The creature that just devoured the upper half of the teenage boy groaned slightly, shifting and contorting. It opened its mouth, and its teeth began to grow, to protrude more than before.
The rings of jagged enamel twisted outward, spiraling like drills, grinding against one another with a sickening crackle. It sniffed the air.
Arata froze, watching from behind the counter, his breath caught halfway between inhale and scream.
The thing hunched lower, its blistered joints cracking as it pulled one arm through the shattered doorway—then the next. Its fingers scraped the tile, leaving behind trails of thick, coagulated blood.
Then it looked up.
Its face—or what remained of one—twitched toward the counter. The sockets were too shallow to house eyes, but Arata could feel its focus on him.
It knows I'm here.
His back pressed hard against the base of the counter. He held his breath. His fingers trembled against the cold floor, sweat trailing down his neck like a leak in his skin.
Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't let it hear you.
A low rumble escaped from the creature's throat, the same gurgling growl that had preceded the boy's death. It was softer now. Curious. Like it was searching for something just out of reach.
Then it stepped fully inside.
Glass crunched beneath its limbs. Bits of clothing and torn skin still dangled from its teeth. The boy's blood formed a dark smear across the welcome mat.
It sniffed again.
And then—its body twitched.
The creature's neck twisted at an unnatural angle, and without warning, it sprinted forward, claws tearing through shelves as it ran straight down one of the aisles. It was going room to room, corner to corner, scent-tracking. Arata ducked his head lower, biting down hard on his fist to keep from making a sound.
A shelf toppled. Something glass shattered.
Arata pressed himself tighter behind the counter, heart hammering against the floor. Every breath felt like a betrayal. His fingers itched for something—anything—to use, but there was nothing except dust, loose coins, and that broken pen he'd dropped earlier.
Then…
A shuffle.
A groan.
From the back of the store, near the fridges, came another sound. Familiar.
"…H-Hello?" a weak voice croaked. "I-I'm still in here…"
Arata's eyes widened.
The old man.
He never left.
Somehow, he'd stayed behind, collapsed maybe, or hidden when the panic broke out. And now, like Arata, he had made the worst possible choice—to stay quiet instead of run.
The creature froze.
Its head cocked toward the voice. Its tongue—a long, flattened, slug-like thing—slithered out from between its rings of teeth, dragging across the bloodied floor.
The old man staggered into view between two knocked-over shelves, holding his side, his blue shirt torn and stained with a dark smear.
"Help… I think I—"
He didn't finish.
The creature lunged without sound, a blur of limbs and hunger. It crashed into him with such force that Arata heard the man's spine snap like dry twigs. A garbled scream died in the air as the beast pinned him down, its claws puncturing the tiles beneath.
Blood sprayed. The old man's body thrashed once, twice… and then nothing.
Arata couldn't hold it in—he gagged, muffling the sound behind his arm.
Too loud.
The creature's body turned slightly.
Shit.
Now was the only chance. While it fed. While it was distracted.
Arata bolted.
He launched himself from behind the counter, sprinting past the wreckage of the aisles, dodging toppled shelves and shattered bottles. His shoes slipped in blood but he didn't stop. The back exit—if he could just make it…
A shriek.
That same guttural sound ripped through the air as the creature realized its prey was escaping. He didn't look back. He could feel the vibrations of its steps as it bounded after him, hear the claws scraping through the mess like nails through meat.
The back door was five feet away. Four.
Please, please, please!
He reached for the handle…
But the door didn't move.
Locked.
"No no no—!"
He yanked it again, rattled it hard—but it was rusted shut, the emergency latch jammed from years of never being used.
Behind him—closer now.
Arata turned just in time to see the creature leap forward, its massive form blotting out the flickering light above the storage room.
He stared down its throat, but just as his head was about to be detached from his body, everything seemed to slow. The creature stopped moving, and he couldn't hear the chaos outside.
Ding!
A crimson screen materialized itself in front of Arata… at first its letters were a cryptic mess of symbols, but after a moment he could understand.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
— CONNECTION ESTABLISHED —
Subject Identified: ARATA KUROSAWA
Status: Living | Terrified | Unclaimed
[ERROR] No divine registry found.
Would you like to survive, Arata Kurosawa?
Say yes.
Say it now.
The others didn't say it fast enough.
[Y/N]
"W-What? Yes! Yes I want to live! Please!"
[Understood… Writing the terms of the contract…]
[Completed]
[Welcome to Hell… Arata Kurosawa]
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[Skill Unlocked]
[Devils Contract - ★☆☆☆☆]
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