The faint grey light of dawn seeped through the towering stained glass windows of the manor.
A low hum filled the halls—the steady, living breath of a place born half from magic, half from memory.
Daniel stirred awake in his room.
For a moment, he forgot where he was.
The familiar ache in his bones, the emptiness in his gut, the endless low growl of survival—those were constants. But the ceiling above him, carved with strange glyphs that pulsed faintly in the morning light, was foreign.
He sat up on the heavy oak bed, sheets tangled around his waist.
The events of the past days came rushing back:
The creature, Lina, the fight, the dagger, the revelation of Specter Protocol... and the unspoken truth gnawing at the back of his mind.
I would've lost.
Without dumb luck, or that fluke with the dagger, I'd be a footnote. Another dead idiot.
He rubbed his face hard, feeling the stubble rasp against his palms.
Not again.
Next time, I need to be better. Smarter. Stronger.
His jaw tightened.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood. The floor was cold under his feet.
Today wasn't just another day. It was the start of his official job: the Cop Between Worlds.
And if he was going to survive, he had to understand what he could do now.
---
Daniel moved into the Training Area downstairs.
The place smelled like old stone and oiled weapons.
Candles flickered along the walls, their flames blue and green instead of orange.
He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and started small.
First, the Ghost Form.
He focused inward, finding that thread of power—the new gift burned into his soul by the gods he now worked for.
His body shimmered and faded.
For a few moments, he was truly intangible.
The world shifted colors, everything becoming muted, ghost-like.
Sounds became warped, like he was hearing them underwater.
A clock on the wall ticked loudly, unnaturally slow.
He moved across the room and tried to pick up a dagger from a weapon rack.
His hand passed right through it.
Good.
He could phase through solid objects perfectly.
Now, to test duration.
Daniel flicked his wrist to activate a timer he'd set earlier.
He paced the room, phased, trying simple tasks—moving, dodging imaginary attacks, jumping over obstacles.
Five minutes.
A tightening in his chest.
Ten minutes.
A flicker at the edge of his vision.
Fifteen minutes.
A sharp headache bloomed behind his eyes, a clear warning.
He let the form drop, breathing heavily.
Max duration: fifteen minutes.
Risk of collapse if longer.
Good to know.
---
Next, the God Perk.
He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers.
This one was... weirder. Less tangible. It wasn't just a "power"—it was like a connection.
A link between his thought and creation.
He closed his eyes and pictured something simple:
A dagger.
But not just any dagger—a blade meant for fighting supernatural creatures.
Silver edge. Bronze core. Lightweight but indestructible.
He focused.
Sweat beaded his brow.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A spark in the air.
A shimmer like heat waves over asphalt.
Fwump.
A dagger appeared, clattering onto the stone floor at his feet.
He opened his eyes, breathing hard.
There it was.
Exactly as he had pictured: silver, bronze, deadly.
He picked it up. The balance was perfect. The metal was cool, but hummed faintly in his hand like a living thing.
Daniel laughed under his breath.
"Fuck me, I'm an armory now."
---
He didn't stop there.
He tried summoning armor—a lightweight chestplate that didn't restrict movement.
It worked, though the process left him dizzy and aching.
He summoned basic tools: lockpicks, forensic kits, holy symbols from five different faiths.
Anything small and simple enough, he could now make real—provided he had enough stamina.
Limitations became obvious fast:
He needed clear, specific thoughts.
Vague ideas or rushed thoughts caused malformed or useless items.
Bigger or more complex creations drained him hard.
He couldn't make living things—only objects.
Still. It was a game-changer.
---
As he collapsed into one of the battered chairs in the Training Room, wiping sweat from his forehead, he let a tired grin slip through.
He could feel it now, deep down:
He wasn't just playing defense anymore.
He was becoming something new.
Something dangerous.
Not just a pawn between gods and monsters.
A weapon in his own right.
---
Somewhere upstairs, Lina stirred in her new room, nightmares whispering in her sleep.
She felt like she was been watched like eyes that should be there are looking at her waiting to grab her as she woke up in a cold sweat looking around her seeing nothing there then looked at her arms as they glowed faintly before flicking out like an ember.
The city of New York spun on, unaware that a new guardian had awoken—scarred, broken, angry... but not defeated.
Not yet.