound again.
Luckily, the cave had one main entrance. The monster couldn’t come in without Levin seeing it.
Sweat ran from his nose to the floor. He licked his lips. Salty. Wet.
He raised his hands.
(I’m not dead yet. Not yet.)
His breathing slowed. His eyes caught every crack on the platform outside.
The cave shuddered.
The monster started moving again.
