The author narrates.
- Leaving the building -
The door creaked as if it hadn't been opened in years. With every inch it slid, it seemed to resist letting go of Vikram, as if the building itself knew that when he stepped outside, something else would be waiting for him.
He took the first step.
His boot stepped on something wet.
He looked down. It wasn't water.
It was a dark, thick, and hot liquid.
As if the street had open veins.
The sky was no longer white with fog.
It now resembled a charred canvas, pulsing in black waves over buildings that seemed to be slowly melting.
Lights hung on broken poles, some spinning on their own as if following something invisible.
The streets were thirsty for darkness.
Carcasses of electric poles.
Wreckage of cars that seemed to have been devoured by invisible mouths.
And, in the corners, rag dolls hung upside down... with their eyes slitted, as if someone had ritually gouged them out.
The floor bore footprints that weren't human.
Some with claws.
Others... with fingers that were too long.
The air smelled of old blood, burnt metal, and dormant flesh.
Some buildings dripped gray liquid from their windows, as if they had lungs exhaling misery.
Bi wasn't there.
As she'd said, she wouldn't witness the physical fulfillment of her curse.
That was up to him alone. So she wouldn't be there to be by Vikram's side.
Vikram inhaled deeply, running his tongue over his teeth like someone preparing their face for a broadcast.
Vikram: "Let's see..." he muttered disdainfully, tapping the cell phone attached to his helmet.
He swiped the screen.
A new notification appeared, not requiring a connection:
New location: Building 17 - Silent Sector.
He was ten blocks away.
That meant... ten spaces that could observe him.
Ten corners where the world could change without warning.
Vikram: "Let's end this bullshit story..." Vikram growled through gritted teeth, like a caged animal.
His gaze hardened.
The helmet seemed heavier.
The backpack, more useless.
But he moved forward.
The street swallowed the sound of his footsteps.
And from somewhere, far away on the roof of one of the buildings,
...someone was watching him.
The pavement beneath his feet had a slimy texture, as if the darkness had fused with the concrete. To the sides, the alleys slept-absolute blackness, without reflections. A stillness that heralded not peace, but bated breath.
Vikram moved forward with feigned confidence, armed with his skateboard and helmet, as if they were more than simple equipment... talismans against fear.
Phone screen:
Location active. Building 17. Silent Sector.
The map flickered with a pulsing red dot, like a vein under raw skin.
Comments on the live stream:
-"The road is really scary."
-"How did you get there?"
-"Why did you silence us?"
-"We couldn't hear what you said to the witch."
Vikram pressed his lips together, unsure whether to answer or continue. He raised his hand toward the camera-that influencer gesture that no longer served to calm anyone. But just before he spoke...
Sound: A wet smack.
Something like wet flesh sliding across bricks.
It wasn't coming from behind. Or from the sky.
It was coming... from inside a wall.
He turned sharply.
And there it was.
The creature didn't walk-it spilled out.
A body similar to a spider's, but broken.
The legs were long and curled inward, as if embracing themselves.
The head was completely turned, with cracks in the skull that seemed to breathe putrid light.
And most disturbing: several eyes, not on its face, but behind its tail, as if looking where it had already been... or where Vikram shouldn't have looked.
Vikram froze.
Fear didn't shake him, it engulfed him.
His chest tightened.
The camera continued recording, focusing on his hardened face.
Comments on the live stream:
-"What was that?!"
-"Something happened behind you."
-"Man, don't move. There's something there."
The creature didn't make a sound.
It just moved.
As if studying the intruder's presence.
As if it were... the guardian between the world Vikram knew and the one he didn't yet dare to step into.
Vikram reacted like someone waking from a nightmare without having slept. His eyes were still glued to that creature-the deformed spider, with eyes on its tail, a body that seemed to have been designed by hatred itself.
With trembling hands, he placed the skateboard on the ground and spun around, leaving the creature behind. There was no logic, no plan. Only instinct.
The first foot touched the skateboard... but he had no balance.
His legs were wobbly.
His whole body seemed to scream "run!", but he didn't even know where to go.
He barely moved forward... and fell.
The cell phone came loose from the helmet, bounced twice on the wet asphalt, and came to rest a few feet away, as if desperation had exiled him.
Vikram gasped on the ground, scraped, his backpack still hanging awkwardly.
He turned around.
And the creature had come closer.
Now he could see it clearly.
Its legs opened with surgical precision.
Each step seemed to draw out invisible screams.
The head, turned impossibly, revealed what shouldn't be there: cracked skin, tongues of shadow moving beneath the surface, and those rear eyes, unblinking, but feeling.
Vikram didn't scream.
He didn't ask for help.
He didn't try to move.
I was gripped by pure fear, paralyzed by horror that needs no explanation.
The creature tensed.
It was going to leap.
To devour.
To turn judgment into death.
And then... the footsteps came.
Heavy. Rhythmic. Like drums marking the start of an execution.
From the side of the building, a tall figure emerged.
Imposing.
His body wrapped in a metallic garment that seemed to fuse with his skin.
His boots echoed with every step.
His face... covered, but directed.
And without saying anything, he launched himself at the creature.
The Executioner fell upon the spider like a symbol of judgment.
He didn't brandish his weapon: he dropped it, letting it fall heavily to the side, as if the body were enough.
His arms encircled the creature's neck.
The monster's legs pounded the ground violently.
It writhed, thrashed, screamed soundlessly.
The Executioner squeezed.
More.
And more.
Until the back of its eyes began to bleed.
Until the head began to crunch like cracked stone.
Vikram, still down, could only watch as the creature twisted in the struggle, until finally... the skull exploded.
A dry sound.
A jet of dark liquid splashed against the walls.
The Executioner dropped the body, letting it fall like a broken toy.
He said nothing.
He didn't turn around.
He just stood... with his face pointed toward Vikram.
Vikram lay on the ground, his breathing still ragged and the dry dust clinging to his cheek. The creature's shattered skull still smoked nearby, and he didn't know whether to thank or fear the mighty being who had saved him.
The Executioner's footsteps approached with a ceremonial rhythm. They weren't hurried or casual steps... they were declarations of presence. The ground seemed to crack slightly under his weight. And, without a word, he stood before Vikram.
The young man swallowed, his chest still pounding like a war drum.
The Executioner crouched slowly, as if obeying not gravity but his own ritual. His triangular helmet gleamed briefly in the spectral light that filtered between the buildings.
Vikram watched him from below, cowering in fear and discomfort.
"Wow, this fellow is too tall..." he thought, amazed by the shape of the body before him. Even though she was trembling, she couldn't help but notice the Executioner's waist... tight, defined, almost unnecessarily provocative.
And that's when the memory came back to her.
- Memory -
Bi had turned around with a smile, playful but loaded with subtext.
Bi: If you're having trouble figuring out who the Executioners are, just look at their heads... they have a pyramid on top.
Vikram had stuck his tongue out in response, nodding with contempt and disgust, like someone who prefers not to know more but is forced to listen.
That gesture, now, felt distant. Almost childish.
- Present -
The creature's helmet... was a pyramid.
Polished, unadorned, but alive.
And it was before him.
His first Executioner.
Vikram's thoughts: "I didn't think Executioners could be too tall... they have very fit bodies. This one apparently has a waist... quite nice, at least."
He hated himself for thinking it.
But he couldn't help it anymore.
The witch had been clear.
The pact was already sealed.
And this body was the first in the reckoning.
Vikram closed his eyes for a moment, in rage, in despair, in resignation.
"Damn... I'll have to close my eyes to do such an act."
The trial was about to begin.
And the wish was no longer private.
___________________________________
God bless you, Vikram :)
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Chao! Chao! See you later! Bye!