These days, night seemed to fall too soon—

  as if the sky itself were being dragged down by unseen hands.

  Lead-gray clouds sagged heavy, swollen with storm. A cold wind swept the neighborhood, whipping dead leaves into spirals that scraped across the pavement like whispers of something drawing near.

  Inside the house, Catherine lay coughing in her bed, each fit rattling her chest like broken glass. Mike hovered in the kitchen, breath fogging his glasses as he leaned over a steaming cup of honey-lemon tea. He held it as though warmth alone could keep the sickness from seeping deeper into their mother’s bones.

  It was school holiday. Between bursts of exam revision, Elena had time to help. Apron tied, she ladled beef stew into a thermal container, packed rice and two small side dishes, then wrapped the bundle in a towel, cradling it as though it were something fragile, something sacred.

  “Dad hasn’t had a proper meal in days…” The words slipped out, thin with guilt. His last call had rasped weakly through the line: How is everyone at home? His voice had sounded frailer than she had ever known.

  At the door, Mike pressed the steaming cup between both hands, eyes far too wide for his age.

  “Sis, the wind’s strong. Wear something warm.”

  Elena smiled, ruffling his hair before tugging on her down jacket.

  “Take care of Mom. Lock the door after me. I’ll be back soon.”

  The hospital was only a short walk.

  ?

  The wind slapped her cheeks raw as she crossed the street, clutching the bundle tight. The hospital lot was chaos—ambulance sirens wailed, red lights stuttered over faces knotted with panic. Gurney wheels screeched across concrete, rattling like iron chains. Even outside, the air reeked of disinfectant, sharp enough to sting.

  “What’s happening today…?” Unease coiled tight in her chest. Her steps quickened.

  At the staff entrance, the guard recognized her. His smile was faint, worn by fatigue, but kind. He waved her through.

  Elena murmured a thank you and hurried inside, the lunch box clutched close like an offering.

  The waiting area outside the ER was eerily empty. A few relatives slumped in plastic chairs, heads drooping in uneasy sleep. She sat for a breath, straining for footsteps that never came.

  “Maybe he’s in the middle of a resuscitation…” she whispered, rising again. The bundle pressed warm against her chest as she stepped toward the ER doors.

  Above, the fluorescent lights flickered.

  She froze.

  A faint buzz crawled along the ceiling—harsh, insectile—like teeth chewing through wire.

  Snap!

  Half the corridor drowned in sudden shadow. Darkness surged down the hall like a tide, swallowing corners, suffocating walls.

  Then came the screams.

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  One. Two. Then a dozen.

  Ragged, overlapping, panic tearing through silence like a seam ripped wide.

  Elena’s pulse spiked. Her legs moved before her thoughts. She broke into a run.

  The ER doors yawned wide—

  —and her blood froze.

  Inside, the air writhed with shadows.

  Distorted human shapes drifted between gurneys and operating bays. Their bodies stretched too long, too thin, as though stitched together from rags of night. Faces were scoured smooth where eyes should have been; mouths split ear to ear in gashes raw and twitching.

  They bent low over patients and staff alike. No voices, no words. Only the silent gnashing of lipless jaws.

  And from the living, strand by strand—

  they drew something out.

  Threads of breath.

  Threads of life.

  Threads of soul.

  ——————

  The axe carved down like a silver crescent—

  Shhhk!

  The intestine-tendril split with a wet snap. Black blood sprayed the wall, sizzling as it ate through paint. Elena’s trembling hands tore at the severed strands clutching her father’s leg, dragging him back with everything she had.

  “Go!” YiChen barked, planting his axe before them, gaze locked on the fire door.

  Beyond the frame, shadows writhed.

  —And then it entered.

  ?

  A grotesque patchwork of carrion.

  Its body lurched forward, cobbled from severed limbs: three, four gray-blue legs twisting beneath a torso like a butcher’s heap. No stitches held it together—only raw nerves and veins writhing like worms beneath translucent skin.

  The abdomen gaped wide, a jagged seam spilling coils of intestine. Each gut ended in a human hand—five fingers twitching, clawing at the air.

  Worst of all—

  there was no head.

  Where a neck should have been, a single milky eyeball bulged, rolling madly before locking on YiChen.

  “Ugh—”

  Someone doubled over retching. Even the burly man froze, the red glow on his fist guttering faint.

  “Holy shit…” he rasped. “What the hell is that…?”

  YiChen said nothing. His grip whitened on the axe. The pressure crawling across his skin told him all he needed: this was no mere Fiend.

  It had evolved.

  A second-tier abomination.

  Not spirit alone—

  but a corpse stitched from rage.

  ?

  One hand flexed suddenly. Its palm split open into a lipless mouth—

  “Doc…tor… help… me…”

  The voice was a chorus of screams, shrill and broken, dragged from the pit of the dead.

  YiChen’s eyes hardened. Silver runes blazed across the axe.

  “Back!” His roar cracked the air.

  He lunged.

  The blade tore through darkness, lightning-quick.

  The abomination met him head-on. Three corpse-hands lashed out, claws black as hooked blades. YiChen twisted, the axe severing one wrist clean.

  Thud!

  The hand hit the floor—

  and still writhed, fingers twitching.

  The burly man snapped from his stupor with a curse, charging in. His fist crashed into a coiling gut, red light bursting, scorching rot into cinders. The monster only shuddered. More entrails gushed from its belly, spilling outward like a net to ensnare them both.

  “Toxic!” YiChen roared. “Fall back—I’ll handle it!”

  ?

  Elena clutched her father, tears blurring her vision. Through them she saw YiChen weaving through the storm of entrails, axe flashing arcs of silver—

  each strike clean, merciless.

  But every limb severed crawled back together.

  The monster reknit endlessly.

  Can this thing even die?

  YiChen’s eyes blazed. Spirit surged. The axe flared until silver fire drowned the hall.

  —Now.

  His body shot forward, an arrow loosed. The blade cleaved straight for the roving eye at its neck.

  “Starlight—Cleave!!”

  The axe struck.

  Pop!

  The eye burst. Gore sprayed. Spirit detonated within.

  “AAAHHHHH—!!”

  The abomination shrieked, every corpse-mouth on its entrails screaming together—

  “Save me!!”

  “Doctor—why—”

  “It hurts—!”

  The voices warped into static as flesh collapsed, sagging into a ruptured skin sac. The stench of decay rolled out, searing throats and eyes.

  Then—

  A stream of black energy ripped free from the ruined socket, streaking upward toward the ceiling.

  —The soul core was fleeing.

  YiChen’s gaze flashed cold. His wrist snapped—

  and the axe flew.

  Silver arced—a perfect crescent.

  Crack!

  The blade split the mass dead-center. The core shattered with a brittle snap.

  The shadow gave one last scream—

  then unraveled into smoke and ash.

  ?

  Silence.

  Only the ragged breaths of the living remained.

  YiChen strode forward, ripped the axe from the wall, and flicked black blood free. His chest heaved, but his eyes were steel.

  It was over.