Darkness swallowed the warehouse as if someone had torn a hole in reality. One moment, dim yellow lantern light flickered over the concrete floor; the next, everything vanished into a suffocating black that pressed against the skin.
Claude froze.
He couldn't see his own hands.
He couldn't hear Voclain.
He couldn't even hear the wind outside.
Just silence.
And breathing.
Not human breathing.
The presence inside him trembled violently, whispering in frantic bursts:
"Move. MOVE. Don't let it take shape. Don't let it anchor itself."
Claude's voice cracked into the void. "Voclain!"
No answer.
He swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move. His fingers brushed the cold metal shelf beside him. If he could just find an exit—
A whisper slid across the blackness.
Not from one direction.
From everywhere.
"Claude… Bernard…"
He staggered backward. "Show yourself!"
Another whisper. Low. Amused.
"You were supposed to die in the flames."
Cold sweat trickled down Claude's spine.
The factory explosion.
It hadn't been an accident. It hadn't been sabotage aimed at the company.
It had been aimed at him.
"Why?" Claude demanded. "Why target me?"
"Because you carry something… old."
The air thickened until Claude struggled to breathe.
"It's probing," the presence inside him whispered. "Don't answer its questions. It hunts through voices."
Claude steadied his breathing. "Voclain!" he shouted again. "Where are—"
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Claude spun wildly, swinging his elbow—
"Stop," Voclain hissed.
Claude nearly collapsed in relief.
Voclain was half-bent, breathing heavily, gripping Claude's arm with iron fingers. "Listen to me," he whispered urgently. "We need to get out. Now."
A thunderous crack echoed overhead.
Dust rained from the rafters.
The shadowed figure was above them.
Perched in the beams like a vulture.
Voclain muttered a curse under his breath. "Keep your eyes down. Don't look directly at it. It can't stabilize fully unless—"
A sudden force slammed Voclain off his feet, sending him crashing across the floor.
"Voclain!" Claude lunged forward, but something invisible struck him too—an icy shove that knocked the air from his lungs and scraped his palms against concrete.
The figure's voice vibrated through the dark:
"You were warned."
Claude coughed, forcing himself upright. His vision blurred.
The presence inside him roared—
"Your blood. It wants your blood. Get up. GET UP!"
Claude's hand brushed a broken metal pipe on the floor. Instinct told him to grab it. He did.
The figure shifted, its form rippling like oil in water. Claude still couldn't make out its face, but he felt its attention locked onto him.
And behind that attention…
Hunger.
Claude's heartbeat thrashed against his ribs.
"Why me?" he spat. "What did I do?"
"You were born."
The words hit harder than any physical blow.
Born into what?
What destiny?
What secret?
What bloodline?
Claude's grip tightened on the pipe. "Come closer," he growled. "Say that again."
The echoing voice rippled in amusement.
"Defiant. How predictable."
Claude raised the pipe.
But the figure didn't descend.
It dissolved.
Into tendrils of shadow that snaked across the floor, circling Claude's legs like living smoke.
Claude choked.
He couldn't move.
Cold surged up his body, paralyzing him below the waist. It felt like something was burrowing into him — not physically, but deeper, seeking, testing, searching.
The presence inside Claude screamed—
"It's trying to bind itself to you! Fight it!"
Claude clenched his teeth, veins bulging along his neck as he forced his muscles to respond.
Nothing.
His body wouldn't move.
The shadow climbed higher.
His knees.
His thighs.
His ribs.
His chest began to tighten painfully.
He heard the creature whisper against his ear:
"Let me in…"
Claude's vision darkened.
His lungs spasmed.
And then—
A sound tore through the warehouse.
BANG!
A gunshot.
Not loud — muffled, but sharp enough to break the creature's concentration.
The shadows recoiled from Claude like burned flesh.
A lone flashlight beam shot across the warehouse, blinding Claude momentarily.
"Claude!" someone shouted. "Over here!"
Claude inhaled sharply.
He knew that voice.
Fabio.
The security man who had once been dismissed as a simple family guard — and who Claude had recently realized was far, far more competent than he'd ever shown.
Fabio stood at the warehouse entrance, gun drawn, flashlight pinned under his arm as he fired again.
Not at the figure.
But at the rafters.
Another BANG!
Wood splintered. Metal shrieked.
Claude didn't understand — until the presence inside him whispered:
"He's destabilizing the anchor points. Clever."
The shadowed figure shifted in irritation, its form flickering like a dying flame.
Fabio shouted, "Move! Claude, MOVE NOW!"
Claude's legs tingled as sensation returned in a painful wave. He grabbed Voclain, who was still coughing on the ground.
"Up," Claude ordered. "We're leaving, NOW."
They staggered toward Fabio. Claude didn't look back — but he felt the creature's fury vibrating behind him.
The warehouse lights flickered violently as Fabio fired a third shot.
And for the first time, the figure screamed.
A horrifying, metallic screech that rattled the walls and stabbed through Claude's skull.
The presence inside him hissed:
"Enough. Cover your ears."
Claude clamped his hands over his head just as the lantern exploded overhead, sending sparks raining down.
Fabio grabbed Claude by the collar, dragging both him and Voclain toward the exit. "MOVE, damn it!"
They burst out into the freezing night air, stumbling into the snowy gravel.
Claude spun around.
The warehouse lights went dead.
The shadows inside twisted like a storm contained within steel walls.
The creature didn't follow.
But its voice seeped through the cracks in the door:
"This is not finished, Claude Bernard."
Claude's breath caught.
Fabio shoved him. "Move! Don't stand there inviting death, idiot!"
He didn't sound panicked.
He sounded furious.
Claude staggered forward. Voclain leaned against him, gasping, face pale as paper. "Claude… listen… that thing…"
"I know," Claude snapped.
Fabio holstered his gun and grabbed Claude by the collar again, this time shaking him. "What. Did. You. Do."
Claude jerked out of his grip. "It came after me first! I didn't summon it!"
"Bullshit." Fabio's voice was low and trembling with anger. "Things like that don't hunt random boys in industrial warehouses."
Claude's chest tightened. "You knew something."
Fabio looked away for a moment — a rare sign of hesitation.
"Not enough," he admitted quietly. "Not this."
Voclain coughed violently. Claude steadied him. Fabio retrieved his flashlight and scanned the area.
"More could be coming," Fabio said. "We're moving."
Claude's jaw clenched. "Where?"
"A safer location," Fabio replied sharply. "Somewhere that thing can't cross."
Claude hesitated. "And where exactly is that?"
Fabio turned to him, eyes cold.
"Your grandfather's estate."
Claude froze.
Voclain stiffened beside him.
Fabio continued, "If tonight proved anything, it's that whatever you're caught up in… the Weiss are the only ones with the resources to handle it."
Claude swallowed, his chest tightening painfully.
The last person he wanted involved was Stefan.
But he had no choice.
"What about the shadow?" Claude asked, voice shaking despite himself.
Fabio's answer was grim.
"It won't give up. Not now that it's marked you."
Claude's throat went dry.
The presence inside him whispered in a tone he had never heard before.
Fear.
"Run, Claude. Run while you still can."
Claude exhaled slowly, watching his breath swirl into the cold night.
"No," he said softly. "Not anymore."
He turned toward the path leading back to the train station.
"I'm done running."