Rio de Janeiro slept beneath a clear and serene sky. It was almost 10 p.m., and the night breeze carried a faint scent of wet earth, coming from the brush behind the residential buildings. The streets were wide, silence prevailed, and even the streetlights flickered lazily, as if they didn't want to witness what was about to happen.
Thomas was walking alone.
He had left his motorcycle at the market after it made a dry snapping sound and stalled — maybe a broken belt. He didn't want to take the risk. With a few bags in one hand, he walked down a side street between two abandoned warehouses that formed a kind of concrete corridor: a wide, poorly lit alley, about twenty meters long and four wide.
The place was the kind of setting that inspired caution… but never fear. Thomas lived nearby. He knew that path well. It was quiet, secluded — and for that very reason… safe. For that very reason, trustworthy.
At least, until today.
As he was about to cross the alley, something in him froze.
An instinctive feeling.
Like the hairs on his neck whispering: don't go in.
Without knowing why, he slowed down. The air felt heavier. A strange hum — like the static from an old TV — vibrated in the background, low, continuous, unsettling. He slowly pressed his back against a metal dumpster, still holding the bags, but now alert.
That's when he heard it.
A muffled thud, like a body being slammed against a wall. Right after, the sound of metal scraping on cement, slicing the air like a live blade.
Then he saw it.
In the middle of the alley, a man — or what was left of him — was hurled against the wall with brutal force. His body bounced off the concrete, rolled twice on the ground, and stopped in a fetal position. He was coughing blood. Was he... laughing?
Beside him, another man in a dark hood, brown skin, and a shaved head twirled two short daggers between his fingers. The blades had a strange greenish hue, as if glowing from within, pulsing with a life of their own.
They were both facing… it.
Thomas didn't know what it was.
Maybe a man, maybe an animal. Maybe neither. The creature stood over two meters tall, with a humanoid body, but skin covered in black plates, like an exoskeleton had formed over living muscles. Its face was a mix of feline and insect. There were fangs. And eyes... four eyes, each turning in different directions, with vertical pupils and a faint bluish glow.
The hands? Sharp claws. The legs? Long, arched, ready to pounce. There was something ancient about that creature. Something that didn't belong there.
It was wounded. But not afraid.
— Let's end this, Akharan — said the man with the daggers. His voice was sharp, irritable.
— You talk too much, Calil. — The other spat blood, but stood up, sword in hand — a wide, heavy blade, thicker than his own leg. — Once we kill this thing, I'll cut your throat.
— You can try — Calil replied, twirling the daggers with precision. — But first let's split up this carcass.
Thomas could barely breathe. He felt his heart pounding in his temples. That... that was real? That creature... those men... were about to clash. And he was right there, hidden behind the dumpster, less than fifteen meters away.
The creature moved first.
It was like the world compressed into a single second.
The ground shook slightly as the creature took its first step — and then disappeared. It didn't teleport. Didn't turn to smoke. It simply vanished from normal sight, closing the twenty-meter gap between them in two silent, precise leaps.
What...?
Thomas' eyes widened. He hadn't even seen the muscles move.
Akharan yelled and swung his sword in a wide arc. The heavy blade sliced through the air with a whistling flight, but the creature was already above him before impact. It had used the wall as leverage, jumping four meters up and twisting mid-air with claws extended.
— ABOVE! — Calil shouted, leaping to the side with fluid grace.
Akharan barely had time to react. The claws slashed his left shoulder, opening three deep gashes that gushed blood. His sword fell for a moment. But he didn't scream. He gritted his teeth and kicked himself sideways, dodging a second strike aimed directly at his neck.
In the next moment, Calil already had both daggers spinning rapidly between his fingers. He tossed them into the air with precision, and upon touching them again, the blades began to float in circular patterns, as if dancing around his body.
Thomas watched silently. The glow from the floating daggers lit up the alley in pulses. He didn't understand what he was seeing.
The weapons spun. Calil guided them like a cruel conductor.
The creature dove again, claws spread wide, and Calil jumped back. At the same time, the two daggers launched in opposite directions — one aimed at the creature's left knee, the other at its right shoulder.
The creature tried to dodge, but the blades corrected their course. The one at the knee grazed it. The shoulder blade buried itself deep. The beast snarled, and the vibration of the growl shook the ground. Thomas felt his eardrums ache.
— Don't stop! — shouted Akharan, already back on his feet.
He charged. Even wounded, he gripped his sword with both hands, eyes blazing. With a roar, he delivered a horizontal slash, an arc so fast it split the air.
The creature backed off — but not fast enough. The blade grazed its chest, tearing part of the black exoskeleton. A thick, bluish-purple fluid began to ooze out.
Are they... winning?
Thomas swallowed hard. It all still felt like a movie. It couldn't be real...
But then... the creature smiled.
The alley exploded into motion.
Using its long arms, the creature lunged at Akharan, grabbing his torso and slamming him into a pile of metal drums with enough force to bend the iron. The impact echoed like muffled thunder.
Calil advanced, the daggers floating in attack formation. He ran along the alley's sides — dodging obstacles with superhuman agility, leaping over low walls and using the environment to his advantage.
The creature turned to him — and smiled again.
That was the first time Thomas thought about leaving.
But his legs... wouldn't move.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
Calil paused for a second, and the daggers, now orbiting him like sharp serpents, shot toward the creature from crossing angles — one from above, the other from under its armpit.
The creature didn't dodge.
It simply vanished.
— What the—?! — Calil shouted.
A slicing sound came from behind him.
Thomas saw it. The creature had used the wall again and performed a backward leap over the side of the building, passing above Calil like a living shadow.
The claws scraped his shoulder.
Calil fell, rolling on the ground, blood dripping. The daggers hit the ground and stopped moving, their glow fading.
Akharan reappeared, coughing blood, his sword hanging from one hand.
— Get up, Calil... — he muttered.
But Calil didn't move. The creature now walked slowly, savoring the death of its prey.
Thomas felt his heart in his throat.
I'm going to die here.
The creature lifted its head and sniffed the air, as if tasting the fear. Its eyes — now with vertical, ember-like pupils — scanned from Akharan to Calil. And then... to Thomas.
It saw me.
Thomas' breath caught. His whole body froze, as if some primal part of his brain screamed: don't move, don't breathe, don't blink. But it was too late. The creature's gaze locked on his.
It took a step.
Another.
Thomas couldn't move.
— You... — growled a deep, hoarse voice from the creature.
It spoke.
Thomas' mind reeled.
It spoke. It spoke!
But before it could take a third step, one of Calil's daggers flew like an arrow, piercing through the creature's shoulder. It staggered back with a dry, guttural roar, spinning violently.
Calil was slowly rising, propped on one knee. His face was twisted in pain, but his eyes remained cold, analytical — cruel.
— I'm... not... done yet — he spat, blood splattering with his words.
With a flick of his finger, the second dagger arced and struck the creature's heel.
It roared. But this time, it didn't retreat.
It advanced.
In two jumps, Calil had already rolled aside. Using the blood dripping from his arm as lubricant, he slid to the alley wall where a small fire escape structure stood. He climbed three steps, gaining elevation. The two daggers resumed their orbit around him.
Thomas, behind the dumpster, watched with his heart in his throat. It felt like a movie… only the terror was real, the iron scent of blood was real, the sound of tearing flesh was real.
Then, like a cornered animal, the creature burst forward.
It leapt at Calil with both arms outstretched, claws wide. The daggers spun toward it, but it used the wall again, vaulted sideways, and struck Calil from the flank — the unguarded side.
CRACK.
A horrific impact. Calil was slammed against the wall. The daggers fell. He remained on his knees for a second… then collapsed face-first.
The creature was panting. Its body marked with gashes. Bluish-purple blood ran down its neck and back. One arm seemed broken.
But it was still standing.
Thomas noticed something strange.
It was... eating.
The creature knelt over Calil's body and, like a beast, sank its teeth into his shoulder, tearing off chunks of flesh in dry, almost methodical motions.
Thomas nearly vomited.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The creature stopped.
It raised its head. Pupils dilated, hair standing on end. And then — it backed away.
Thomas didn't understand. The creature took two slow steps backward... and then fell to its knees.
That's when he saw it.
Akharan was behind it.
Bleeding. Trembling. But still standing. The sword pierced through the creature's back and out its chest.
— Son of a bitch — he muttered, spitting blood onto the ground.
The creature thrashed.
Akharan twisted the sword and yanked it free.
The monster's body fell.
Thomas stood frozen. Everything went quiet.
Calil was still alive. He coughed softly, eyes half-shut.
Akharan staggered to him. The two men stared at each other for a moment. A silent look — but not of friendship.
Of hatred.
Akharan raised the sword.
— I've waited for this moment since Icaíra...
And drove the blade into Calil's chest.
Thomas shuddered.
Silence reclaimed the alley.
But it lasted only five seconds.
Because right after, Akharan also dropped to his knees.
The creature, even impaled, had still been breathing. In a final breath of hatred, it had plunged its claws into Akharan's gut, pulling out part of his intestines.
Both died.
There.
Lying like pieces of meat in a damp alley, under the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp.
Thomas wanted to scream. But couldn't.
I need... to leave. Now.
He slowly stood. But the moment he took the first step, one of Calil's daggers flew toward him.
It didn't hit. It stopped midair.
What...?
The air thickened.
The blade trembled.
And then... fell.
Thomas looked ahead. A figure... was crawling. Not the creature.
It was Calil.
He was still alive.
But not for long.
Calil struggled to support himself with his left elbow. His right arm hung uselessly, and blood poured from his mouth and nose. But his eyes — those narrow, cold eyes — still burned like embers of a fire that refuses to go out.
He stared at Thomas. Even wounded, even near death.
— You... — his voice came out like a poisoned growl. — You were there the whole time...
Thomas didn't answer. His chest heaved. His whole body trembled. But now... it was real fear. Mortal fear.
Calil crawled.
The sound of his body dragging on the ground made Thomas want to scream, run, disappear. But he couldn't.
He was paralyzed.
— Coward... — Calil spat blood on the ground. — You're gonna die too.
He reached out.
The daggers on the ground vibrated.
One of them floated slowly, hovering just above the pavement like held by invisible strings. The blade spun slowly, pointing at Thomas. The other, Calil grabbed with effort, stabbing it into the wall to lift himself to his knees.
— Why are you... why are you doing this? — Thomas stammered. — I didn't see anything... I don't even know what happened...
— And that's exactly why you're gonna die — Calil smiled with blood-stained teeth. — You know too much to keep ignoring it.
He advanced.
Even wounded, even staggering, Calil was fast. And worse — he was used to killing.
Thomas tried to run. Managed one step. Maybe two.
Then came the first pain.
The blade sliced into the side of his thigh.
A precise. Cold. Strike.
The muscle split like ripe fruit.
Thomas hit the ground, choking on a muffled scream. He tried to crawl, but the other dagger scraped the ground and sliced into his back, tearing through his shirt and leaving a trail of blood.
— Hurts? — Calil murmured, walking slowly toward him. — This blade... it's made from Yandu bone. The poison'll lock up your body in less than a minute.
Thomas rolled onto his back, trying to crawl away.
Calil crouched over him.
The dagger pressed against his neck.
Thomas felt the cold metal against his skin. Blood dripped down his back and arms.
He couldn't move anymore.
But the worst part... was the fear.
The fear of never seeing Olivia again.
Of never rocking little Gabrielle in his arms.
The fear... of it ending. Like this. Randomly. Unfairly. Without meaning.
Is this how I die?