...10/09/2009 Thursday; Dark Hour...
The past...
It never sleeps.
Never disappears.
It just waits.
Hidden beneath layers of concrete, pain, and silence.
But that day... it awakened.
The laboratory's underground shook amidst chaos. Red lights blinked at an almost suffocating rhythm, like a heart beating at the brink of despair.
The shrill sound of the alarm echoed through the metallic corridors, vibrating against the walls with a sharp urgency.
[ALERT: SUBJECT 8 OUT OF CONTROL DETECTED!]
[REPEAT: SUBJECT 8 OUT OF CONTROL DETECTED!]
[ALL PERSONNEL SEEK SHELTER IN THE SAFE ROOM!]
Sweat-stained lab-coated scientists ran in panic, many dropping clipboards and tablets that shattered on the floor.
They ran like rats, eyes wide, papers flying from their hands.
They knew what was happening. And they knew they couldn't stop it.
In one of the test rooms, hell had been unleashed.
Behind an overturned control table, one of the containment guards tried to stifle his own sobs, hand over mouth to avoid being heard.
His body trembled so much he could barely keep his eyes open.
On the other side of the room, a colleague's screams sliced through the air like knives.
"HELP! SOMEONE STOP THIS THING!"
The sound was abruptly cut off.
A horrendous crack, like dry branches snapping, filled the room. Bones breaking, flesh being torn.
The hidden guard pressed his hand harder against his mouth, tears in his eyes, trying to suppress the sound of his breathing.
But it was no use.
Nothing would help.
The creature's roar filled the environment. It wasn't a human sound. It wasn't something that could be understood.
It was pure hatred, anguish, agony condensed into a single brutal note.
Then, one last sound.
A wet, grotesque "pop," like a cork being forcibly pulled from a bottle.
The creature roared in anger, and whatever it held in its hands was thrown.
Then, a thud. Something heavy, wet, hit the wall with a hollow thump, ricocheting before falling somewhere.
The guard hid his face, curled up, until he felt the weight on his legs.
The warm, sticky touch spread across his pants.
His breath faltered.
Slowly, as if his body refused to obey, he lowered his eyes.
There, on his legs, rested his colleague's head.
The eyes still open, frozen in the last moment of absolute terror.
The jaw broken. The skin flayed. Blood trickling in dense streams.
The guard backed away until he hit the table, gasping, unable to scream.
He bit his lips to avoid screaming. But it was no use.
He breathed with difficulty. Sweat ran down his temples, his stomach churned with the penetrating smell of blood.
He stood up and began to walk toward the exit.
Each step toward the door was like crossing an invisible line in a minefield.
Around him, the bodies of colleagues lay in grotesque poses.
One of the guards had been torn in half. Another, trapped between the metal bars of the ceiling, hung like a broken doll.
The viscera painted the environment like a profane artwork, splattered on the walls as if thrown in pure fury.
The red emergency light blinked, muffling the brutality of the scene with hypnotic flashes.
But the stench... it didn't lie. There was no denial, no deception.
The massacre was real.
The guard was just steps from the door when he felt it.
The temperature dropped.
The air seemed twice as heavy.
And the floor... the floor darkened.
He looked down.
A shadow formed behind him. A shadow that didn't follow him.
It engulfed him.
With his heart racing, he turned.
And saw.
Suspended in the air like a presence from a nightmare, the creature floated with an almost graceful lightness — cruelly contrasting with the savagery of what it had done.
Its white wings, duplicated like an angel's, fluttered slowly in the room's stifling air.
But the blackened tips of the feathers carried a somber, decayed tone, as if dyed by fear itself.
Its body was covered in black feathers, bristling like blades.
But the center of its chest revealed pale, almost translucent skin, pulsing softly as if breathing.
From its face, only the ruby eyes stared at the guard — long, sharp, cold as glass.
And even with its mouth hidden by a natural mask made of rigid, deformed feathers, the smile... was there.
A smile that didn't need lips. A smile felt in the air. A cruel, predatory mockery.
The creature's voice broke the silence like an icy whisper, resonating directly in the bones.
"I always knew you were there, worm."
The guard tried to run, but his feet barely obeyed, stumbling backward as if fear had rooted into his bones.
The creature, enveloped in pulsating shadows, opened its wings with a sharp snap and took flight.
A low, insane laugh escaped its throat.
In a fierce movement, the creature spun in the air and descended with the force of a gale.
The kick came like thunder — straight to the guard's legs.
The impact twisted the legs as if they were paper.
Bones shattered in a grotesque symphony, and flesh tore, gushing blood in hot spasms.
The limbs hit the wall forcefully, hanging unnaturally.
The guard screamed, his voice piercing the room like a nail through glass.
And still, he tried to crawl.
Like a worm on the cold concrete, leaving a red trail behind.
The creature landed softly on the ground. Its smile was a slash. A sick delight.
"Ah... seems you've lost your way to walk." Its voice was deep, mocking.
It advanced.
The hand, with long, black claws, grabbed the guard's head as if it were an apple. And with calculated brutality, forced him to face it.
"Look at me."
The guard's eyes widened, blinded by terror. He struck the creature's chest with his fists, weak, useless.
Like a child trying to knock down a wall.
The creature's smile widened.
Both thumbs — with claws gleaming like blades — were slowly pushed into the man's eyes.
"AAAAARGH!!"
The scream tore from his throat, as if trying to rip out his own soul.
Blood flowed, hot and thick, staining the face, teeth, floor.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!"
The voice cut through the air like lightning.
The creature stopped.
It frowned.
With a silent growl, seething with fury, it turned its neck toward the sound.
But before it could react, it twisted the guard's neck with a dry snap and threw the body aside like a broken toy.
There he was.
A man. White shirt stained with dust and blood, short brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
A pistol steady in one hand, and in the other — the bluish glow of a device reflected in his determined eyes.
The creature narrowed its eyes, and its wings spread in challenge.
"Eiichiro Takeba..."
Its voice dripped with hatred.
The flickering light vanished.
The blood, the bodies, the screams — all were sucked into the void.
As if none of it had ever existed.
Or... perhaps it had.
Perhaps it was a memory.
A memory of something the world had forgotten.
A sealed secret, buried deep, whispered only among those who had faced the truth.
In the midst of that silence, a voice echoed.
Feminine.
Soft.
Loving.
He didn't know who it belonged to. But he felt the familiar warmth in every syllable, as if that voice had been with him forever — watching, waiting.
"Your fight isn't over yet... my dear. Go back to your friends."
There was no face, no clear form. But she gently cradled his head, like a mother tending to her wounded child.
"Arise, Hiro."
His name.
That voice had called him by name.
And in that instant, the void of unconsciousness began to crumble.
The blood flowed again.
The air returned to his lungs.
Hiro's heart started to beat once more.
To be continued...