After a long time staring at the ceiling. I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the floor as my stomach burned with hollow heat.
Hunger twisted inside me—not the gentle kind that fades after a meal, but a deep, feral ache that clawed at my ribs and whispered things I did not want to hear.
I need to eat.
The thought disgusted me even as it tightened its grip around my throat.
Killing innocents is out of the question, I told myself. The words felt like a fragile shield. If I have to hunt… then it will be criminals.
My hands trembled as I stood. I turned on the light and opened my closet. I grabbed the black hood and mask.
The mask was shaped like a mechanical hound's face, black and blue metal forming sharp edges and cold, hollow eyes. It covered my face completely, except for the lower half beneath the nose, which could be detached if needed. I hesitated before putting it on, the reflection in the mirror already unfamiliar even without it.
"Just for tonight," I whispered.
The hood followed. Darkness swallowed my reflection.
I turned off the light and opened my window. I leaned out and looked down. Remembering I was on the second floor and jumping from this height, not only would hurt, but enough to break something if I landed wrong.
Fear tightened my lungs.
But another feeling pressed against it—confidence that wasn't entirely mine.
You survived worse, the voice inside whispered. This is nothing.
I swallowed hard, climbed onto the sill, and jumped.
Pain exploded through my feet the instant I hit the ground. The shock traveled up my legs like lightning, stealing the air from my lungs. I collapsed onto one knee with a strangled gasp.
"Damn it…" I hissed, gripping my ankle. The world wobbled. I had convinced myself it wouldn't hurt. I had been very wrong.
Before I could steady myself, a shadow launched from the darkness.
I barely had time to react before a wet tongue dragged across my masked face.
I froze—then exhaled in shaky relief. It was just "Brutus," my pet German Shepherd.
"Brutus…"
He stepped back enough for me to see him clearly. His coat—black and tan—looked thicker than usual in the dim light, the longer guard hairs on his shoulders rising slightly as he adjusted to the room. He was big, solid, the kind of dog whose muscle you could feel even when he brushed past you.
Brutus' tail thumped wildly as he circled me, excited, mouth open in a silent bark. Instinct surged through me for just a second—an urge to tear, to strike—but I crushed it down with everything I had. My hands shook as I grabbed his snout gently and pressed my forehead against his.
"Shh," I whispered. "Keep it down, buddy. Don't wake them."
He let out a soft huff instead of a bark, still wriggling with energy. I released him, patting his head.
"I'm sorry, buddy. I can't take you with me."
He watched me with wide, trusting eyes as I stood, his tail slowly slowing.
My gaze lifted to the second-floor windows where my parents slept. No movement. No light. Just quiet.
The gate was locked—of course it was. Dad never forgot. I wrapped my hands around the cold iron bars and tested it once, twice.
Then I stepped back. Looked at the two-meter wall beside the gate. My legs tensed on their own.
Without thinking, I leapt.
The top of the wall passed beneath me in a blur, and I landed cleanly on the other side, barely stumbling. My heart pounded violently now—not from pain, but from realization.
I hadn't jumped like a normal person.
I had climbed the air.
But how? Why when I jump from my bedroom I feel the pain, yet now I feel different?
I scanned the street the moment my feet touched the asphalt.
Empty.
No passing cars. No drunken laughter drifting at the street. No flicker of movement behind the shuttered windows. Midnight had already swallowed this part of the city whole. This neighborhood slept early, far from the glow and noise of the business district. The silence felt thick yet not totally quite.
Then I realized something was wrong.
No—different.
My gaze slid across the street again, and the world sharpened unnaturally, as if someone had adjusted a hidden lens behind my eyes. The cracks in the pavement stood out with painful clarity. I could count the rusted bolts on a distant street sign. Even the dust clinging to the leaves of a tree across the road shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
My breath hitched.
I've always had good eyesight… but this is too much.
I focused on a house three blocks away. I could see the curtain shift as a fan turned inside. I blinked hard, half-expecting the vision to blur back into normal.
It didn't.
Then the sounds reached me.
At first, it was just the hum of electricity beneath the streetlights. Then the ticking of cooling engines from parked cars. Then—farther, deeper—a rhythmic snoring drifted into my ears from a house down the block.
My neighbor.
Two houses away.
A chill slid down my spine.
Every sense felt… overclocked. Like my body had shed its old limits without bothering to ask my permission. Even the air felt different against my skin—colder, heavier, carrying layers of scent I had never noticed before.
Something sharp.
Something metallic.
Blood?
Not fresh. Old. Faded. But no accident happened here. No, there actually is one. The child scraped his knee when he fell off his bicycle last week.
My pulse spiked.
"So this is what you meant by stronger…" I murmured under my breath.
From somewhere deep inside me, something stirred, alert and pleased.
My hunger.
It wasn't just in my stomach—it was in my chest, behind my eyes, under my skin. A restless burn that kept whispering move, hunt, feed. I headed for the red-light district without thinking too much about it. That part of the city never slept. If monsters hid anywhere in Valesong, they hid there.
Neon signs smeared the streets with sickly color. Laughter spilled from bars. Music throbbed through thin walls—the air stank of alcohol, sweat, smoke, and something darker underneath it all. My mask felt tighter with every step.
Then they stepped into my path.
Five men. Two women. Drunk, swaying, half-laughing, half-stumbling. They were dressed the way thugs often dressed—layers meant to look tough, thrown together without thought.
The men wore sagging hoodies and oversized jackets, most of them stained or frayed at the sleeves. One had a faded denim vest over a torn black shirt; another wore a sleeveless puffer jacket even though it wasn't cold. Their pants were mismatched—baggy cargo shorts, grease-streaked joggers, old jeans ripped at the knees. Heavy boots scuffed from constant use, laces half-dragging, metal aglets clinking against concrete with every step.
The two women weren't any better put together. One wore a cropped leather jacket with the zipper stuck halfway up, exposing a glittery tank top that had lost most of its shine. The other had on a red windbreaker several sizes too big, sleeves swallowing her hands; beneath it, a thin camisole and tight leggings patterned with fading skulls. Their shoes were cheap and beaten—one pair of platform sneakers almost peeling apart at the sole, the other a pair of dusty sandals missing a strap.
One of guys squinted at me and pointed.
"Hey, bro—where's the cosplay happening?"
They burst into uneven laughter. I kept walking.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
"Dude," he said, breath thick with alcohol, "you got some spare cash?"
"I don't have money," I replied, keeping my voice flat. Trying to hide my nervousness.
Another man's eyes drifted to my wrist. The watch my father gave me caught the streetlight for just a second.
"Well, how about that watch?" he grinned. "Looks expensive. Let me borrow it."
"It's fake," I said, shaking my head. "It's not worth anything."
Inside me, something stretched awake.
The voice whispered. Take them. Kill them. Eat them.
I clenched my jaw. Cameras sat on every corner, dark glass eyes watching. Open street. No shadows deep enough to hide a corpse. I forced the hunger down, but it kept clawing its way back up.
One of the women leaned closer, eyes narrowing behind smeared makeup.
"Look at his eyes," she muttered. "Purple… creepy."
The smell hit me then.
I couldn't explain it—cheap perfume, sweat, heat, blood moving under skin. Human. Fresh. My instincts surged so hard my vision pulsed.
"I… I really have to go," I said.
The hand on my shoulder tightened.
"You only leave when we say you leave."
"I don't want trouble," I said carefully. "Let me pass."
One of them snorted. "Give us the watch, and you walk away."
My pulse pounded behind my ears.
"So this is a robbery?" I asked.
Another man smirked. "What if it is?"
"Then," I said quietly, "you'll regret it."
Three knives flicked into view. Cheap blades, dull from use. The man closest to me pressed his knife into my side, just enough to let my skin feel the coldness of the blade.
"Watch or your life, choose," he whispered.
My breath steadied instead of shaking. I didn't know how to fight. I didn't know what my body could truly do yet.
But I knew I couldn't let myself lose control here.
I tilted my head toward a camera above the streetlight.
"You're not afraid of the police?"
They laughed.
"Cops?" one said. "They're drowning in corpses lately. One more won't matter."
That was when I felt it snap inside me.
Before the voice could take over—
I moved.
I seized the wrist with the knife at my side and twisted. Bone cracked in my grip. He screamed as I flung him over my shoulder. His body slammed into the concrete with a hollow thud, his scream turning sharp and broken as he clutched his shoulder.
The others rushed me.
Their movements were slow—too slow. Like they were moving through syrup while I was cutting through air.
I slapped the knife out of the first man's hand and drove a measured punch into his stomach. He folded without a sound.
The second lunged. I caught him with a kick to the ribs and felt cartilage give. The third barely raised his blade before my fist caught his jaw. He crumpled sideways, teeth scattering against pavement.
The last man charged in a panic. I pivoted and struck his shoulder hard enough to spin him away from me. He dropped to his knees.
Silence fell in broken gasps and whimpers.
The two women screamed and rushed to their fallen companions, crying and shouting for help.
I stood there for a second too long, chest heaving, the hunger raging, furious that I hadn't let it finish the job.
Coward, the voice hissed.
I turned away before it could push me further.