He hesitates before stepping forward, his movements slow, almost hesitant. Then, suddenly, his grip tightens, and his well-built frame crashes into me, squeezing me with a force that nearly cracks my ribs.
I cough, peering over his shoulder.
The blue light of the sun glows in the distance.
My eyes sting. Red bleeds into my vision.
Tears slip free, mixing with the blood on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
He doesn't answer. He simply pats my back—gentle, reassuring.
I'm the older one, yet he's always been so much stronger than me.
"Pa and Ma would be proud of you," I whisper. And they truly would.
My eyes remain shut as I savor this rare moment. I feel his oily blond hair—identical to mine—brush against my left cheek. Just one more breath. One more second. Then, I open my eyes.
They widen in an instant.
How many times has my heart stopped today? How many times have my knees buckled under the weight of terror? How many times have my hands frozen in fear?
I stare into the vacant eyes of grotesque zombies. A Faceless One stands before them. They are dozens of meters away.
I want to grab Ren's hand, yank him with me, and run. But I can't.
My body refuses to obey.
I try to open my mouth, but no sound escapes.
"What is it?" Ren asks, puzzled. But I do not answer. I can only stare at the Faceless One's lightning-fast movements.
Twenty meters—crossed in a single breath.
It stands before me. The acrid stench of death fills my nostrils.
It grins, a gaping maw like a black hole, except thick, red blood drips from its lips, as if it had drunk too much grape juice. It smiles at me, playful, almost teasing. Its smooth face tilts slowly to the side, studying me with unnatural curiosity. Then, it shakes its head and makes clicking sounds.
The colorful zombies behind it march forward. But the Faceless One raises a pale hand. Instantly, they halt. The stakes in their bodies loosen, and maggots flood over their blue and orange corpses.
The Faceless One cracks its neck.
Then, with a deliberate motion, it drags its fingernails across its own forearm, splitting the flesh open. The sleeve of its black suit tears apart, revealing the wound beneath. Green blood seeps from the gash, spilling over its pallid skin like an eerie mist.
Ren's voice—I've ignored it three, four, maybe even five times now.
"Ell, what's wrong?!" he shouts, his arms shoving against me, trying to push me away. But I don't let go. I've been clutching him like a fool for the past few seconds.
My vision blurs. My knees buckle. Ren pivots sharply, turning one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. His eyes widen in sheer disbelief.
His lips—rosy, just like mine—tremble.
Unlike me, he takes a step back. Then, he grabs my sleeve. I feel his hands shaking. They are smaller than mine, yet so strong.
I collapse onto my palms.
The Faceless One cracks its vertebrae. And before I can react—its face begins to peel.
Not shift. Not transform. Peel.
First, the paper-white skin sloughs away, revealing nothing but raw green flesh.
I shove myself sideways across the ground, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Teeth form first. Then gums. Then more of that same sickly green flesh shaping the contours of its cheeks. Two eyeballs emerge, their irises a deep, hazelnut brown.
Its grape-colored skin sizzles, and a layer of flesh stitches itself from its throat to its skull. The same grotesque process plays out across its hands—once skeletal, now wrapped in burning, shifting tissue.
I scuttle backward like an insect. Ren, however, stands frozen. His gaze flickers between the Faceless One and me, then to the Colt M1911.
His mouth is open. I know what he's thinking.
Even though I know it's useless, I reach for it anyway.
The Faceless One is no longer faceless.
Now, chestnut-brown hair—like rich soil—spills across its head.
Its grin is smaller than before. But in its own way, it is far more terrifying.
The steam dissipates as its transformation nears completion.
It scoffs, stifling a chuckle.
Its fingers, once gnarled, now look perfectly human. It takes a slow, deliberate step toward me, shoving its hands into the pockets of its suit.
"Go ahead," it taunts.
My hands tremble as I level the gun. My finger tightens on the trigger, sluggish, as if trapped in molasses. Faster. Do it faster.
Ren nods at me. But he doesn't know. He thinks we can kill this thing.
"Oh, come on. Do I really look that human?" Its voice lilts into an irritatingly high pitch. It takes another step forward. "Go on. Right here."
It presses a hand to its stomach.
The shot rings in my ears, a deafening hiss. My grip nearly falters, but I fire again.
Three more rounds. Then, the gun slips from my grasp.
"Sorry," I whisper, my voice fragile.
For a moment, silence.
No. I squeeze my eyes shut. Please.
"Yes!" Ren yells, his gaze snapping to me.
I look at him, confused. Then, dread unfurls in my gut.
The creature clutches its stomach. Green blood dribbles between its fingers. It stares at me, as I once stared at it.
One bullet in its stomach. Another in its shoulder. One missed.
It staggers backward. Then, an eerie, guttural laughter bubbles up from its throat.
It spits green blood, dimples forming in its grotesque cheeks, like a baby's.
I scramble for the Colt. But before I can reach it—
Its foot slams onto my wrist.
Its black leather shoes, slick with red and gore, press down with sickening force.
It smiles. Green blood stains its teeth.
My expression must be like a gambler who has just had his winning lottery ticket snatched from his grasp.
I try to lift my arm, but it presses down harder.
Ren remains still. Too still.
The creature crouches, its brown hair falling over its emerald-green eyes turning. Pupils vanishing..
"Elitranian steel." It sounds amused, playful even. Then, its voice hardens.
It presses its fingers into its wounds, and steam hisses from the gashes.
"Tell me, Red One, where did you humans get such a thing?"
Its dark green eyes bore into mine.
The wounds vanish. Not a trace remains. Only the tattered fabric of its suit.
My lips part. Ren's do the same.
The creature's green gums and tongue flick out the last drops of blood onto my face.
I do not blink. I do not move.
I only stare into the wide, mocking grin.
"I'm full," it sighs, stretching leisurely.
Then, its gaze sharpens.
"How about this?" It tilts its head. "Why don't you become my slaves?"
Its tone flits between amusement and command, as if this is all a game.
And in the next moment—
Only darkness awaits.