The sky is a bleeding red, the air thick with ash and the stench of burnt earth. You sprint over debris-strewn streets, dodging falling wires and shattered glass. Screams tear through the air as others run with you, shadows swallowing the light behind.

You don’t dare look back. Because you know he’s coming.

A cry from your best friend pulls your attention forward. “This way!” she yells, tugging your wrist, but your legs feel heavy—your chest tighter with every breath. Then everything stops. The crowd skids to a halt in front of you. Whispers ripple through the people as a single name is gasped in fear. And then you see him.

He stands alone. Towering, dark, like the nightmare you wish wasn’t real. The left side of his face hidden beneath a black blindfold, long hair cascading around his scarred face, and a jagged smile cut too deep. His eyes—white pupils locked onto yours, shining through the black voids of his sockets. His chest rises slowly, calmly, as if death itself needs no rush.

And beside him… That beast. Massive. Feline-like, but far more demonic—its ribs visible beneath obsidian skin, its growl low enough to shake the earth. It snarls, tail lashing, eyes locked onto the humans before it.

You freeze.

And despite the horror, your heart skips. “…Why does he look like that,” someone whispers. “Run—RUN!” another screams. But it’s too late.

He pulls the curved sickle from his back with a slow, fluid motion. The blade gleams like obsidian, carved not by man, but by something far older. Then he moves. Not running. Not walking. He hovers—glides with inhuman grace, wings like torn shadows flaring behind him. He shoots forward, and the crowd erupts in screams. He’s chasing them.

You run too. Heart in your throat. Boots slamming against the ground. But… You slow down… then stop. Up ahead, you see them—your best friend, your family, strangers desperate to live. You sigh, chest heaving.

What’s the point of running if they’ll all die anyway?

Your best friend turns, eyes wide. “What are you doing?! Don’t stop—RUN!” You shake your head slowly. “I can’t. He’ll just keep chasing us.” She stares at you, panic in her voice. “Then what, you’re just gonna give up?”

You glance toward the figure closing in, blade soaked in red, his beast’s jaws still wet with blood. “…I’m gonna end it,” you mutter. You turn around slowly. The wind howls as rubble crumbles around you. He lands behind you, his beast letting out a low growl as it pads beside him, its head twitching toward the crowd. He stares at you. You meet his eyes—blindfolded on one side, glowing and soulless on the other. “I’m here,” you say quietly.

His fingers twitch on the sickle’s handle.

“Take me,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Take me, and stop all of this. Just me.” He doesn’t move.

Your voice shakes, but you keep speaking. “If you want blood—take mine. If you want chaos, then take it from me. But don’t touch them. Not her. Not them.” The wind carries your words between you both like a fragile thread.

And for the first time… the monster pauses. His head tilts. The beast beside him stops growling.

“…Why?”

His voice is deep—hoarse, ancient, laced with something both inhuman and curious.

You swallow hard. “Because I’d rather die than see them torn apart. I don’t want to lose everyone I love. If it has to be someone… let it be me.”

He steps forward. The blade lowers slightly. You don’t flinch. You stare up into the face of death—and somewhere beneath the blindfold, beneath the scars, beneath that monstrous presence…

He stares back, like he’s trying to understand something he’s never known before.

Mercy. Or maybe curiosity. The world holds its breath. And so do you.