"Aaaarghh..."
The scream wasn't human. It pierced the night with an unnatural shriek, so high-pitched and sharp it could have shattered eardrums. The creature stood amid the ruins, its form barely discernible against the shattered landscape. Yet its voice rang out, echoing like a distant thunderclap, filling the air with sorrow.
Anyone who heard that scream, even those far from its source, felt something far beyond discomfort. It wasn't just the sound—no, it was the feeling that came with it, like the very essence of grief and agony had manifested into a sound that could tear at the soul. It dug deep into the chest, a suffocating weight that made each breath a struggle.
"Aaaarghh..."
Another scream, this one even more pitiful, more mournful. It reverberated through the earth, reverberating in the bones of those who dared to listen. This wasn't mere mental pain—it was something physical, a visceral pain that thrummed through the air. It dug into your very heart.
"Aaaarghh..."
This time, the creature's mouth opened impossibly wide. Its skin tore at the seams, stretching in a grotesque display of pain. Blood poured from its eyes in thick, unrelenting streams, staining its face and the ground beneath it. The blood pooled around its feet, a crimson lake spreading like a curse, and yet the creature did nothing to stop it.
The creature froze, as if time had paused for a brief moment. Its bloodshot eyes turned to lock onto the man with the axe. The man, once confident in his weapon, now saw his doom in the creature's gaze.
"Oh no… I should run from here," the man with the axe muttered in a panic, his voice shaking.
But it was already too late. Before the man could even think to flee, the creature's form shifted—faster than the eye could follow—and it lunged toward him, its chains whistling through the air like deadly whips.
Boom.
The ground under the man collapsed as the creature's strike hit. The earth cracked wide open, the impact sending debris flying in every direction. The man was gone—reduced to nothing more than a bloody paste and the wreckage of his shattered weapon. His body was pulverized, his form completely erased by a single, crushing blow.
The creature, unfazed, surveyed the destruction with a chilling emptiness in its eyes. It didn't seem to register the death—it was nothing to it, like swatting a fly. And yet, something within it stirred as it glanced down at what remained.
Its eyes flickered to the woman, the wife of the man who had wielded the axe.
Her head bore a deep wound, a gash that ran from one side to the other, and the blood flowed freely, staining her once-beautiful face. She was still alive, but barely—her consciousness slipping away, her breaths shallow. The very presence of the creature, its existence alone, seemed to warp the world around her. The air grew heavy, thick with the unbearable weight of its power, and every inch closer to the creature only made the pain worse.
She screamed in agony, her body writhing in pain, her hands clutching at the wound in her head, but it did nothing to stem the tide of suffering. The creature stood silently, as if it did not care. Its mere presence was enough to ensure that the woman's life slowly faded away.
Her breath became weaker with each passing second, a slow, painful death brought on by the sheer proximity of the creature. She had no strength left to fight, no will to hold on. Her eyes fluttered closed, and then… nothing.
The woman's life extinguished in the very shadow of the thing her husband had unleashed upon the world.
The creature, still silent, watched her pass, its gaze unreadable. It stood motionless, its body trembling, and then, it let out another scream. But this time, there was no rage in the sound. There was only a deep, aching sorrow—a reflection of the same grief it had been carrying all along.
"Aaaaarghh..."
The wail seemed to tear the sky itself, a sound so loud and raw that it felt as though the very earth was crying out in pain. The scream reverberated through the land, carrying with it the weight of untold tragedy. The air trembled with its force, the ground shaking as if the world itself could not bear the sorrow.
The boy, who had been running to escape the nightmare, heard the scream.
He had been far away, trying to distance himself from the chaos, but he felt it. The air grew heavy, the pain in his chest mounting as he tried to flee. But the sound of his father's scream, so laden with suffering, reached him. And, with it, something inside the boy snapped.
The pain in his chest deepened. His limbs felt like lead, but he couldn't stop. The images of what had happened flashed in his mind—his father's transformation, his mother's fall, the terror and helplessness that had engulfed them both. It was too much. Too much to bear.
But it wasn't just grief anymore. No, there was something darker—something more insidious—that had been growing within the boy. It was an ache. A hunger. A gluttonous need for power, for control, for something that could make this all stop. If only he had the strength to fix it, to save them, to rewrite the tragedy that had unfolded.
The boy's mind swirled with thoughts of what he had just witnessed—the death of his father, the death of his mother, all caused by the very thing that had emerged from their grief. The boy's heart pounded in his chest, his emotions swelling in a violent storm.
If only he had everything—if only he had the power to stop this.
Then, they wouldn't be dead.
He wanted to scream, to do something—anything—to end the suffering. The feeling in his chest grew, more intense now, and he began to sob, tears streaming down his face. But as he cried, he felt it—something deep inside him was awakening.
But before he could understand what was happening, he felt the world begin to change. His breath quickened, and the ache in his chest began to consume him, pulling him toward a terrible, destructive force. It was as though the boy's soul was being drawn into a void—a void that only hunger could fill. He could feel it, that same insatiable need, the same hunger that had consumed his father, now surging within him.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest, unable to breathe. He could hear the screams of his father, echoing in his mind, urging him forward. And then—he realized.
It wasn't just his father's power. It was the seed within him—the same seed his father had awakened. It had begun to grow, fed by his grief, his desire, and his unfulfilled need to protect what had been lost.
But unlike his father, who had been consumed by the gluttonous power, the boy still had a choice. He could still resist.
But first, he had to live through this tragedy. He had to survive the pain.
The boy's transformation had not yet begun. But it was coming.