Raven didn't know how long he sat there.
Five minutes. Ten. Maybe more. Time felt thick, like it was moving in syrup. The sounds of the morning city slowly returned—cars passing by, horns honking, the distant hum of traffic. A normal world that had no idea what had just happened.
His hand was still clutching his left shoulder. Blood oozed through his fingers, cold and sticky. Five claw wounds, deep, the edges of the flesh frozen in a pattern of thin ice crystals. His breath was still visible, even though the sun had already risen.
Gotta go home.
The thought emerged with strange clarity amid the fog. Routine. Apartment. First aid kit. Sleep. Reset. Tomorrow it would all make sense.
Raven forced himself to his feet. His right leg was trembling, threatening to collapse. he leaned against the wall, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
Then she took a step.
One foot in front of the other. Out of the dead-end alley, back onto the residential street. A few residents were starting to emerge from their homes—women carrying shopping bags, men getting ready for work. They glanced at Raven—a bloodied young man with a pale face—but no one approached. This was a big city. People learn to stay out of it.
Bus stop. Three more blocks.
Raven walked mechanically, each step feeling like a ton of weight. The cold in his chest hadn't gone away—it was like a small black hole was constantly drawing warmth from his body.
he reached a highway intersection. The light was red. Cars were passing by. The world was moving normally.
But something was wrong.
Raven felt it again—the cold on the back of her neck. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end.
he turned slowly.
Across the street, behind the crowd of people waiting for the green light, the figure stood.
Still. Head tilted. White eyes staring directly at Raven.
No one saw her.
A woman with a stroller walked past the figure—straight through her body like mist. There was no reaction. The baby in the stroller laughed, grasping for air.
Only Raven watched.
The figure raised its hand—a slow motion, clawed fingers spread—and pointed.
At Raven.
Its mouth opened. There was no sound. But Raven could read its lips:"You."
The light turned green.
The crowd crossed.
The figure moved with them—gliding, feet off the ground, body sliding through people seamlessly. Closer. Faster.
Raven turned and ran.
No calculation. No strategy. Just a primal instinct: Get away from there.
he sprinted down the sidewalk, bumping into someone's shoulder, ignoring the angry shouts. His heart pounded hard—too hard—as if it would burst from his chest. The wound in his shoulder bled harder, warm against the creeping cold.
A shuffling sound behind him. Closer than before.
Raven turned as he ran—the figure was chasing at terrifying speed, its distorted body gliding across the asphalt, past parked cars like a ghost. No one saw. No one cared.
The bus stop. 50 meters ahead. A crowd of people waited.
Raven pushed his feet faster, his lungs burning. he leaped onto the bus stop, crashing into the crowd. Several people cursed, backing away from this crazy young man.
The bus arrived—an old city bus with faded red paint. The doors opened with a pneumatic thud.
Raven got in, didn't pay, and went straight to the back. The driver shouted something, but he didn't care. he fell into the back seat, breathing heavily, staring out the window.
The figure stood at the bus stop.
Silence. Staring at the bus.
The doors closed. The bus began to move.
Raven felt a thin—very thin—relief creeping in. It was safe. At least for now.
Then he heard a sound on the roof.
Scraping. Scratching. Like claws gripping metal.
The ceiling of the bus creaked.
The other passengers didn't hear—they were busy with their phones, music in their earphones, conversations. But Raven heard it clearly. The sound was moving—from the front of the bus, creeping to the back, right above his head.
Then ~ a knock.
Slow. Regular. On the ceiling directly above Raven.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Raven looked up. The ceiling of the bus shook slightly. The white paint cracked, flakes falling.
Then fingers appeared.
Black claws pierced the metal—not tearing, not piercing—just emerging, as if emerging from water. Five long fingers, sharp nails, moving slowly, groping.
Searching.
Raven got up quickly, retreating to the back door of the bus. The other passengers glanced at him—a mad man in a bloody shirt. But nothing moved.
The fingers pulled—an entire hand emerged from the ceiling, then a long arm, then a head with matted hair.
The figure emerged from the roof of the bus as if it had sunk from above.
Only Raven watched.
Its mouth opened, its cracked jaw hanging, a low, echoing groan. White eyes locked on Raven.
The bus stopped at a red light.
Raven forced open the back door—the alarm sounded—and jumped out. She landed on the asphalt, rolled, got up, and ran again.
A loud crash sounded behind him. The figure jumped from the roof of the bus, landing with a thud that cracked the asphalt. But the bus was already moving again, the passengers oblivious.
Raven ran into the business district—tall buildings, busy streets, people in suits walking fast. he bumped into several people, ignoring the screams. The world began to blur around the edges.
People's faces became out of focus.
I'm losing too much blood.
No. Not just blood.
Something else. Something more important.
he turned—the figure was still chasing, gliding through the crowd like a knife through water. Closer. Faster.
Parking garage. To the left. The door opened.
Raven turned sharply, entering the multi-level parking garage. The basement floor. Dark, smelling of gasoline and rubber. A few cars were parked, but empty. he ran to the emergency stairs, taking them three at a time.
Floor 1. Floor 2. Floor 3.
His legs began to give out. Each step felt like stepping on cotton. His lungs burned. His heart beat erratically—too fast, then too slow, then too fast again.
4th floor. The top floor. Open. A parking garage with no walls, just a short concrete barrier. The morning sun was blinding.
Raven stopped in the middle of the empty parking lot. he turned around.
The emergency stairwell door opened.
The figure emerged. Slowly. Dragging steps. Head bowed.
No more rushing.
Because there was no way out.
Raven stepped back. His back hit the concrete barrier. Behind him—four stories falling to the asphalt. In front—a monster he couldn't fight.
His breath hitched. His vision doubled. The sounds of the world echoed, distorted.
And then he saw them.
Faces.
In the empty air, between the figure and him, faces floated. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Men, women, children—all with blank eyes, mouths open in silent screams.
Her victims.
They stared at Raven. Not with hatred. Not with thirst.
With sorrow.
"Run," they whispered in unison, voices overlapping in one terrible chorus. "Run before you become like us."
Raven blinked—the faces disappeared.
Hallucination. This was a hallucination.
The figure was 5 meters ahead. Then 3 meters. Then 1 meter.
Raven had no strength left. His legs trembled. His arms went numb. The cold in his chest spread throughout his body.
This was the end.
The figure stopped right in front of Raven. Head tilted, white eyes staring directly. Hands raised—claws spread, ready to tear.
"Empty..." it whispered, the sound like shattering glass. "Perfect..."
The claws descended.
Raven closed his eyes.
But the attack didn't come.
Instead, a voice came.
A woman's voice. The same as before. But now clearer and Closer.
"Enough."
One word. Cold and absolute.
Raven opened his eyes.
The world changed.
The colors faded to grayscale. The sounds of the city disappeared—no more traffic, no wind, no birds. Just silence. A suffocating silence.
And the figure froze.
Completely frozen. Mid-strike, the claw stopped centimeters from Raven's face. It was like time had stopped.
But Raven could still move. Could still breathe.
he turned his head—searching for the source of the voice.
And saw it.
Or saw her.
A woman stood 10 meters behind the frozen figure. Tall, slender, dressed as if from another era—a long, intricately detailed black dress, bare shoulders, a skirt flowing like smoke. Long, silver hair moving despite the lack of wind. Skin pale as porcelain. Blood-red eyes, with vertical, reptilian pupils.
But most strikingly—
Horns.
Two horns curved from her temples, jet black with streaks of fiery red like magma.
She walked slowly. Each step made no sound. Those red eyes never left Raven.
Not a hungry stare like a monster. Not a blank stare like a spirit.
An evaluating gaze.
Like a predator sizing up prey. Or like a collector viewing an interesting artifact.
She stopped beside the frozen figure. Raising a finger—a long, black nail—and tapped the monster's forehead.
Once.
The figure shattered.
It shattered completely like glass. The distorted body cracked from within, shattering into thousands of fragments that floated into the air, then evaporated into black smoke. Gone without a trace.
Gone.
The monster that nearly killed Raven—gone with a single touch.
The horned woman turned to face Raven fully.
A faint smile played on her lips. Not a warm smile. A cold, knife-like smile.
"Human," she said, her voice melodious but with an edge that sent a chill down Raven's spine.
"You're quite entertaining. Running like a frightened rabbit."
Raven didn't answer. he couldn't. His voice was gone.
The woman stepped closer. Two meters, one meter.
A smell came with it—not the stench of a monster. A sweet smell. Like a night flower. But beneath it, there was something else. Something dangerous.
Sulfur.
"But you're different from ordinary prey," she continued, her head tilting slightly—a gesture oddly familiar from the monster. "Your soul is empty and hollow. Like a vessel waiting to be filled."
The red eyes shone brighter.
"And I'm so hungry."
Raven felt the same cold—but different. Not pulling. Not draining.
It was pressing. Like gravity increased a hundredfold. Like the whole world was piled on his shoulders.
His legs gave out. he fell to his knees.
The woman smiled wider.
"But..." she crouched down, eye level with Raven. Their faces were only inches apart. "...I have a more enticing offer."
A cold hand—colder than anything Raven had ever felt—touched his chin, lifting his face.
Red eyes met black ones.
"Die as a weak human."
A pause.
"Or live as something more?"
Her voice echoed in Raven's head. In his bones. In his nearly lost soul.
And far away—far away—Raven heard an alarm. Like something inside him was screaming danger.
But he couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
he just stared into those red eyes.
And in the depths of those vertical pupils, she saw something.
Fire.
An eternal fire that burned without end.
"Choose," the woman whispered, her breath cold on Raven's skin.
"Before your choice is gone."