THE BLOOD HUNT
The sore sight of the raging storm was provoking, but nothing could compare to the torment in Ify's chest. She stood in front of the clock, arms folded, foot tapping in frustration.
12:47 AM.
Way past his curfew.
She wasn't one to panic easily. Bara was reckless, sure, but he always knew better than to keep her waiting this long. She had called him over and over—nothing. The silence was beginning to feel deafening.
Something was wrong.
Grabbing her coat, she burst out the door into the cold storm. The rain pounded against her skin, but she paid it no mind. The streets were deserted, drowned in shadows. The streetlights flickered, casting eerie silhouettes along the wet pavement.
And then she found him.
Her breath hitched as her eyes landed on the broken body lying in the filth of a dark alley.
Bara.
He was barely recognizable. His face was battered beyond repair, his lip split open, blood pooling from a deep gash on his forehead. His arms were twisted unnaturally, fingers bent at odd angles. His clothes were soaked in blood and rain, sticking to his battered frame.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for him, pressing against his bruised skin. Still warm. But he wasn't moving.
The realization sank in.
And then…
Something inside her snapped.
The air shifted.
The storm grew silent. The rain halted midair, the drops suspended in time. The very shadows around her seemed to pulse, slithering towards her like creatures drawn to their queen.
Her body trembled, but not from fear.
Her eyes darkened, the sclera turning an endless pitch-black, her pupils burning scarlet. Her breathing slowed, her ears picking up every heartbeat in the city. Every breath. Every whisper. The scent of blood filled her nose, leading her straight to them.
The ones who did this.
Their scent was still fresh.
Not far.
She didn't walk. She vanished.
The gang of five took shelter under a nearby bridge, laughing, their voices thick with amusement.
"Damn, I think we went too hard on the kid," one snickered, shaking the rain from his jacket.
"Eh, serves him right. Acting all tough."
Another laughed. "Doubt he'll wake up after that."
They didn't notice when the shadows thickened around them.
They didn't notice when the air turned cold.
But they noticed when the first one died.
It was fast—too fast.
Something blurred past them, followed by the wet, sickening crunch of ribs being caved in. One of them collapsed, gasping, blood gushing from his crushed chest.
The second tried to react, but her hand was already inside him.
Her fingers wrapped around his still-beating heart. He barely had time to scream before she squeezed. His body jerked before falling limp, eyes lifeless.
"What the f—"
Another tried to run.
She appeared in front of him.
His eyes widened in terror as she tilted her head, studying him. Then, without a word, she tore his throat open.
A fourth gang member fell to his knees, shaking his head violently. "No—no, please, I-I didn't—"
She smiled.
A single touch and his skin began to rot. His muscles shriveled, his veins blackened as disease spread instantly through his body. He clawed at his flesh, screaming, but no amount of begging could save him.
The last one was pissing himself.
"P-Please," he stammered, hands raised, his whole body trembling.
She leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper.
"Did he beg?"
She didn't wait for an answer. With a swift motion, she snapped his neck.
Silence.
The shadows slithered back to where they came from, leaving nothing behind but blood and corpses. Each one had died brutally than the last.
Still, she didn't feel satisfied.
Turning away from the massacre, she returned to the alley. The rain resumed, the night as it was before—as if the hunt had never happened.
She knelt beside Bara's broken body once more, her eyes fading back to normal. She gently brushed his blood-matted hair from his face, her fingers trailing over his torn skin.
"You're not leaving me," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I won't let you."
And as the storm raged on, she held him close.
The storm raged on, but Ify didn't care. All that mattered was Bara's shallow breathing against her chest. She held him close, rocking slightly, whispering words only he could hear.
And then—
The air grew wrong.
A pulse, deep and unnatural, rolled through the alley like a silent explosion. The rain twisted, droplets hanging motionless in the air before reversing, falling upward into the sky. A suffocating chill followed, and for the first time that night—Ify felt something close to fear.
Then, the ground trembled.
Not from thunder.
From something beneath.
A sickening crack echoed through the alley as the pavement split open, a jagged, gaping wound in the earth. And from its depths, a figure rose.
Naked. Bruised. Confused.
A boy.
He gasped as he surfaced, his body convulsing violently like a drowning man taking his first breath. His skin was marred with deep, fresh wounds—gashes that should have left him dead. But what stood out more were the runes. Strange, cursed symbols that stretched across his flesh, glowing a menacing blood-red as if pulsing with a heartbeat of their own.
Ify tightened her grip on Bara, instincts screaming at her to run—but her body refused to move.
The boy staggered forward, his muscles twitching as if he were adjusting to existence itself. His breath came in ragged gasps, his glowing red eyes flickering with something between rage and confusion.
And then, he spoke.
"What the fu—"
The world screamed.
A shriek, unnatural and deafening, ripped through the air. The walls around them warped, twisting like melting wax. The alley darkened, shadows stretching unnaturally as something impossible forced its way into reality.
And then—it arrived.
A Hellspawn.
Not just any.
Something ancient. Something grotesque.
It didn't crawl. It didn't walk. It slithered into being, its shifting form a horrifying mass of twisting limbs, jagged mouths, and staring eyes that weren't attached to any face. The stench of rotting flesh filled the air, thick and choking, making Ify's stomach churn. The creature's presence alone felt wrong, as if existence itself was trying to reject it.
And it wasn't alone.
From its body, smaller creatures spilled out, writhing and screeching. Each one was a nightmare given shape—their forms inconsistent, shifting between beast, insect, and something that shouldn't be.
Ify's breathing hitched. She had seen many things. But this—this was something beyond evil.
The boy, however, didn't flinch.
His fingers twitched—and the moment they touched the shattered ground beneath him, something changed.
The concrete shifted, warping unnaturally before solidifying into a massive, jagged blade in his hand. A cursed weapon, pulsing with the same blood-red glow as his runes.
His confusion faded.
And in its place—
Rage.
The Hellspawn screeched and lunged, its shifting mouths snapping hungrily. The smaller ones swarmed toward him, a living tide of claws and shrieking horror.
Malik moved.
Faster than thought, faster than light—he tore into them.
His blade screamed through the air, carving through flesh and bone like they were paper. The first creature barely had time to react before its head exploded, cursed energy detonating inside it.
Another lunged from behind—he twisted, his bare fist crashing into its chest.
The moment his knuckles connected, its entire body mutated. Spikes of cursed metal erupted from its flesh, twisting violently before tearing it apart from the inside out.
Another.
Another.
Every strike—every touch—warped the world itself. Anything he wielded became a cursed weapon. Anything he punched became a cursed death trap.
Blood—black and boiling—splattered against the alley walls. The ground trembled beneath the weight of the battle.
But the Hellspawn wasn't done.
The air itself shuddered as it let out an inhuman wail, its body swelling, twisting, morphing into something even more monstrous. Eyes multiplied across its grotesque form, each one burning with an unnatural hunger. Its mouths gaped wider, filled with teeth that spiraled endlessly into the void of its throat.
It lunged.
Malik met it head-on.
The impact shattered the air itself. A shockwave ripped through the alley, sending debris flying, cracking the very foundations of the buildings around them.
Ify shielded Bara, her arms tightening around his limp body. Her heart hammered against her ribs, eyes wide as she watched the impossible unfold before her.
The battle raged—a brutal clash of cursed power versus eldritch horror. The alley became a warzone, filled with the sounds of flesh tearing, metal shrieking, and monsters dying.
And then—
Silence.
The Hellspawn staggered, its grotesque form convulsing violently, cracks of cursed red light splitting through its flesh.
Malik didn't hesitate.
He threw his blade.
It pierced the creature's core—and the moment it did, the weapon twisted into something worse.
A spiked, writhing mass of death, consuming the Hellspawn from the inside out.
The creature screeched—its cry filled with agony, with rage, with fear—before it collapsed into itself, its body folding into an unnatural void before vanishing completely.
The storm resumed.
The night was quiet.
Malik stood there, drenched in black blood, his runes fading back to dormant embers. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles twitching from exhaustion. He took a single step forward—
And collapsed.
Right at Ify's feet.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The boy—the monster—the savior—lay unconscious before her, his face buried in the bloodied pavement.
Ify swallowed.
Her grip on Bara tightened.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
And despite everything—
She couldn't look away.