As Caine left the apartment and wandered through the city streets, once lively with activity but now choked with so many abandoned vehicles that the asphalt was barely visible, a menacing transformation began within the mound of corpses at the apartment complex. Every drop of blood, both within and around the pool, drew together toward the mound, seeping into its center to create a grotesque, oval cocoon. The cocoon throbbed rhythmically, its blood-soaked surface trembling as the entity inside pushed outward, signaling the final stages of its metamorphosis.
CRACK... PTSSSS!
A thin fracture formed on the cocoon, instantly releasing a blast of scalding air capable of searing flesh.
The pressure inside continued to rise, forcing the crack to widen until it was large enough for a delicate, feminine hand to emerge. Long, slender fingers, dripping in deep crimson, gripped the edge of the cocoon, their sharp nails puncturing its surface as if it were soft clay.
RIIPPP!
The blood-soaked cocoon began to split as the figure within pulled herself free from the shell, collapsing to reveal a fair-skinned woman. Her hair, redder than the blood composing the cocoon, flowed as though moved by an unseen wind.
As she emerged fully from the crumbling cocoon, a wave of dizziness overtook the woman, causing her to collapse at the base of a mound of corpses, her legs trembling with an unsettling mix of fragility and allure.
It took several moments for the disorienting sensation to subside, and only then did she take in her surroundings. Her shadowy eyes glimmered with the unmistakable signs of sorrow as she surveyed the horrific scene, but when the tears finally fell, they were not the clear drops she expected. Instead, crimson droplets of blood splattered onto her knees.
Startled, she reached up to her face, horrified to discover that her eyes appeared to be bleeding. Overcome with panic, she released a piercing scream.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Her shriek echoed so powerfully that it startled a nearby zombie lodged halfway through a window. The creature began emitting a guttural howl as its head grotesquely swelled, warping into a misshapen form before—
POW!
Its head erupted in a gruesome explosion of blood and brain matter, leaving a fountain of gore streaming from its neck like an unchecked spigot.
The echo of her scream lingered in the air, a fading resonance that seemed to reverberate through the bones of the city itself. When silence finally descended, it brought no relief, only a suffocating stillness, a weight that pressed heavily against the chest, making each breath a laborious task.
Her trembling hands fell from her face, brushing lightly against her collarbone. It was then that the cold struck her, a sharp, penetrating chill that crept along her exposed skin, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. She lowered her gaze, and understanding washed over her. Her body, flawless and pale like sculpted marble, glimmered faintly in the dim, dying light that seeped through the fractured windows. Every inch of her form was bare, glistening with a thin sheen of blood.
A shudder rippled through her, not from shame, but from something primal. A deep, instinctual call stirred within her.
The torrent of blood pouring from the decapitated zombie's neck answered.
At first, it was imperceptible, a slender thread of crimson weaving through the air like a curious serpent. Then another followed, and another. Dozens of liquid ribbons writhed toward her, defying gravity, as if compelled by some unseen force. The sound they made, a moist, whispering hiss, filled the room as they coiled around her legs, her torso, her arms.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The blood touched her skin and refused to drip away. Instead, it adhered to her, reshaping, solidifying, and flowing upward in seamless layers that rippled like silk. The liquid gleamed, darkening in hue as though infused with her pulse. Threads of the fluid wove themselves together with an unsettling precision, crawling over her frame until they formed a sentient garment that moved with her every breath.
The blood stilled… and then hardened.
What had been chaos moments before transformed into unearthly grace, a gown of living scarlet, endlessly flowing yet never falling away. It shimmered faintly, its surface alive, shifting in languid, mesmerizing patterns like still water disturbed by invisible ripples.
Her long crimson hair framed her pale, haunting face as she stood fully revealed, a woman born of blood and despair.
She stared at her reflection in a fractured window, watching tendrils of crimson mist curl from her skin and fade before reaching the air. Her lips parted slightly, as though attempting to form a word she could no longer recall.
"…Who… am I?"
The question slipped from her lips as her knees wavered once more. A fragile echo of humanity quivered beneath her hollow beauty, a reminder of something caught between life and the abyss.
And somewhere, far beyond the horizon of the desolate city…
Caine felt an icy shiver creep along his spine.
The city lay in silence, a desolate expanse of shattered glass and corroded steel.
She walked barefoot through the ruins, her blood-forged dress trailing softly over the fractured pavement. Though the night air clung heavily to her skin, she felt no chill. Each step was slow, hesitant, yet driven by an inexplicable force, a faint, irresistible pull that guided her forward.
Her eyes drifted from the jagged skyline to the distant apartment towers, their darkened windows glinting faintly like sightless eyes. Without understanding why, she turned toward them.
Every step seemed to stir fragments of memories, faint and elusive.
When she reached the building's entrance, the door responded to her touch, groaning as if in recognition. The stale air inside was thick with the stench of decay, but beneath it lingered something unsettlingly familiar.
She climbed the stairwell, her fingers brushing the railings and leaving faint smears of red in their wake. The lights flickered erratically, once, twice, and for an instant, she thought she saw shifting shapes in the shadows behind her. Turning quickly, she found only the oppressive quiet.
At the end of the third-floor hallway, she stood before a door marked 3B.
Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't recall her name or who she had once been, yet she was certain she knew this door.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the knob.
The door creaked open, revealing a room frozen in time. The faint scent of perfume mingled with dust and the metallic tang of old blood. An overturned couch lay in disarray. Photographs were scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. Somewhere deeper within, a soft dripping sound echoed, steady, persistent, and ominous.
Her gaze landed on a picture frame lying face down near the doorway.
She crouched and gently flipped it over.
The glass was fractured, but the photograph inside remained vivid: a woman with fiery red hair, herself, standing beside a man and a teenage boy. Behind them, the same apartment wall served as a backdrop. Their arms were wrapped around one another, their smiles radiant and genuine.
Her fingers quivered as she traced their familiar features.
Then the world around her began to dissolve.
Fragments of memories, chaotic, violent, erupted in her mind like shards of shattered glass.
Her brother's laughter.
Her father's voice calling her name.
A sudden crash, the door splintering open, a scream.
Blood. An overwhelming amount of blood.
Her father's face contorted in agony as the infected surged in, teeth sinking into his shoulder. He collapsed, writhing, his eyes wide with terror, and then… stillness. For one fleeting, devastating moment, she thought it was over.
Until he rose again.
His eyes were milky white, his jaw slack and motionless. When he looked at her, there was nothing but hunger in his gaze.
She ran. She remembered the frantic flight, the sound of flesh tearing behind her, and her mother's scream cut short.
And then... silence.
She had crawled beneath the bodies, her heart pounding as the stench of death engulfed her. A hand brushed against her ankle, and she stifled a scream. Something bit her shoulder, just once, then abandoned her to die.
She recalled lying there, staring at the cracked ceiling through the mound of corpses above her. The pain was excruciating, the fever consuming her. As her breath slowed, the last thing she saw was her blood, faintly glowing in the moonlight.
When the vision faded, she found herself kneeling on the apartment floor, clutching a picture frame to her chest. Her body shook, her lips parted in a soundless sob.
Tears came again, crimson droplets staining the photo.
"...I... was human..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The apartment seemed to close in around her, suffocating. The shadows held the ghosts of her family, yet she could not recall their names.
Only the lingering warmth of something long-lost love remained to haunt her.
As she rose, the blood forming her gown rippled faintly, responding to her grief. It shimmered and flowed with her heartbeat, as if protecting her.
The Lady in Red turned toward the cracked window. Outside, thunder rumbled over the dead city, a faint echo of a world that once thrived.
The Lady in Red stood motionless by the cracked window, her thoughts adrift in the storm's relentless rhythm, when a sound broke through the night, slow, deliberate, and ominous.
A shuffle.
A dragging step.
A faint, rasping breath that was not her own.
She turned her gaze to the alley below. There, amid the scattered refuse and under the dim silver glow of the storm, a figure emerged, one she almost recognized. The frame, the gait, the distinctive hunch of the shoulders, they struck her with a chilling familiarity.
Her father.
Or the remnants of him.
His skin was ashen and stretched like fragile parchment, his eyes clouded and aimless. Each faltering step forward revealed a gnawing hunger etched into the hollowness of his face. Yet, beneath the grotesque exterior, she could still sense the faint shadow of who he once was.
Her chest constricted. "Father…"
He gave no sign of hearing her. The creature wearing his face let out a low groan, its head tilting as it sniffed the air, searching for the vitality of the living.
Deep within her, something stirred, a pulse awakening in the very blood that wove the fabric of her gown.
She raised a trembling hand, the air rippling faintly around her fingers. The blood on her palm began to stir, fine threads lifting and twisting in the air. Each movement demanded effort, focus, and will; her mind stretched thin, as though the blood itself resisted her until it grasped her intent.
The strands intertwined, shaping into a narrow, gleaming form, a single crimson needle, glinting like molten glass.
Her breath quickened. The weapon hovered before her, waiting for her command.
Below, her father turned at the faint sound she made. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. He was gone, utterly lost, and yet, through the haze, she thought she glimpsed a flicker of recognition.
Tears burned as they filled her eyes.
"I'm sorry…"
She let out a breath, and the needle responded.
It shot through the air, too swift to follow, a whisper of motion and a brief flash of red. The creature froze mid-step, stillness spreading through its form. Gradually, it sank to its knees, then collapsed into silence against the wall.
Before it could strike the stone, the needle dissolved into harmless mist, vanishing into the air.
She sank to the floor, resting her forehead against the cold glass. The blood surrounding her pulsed softly, echoing the ache within her chest.
"Rest now," she murmured, her voice unsteady. "I'll carry the rest of us."
The rain intensified, hissing against the pavement below as she stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the lifeless form at the end of the alley. For what felt like an eternity, she remained still, but when she finally moved, something within her had transformed. Her eyes softened, glowing faintly with red light as she reached out toward her father's fallen body.
The blood pooled on the ground began to stir, uncoiling like smoke and rising through the rain. Each shimmering drop seemed to move with purpose, guided not by hunger, but by her will. Closing her eyes, she summoned the crimson stream, which encircled her, wrapping gently around her waist, her arms, and her heart. The motion was tender and reverent, as though the very essence of her father responded to her call.
"Come back to me," she whispered softly. "Not as you were… but as what remains."
The droplets merged into her gown, darkening its fabric until it gleamed like liquid rubies. Silk and blood intertwined, seamlessly becoming part of the living garment she wore. When she glanced down, she noticed a new pattern along the hem and bodice, subtle, pulsing lines resembling veins or the branching paths of arteries.
Placing a hand over her heart, she murmured, "Now you'll always be with me." A faint warmth pulsed from the fabric in reply, a heartbeat that was not her own.
For a brief moment, she stood in silence, the storm around her softening, as if paying its respects. Then she turned from the alley, her steps deliberate and graceful, the crimson folds of her dress flowing behind her like a river of memory. Deep within her, beneath the weight of grief and loss, a quiet sense of peace emerged, a feeling of something whole, reborn, and forever changed.