Suddenly, my phone started vibrating, ripping through the atmosphere and completely shattering the moment we had. The haunting calm broke in an instant.
I reached into my pocket.
But suddenly, I caught something.
A scent. Faint... but unmistakable.
It forced itself into my senses, bringing goosebumps to my skin. Its smell could only be described as Death itself. But this wasn't faded or decayed like the necklace Lyra wore. No, this was raw, alive, and fresher.
Silently, I lifted one finger to my lips, then stretched out my arm, palm open toward Annabel—a silent command: Don't move. Don't speak.
The goddamned phone kept breaking the silence, slicing through the danger that lurked in these woods. I squeezed the phone like a throat under my hand—firm, unforgiving, and hungry for silence. The phone was already half-dead after Vic turned me into roadkill.
Bringing us back into the silence.
I prayed that smell would fade away, but instead, it lunged at Annabel like a heavy scream from Oli Skye's.
I gave in to my instincts. I moved faster—faster than my thoughts. I slammed into the thing before it could reach her, all my weight behind the hit. The impact sent it flying, crashing through a tree that shattered like glass from a punched-out mirror. The sound—bones snapping, wood screaming—rattled through me.
But deep down, I knew:
That sound wasn't from the creature. It was the tree. The thing didn't break. The tree did.
The top half of the tree groaned and fell with a thunderous crack, echoing through the woods as birds scattered in a panic, their wings flapping like a heartbeat gone haywire.
But as time snapped back into place and the rush of instinct faded, I realized something that made my skin crawl—
Whatever I'd hit...
It felt human.
But the skin was wrong. It was cold. Flawless. Too smooth, like polished marble.
And beneath it, nothing. Just hollowness, like the way I feel when the hunger drains me dry and leaves nothing but emptiness inside.
I hoped it would end like a Linkin Park track—you know, "In the End."
But as the dust from the fallen tree began to settle, the thing started to move.
Not like a person would. Or should.
Its body was broken—maybe even shattered—but the pieces began pulling themselves back together. Limbs twitched. Ribs realigned with sickening cracks. Bones snapped into place like a cassette tape rewinding itself.
I placed myself in front of Annabel, shielding her as the thing slowly stood, tall and perfect again, like it hadn't just crashed through a tree.
It looked... too clean, like someone photoshopped a corpse and gave it a new life.
It tilted its head with a sickening crack—like the sound of twigs snapping when stalking prey—then locked its eyes on me.
Eyes that looked too perfect. Too polished.
Beautiful in that wrong, soulless kind of way.
And then it took a step toward me...
Like thunder splitting a tree in half, Vic shot forward—nothing but leather, fury, and pure chaos, just like her.
The force of her strike was so brutal, I heard the crunch before I saw the damage.
Vic's boot didn't just pin the thing down—
Her boot struck with so much force that it tore straight through the creature's torso.
Like she'd stepped through a statue made of marble.
The body punctured through cleanly, unnaturally smooth, pieces falling apart like shattered stone—but it wasn't stone. It was flesh.
Flesh that looked perfect. Flesh that shouldn't have been punctured like that.
As the sun dipped low, the UV rays caught the thing's skin—and suddenly, it wasn't just a monster.
It sparkled.
Not softly. Not beautifully.
Like a diamond forced into the shape of a corpse—too radiant to be human, too wrong to be ignored.
The creature screamed like a human.
The light flared—brilliant and brutal. It caught Vic straight in the eyes, blinding her for just a second.
That's all it needed.
With a single, lazy motion of its hand, the creature flung Vic into the air like she weighed nothing.
She flew like a rag doll in a hurricane, crashing through branches before slamming into a tree with a sickening crack.
She stuck there—impaled halfway through, hanging like a broken ornament.
My heart stopped.
But she groaned. She was alive.
No vital organs hit. Lucky... for now.
It rose slowly, almost gracefully, but the gaping foot-shaped hole in its chest remained wide open. It looked up at Vic with an expression that nearly resembled cruel, sarcastic pity.
"Do stay there. I'd hate to ruin that lovely positioning."
Fear grasped my soul, dragging me to the edge of consciousness.
The world blurred. My limbs felt distant.
But then—
Annabel's breath. Shaky. Rapid.
Her heartbeat was pounding like a drumline in my ears.
Her hand clenched the fabric of my shirt, desperate and grounding. And just like that... I snapped back.
That's when it hit me.
When I hurled that thing into the tree, it didn't just crack bones and splinter bark.
It bled.
That sharp, chemical stink that had clung to my mother's necklace—
The same stench I'd caught in the air before the attack—
It was smeared across the tree.
That smell... came from its blood.
Not coppery like a human's. Not deep and rich like a vampire's.
No.
It was colder. Sharper. Like rusted metal drowned in rotting flowers and perfume long gone sour.
That's how I knew.
It could bleed.
And if it could bleed...
It could die.
It turned its gaze back to Annabel. Eyes not wild or hungry, but focused.
Then it lunged.
But I didn't hesitate.
I stepped into its charge, letting its momentum become my weapon.
And with every ounce of rage, fear, and bloodlust burning inside me—
I drove my fist forward.
Knuckles first.
It felt like my knuckles met a tombstone as it struck.
Its head snapped clean from its shoulders. The body collapsed mid-motion, and its perfect, polished face hit the dirt.
No more beauty. No more threat.
Just silence...
"Oi, Vinni!" she called from up in the tree, one arm hanging awkwardly, blood dripping onto the leaves below.
"Get me down, unless you want me decorating this damn tree like a corpse-themed Christmas angel."
I ignored Vic's dramatic shouting from the tree—she'd live.
My focus was on Annabel.
She was already crouched beside the corpse, not afraid but curious.
Her fingers hovered over its pale skin, tracing the edges of something carved deep into the flesh.
Not tattoos.
Scars.
Thick, jagged runes cut into the body like inscriptions on a tombstone—meant to last.
She let out a quiet sigh.
Not surprised.