In the heavy shadows outside the dance hall, three young men high-fived, their laughter cutting sharply through the quiet night air.
"Haha! Brother, we did it!"
Lucas Walker, the Mayor's son, thumped his companion's chest with a grin.
"Rigging a paint-filled truck up to the sprinkler system of this freak academy? That idea was absolute genius!"
Opposite him, two white youths—lanky Marcus and stout Tom—laughed along, their faces plastered with the smug satisfaction of a prank well executed.
"Let these outcasts taste a little color!" Marcus spat on the ground. "Time they learned who really runs Jericho. Bunch of squatters acting like they own the place!"
Tom opened his mouth to agree, but his laughter was abruptly strangled in his throat, as if cut off by an invisible hand.
His face went as pale as spackle. His eyes bulged, pupils constricting to pinpricks of pure terror as he stared fixedly at the space behind Lucas.
A wet, choking gurgle escaped his throat.
"Wh... what is it?"
The smile froze on Lucas's face. He looked at Marcus and saw the same expression—as if they were both staring down a demon that had just clawed its way out of the abyss.
A chill shot up Lucas's spine, freezing the base of his skull. He suddenly realized the ambient light had dimmed.
Stiffly, he looked down.
On the ground, his own shadow, stretched long by the streetlamp, was being completely devoured by two massive, twisting, writhing silhouettes.
His neck joints cracked as he turned his head with agonizing slowness.
One Grey. One White.
Two colossal, nightmarish monsters stood silently behind him. Their heads were lowered, and four giant, pupil-less white eyes stared down at them with icy indifference.
Viscous, tar-like substance rippled across their bodies, radiating a nauseating aura of bloodlust and darkness.
"ROAR!!!"
The Grey one suddenly unhinged a jaw lined with razor-sharp fangs, letting out a low, violent roar. Thick drool dripped down, splattering right at the trio's feet.
"RUN!!!"
Someone screamed—a high-pitched, tearing sound that didn't sound human.
Survival instinct instantly overrode their frozen limbs. The three of them scrambled over each other, clawing at the pavement as they threw themselves toward the truck disguised as a water tanker, diving into the cab in a panic.
"Start it! Start the damn truck!!" Tom shrieked, his voice breaking into sobs.
"Don't rush me! I know!!" Lucas's hands shook so violently he couldn't grip the key, missing the ignition slot three times.
Outside, Riot (the Grey) and Serum (the White) exchanged a glance.
Riot's arm instantly liquefied and reshaped, condensing into a massive, jagged black bone-scythe. With a whistling shriek that tore through the air, he swung it violently at the coupling connecting the truck cab to the tank behind it.
CRUNCH—SNAP!!
The ear-splitting sound of metal being forcibly torn apart rang out.
Lucas had just managed to start the engine. A smile of relief hadn't even fully formed on his face when the entire cab shuddered violently, completely separating from the heavy tank behind it.
The cab lurched forward a few feet from inertia, then rolled to a pathetic stop.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A heavy, mocking knocking sound came from the driver's side window.
The three boys turned their necks stiffly, moving like broken marionettes.
Outside the window, the pearl-white monster was gently tapping the glass. Its massive white eyes narrowed slightly, as if it were smiling.
The three shook their heads frantically, tears and snot smearing their faces.
Serum seemed to lose patience. A tentacle suddenly sharpened into a spike and—shktt—pierced the gap in the door. Like peeling the lid off a can of tuna, he violently ripped the entire car door off its hinges and tossed it aside.
Then, ignoring their squeals and pleas for mercy, he reached into the cab.
With surgical precision, he plucked them out one by one and tossed them onto the cold asphalt like bags of trash.
The three immediately scrambled to their knees, groveling and banging their heads against the ground.
"We're sorry! We're really sorry! Please let us go!"
"Please! We'll never do it again!"
"YOU DARED TO RUIN THE RAVE'N!"
The two monsters bellowed in unison, a terrifying duality of Vic's original voice layered over an inhuman roar.
Dozens of viscous tentacles erupted from Riot's body, twisting and shifting in the air to form knives, spears, swords, axes, whips... He looked like a living armory, radiating pure destruction.
Serum, meanwhile, silently clenched a massive fist. The pearl-white substance flowed rapidly over his body, emitting a cold, suffocating rage.
"You aren't sorry because you were wrong," two voices echoed coldly from within the monsters. "You are sorry because you know you are about to die."
Just then, sirens wailed in the distance. Several police cruisers screeched to a halt nearby. Doors flew open, and Sheriff Donovan Galpin led a squad of officers out, guns drawn.
The scene before him was straight out of a fever dream: two massive monsters, a dismembered truck, and the Mayor's son kneeling alongside his idiot friends...
Galpin had received a frantic call from the Mayor, saying Lucas and his friends had stolen an old tanker and were heading to Nevermore to "show those freaks who's boss." The Mayor wanted the police to intercept them.
Well, the police were here. But the boys hadn't just kicked the hornet's nest; they'd kicked a Godzilla nest.
"Vic...?" Donovan fought the urge to reach for his service weapon, calling out tentatively toward the creatures.
At his voice, the terrifying symbiotic mass receded like a tide, rapidly shrinking to reveal Vic Grey and Vic White.
They stood at the entrance of the dance hall, which was now a disastrous mess of red paint. Their expressions were stone cold.
Donovan felt a headache coming on. It really is him. But why the hell are there two of them now?!
He stepped forward, steeling himself.
"Vics? We're here to take them into custody. They stole a vehicle; that's grand theft auto. It's a police matter."
Donovan pointed to the three boys on the ground, who looked ready to wet themselves.
"Sheriff," both Vics spoke in sync, their voices dripping with icy sarcasm. "Your timing is impeccable as always."
"You can certainly take them," they continued together. "That is reasonable, legal, and compliant."
"But before that," their gaze swept over the shivering trio, their tone leaving no room for argument, "they have to accept their 'punishment'."
"No! That's not happening!" Donovan instinctively shot back. "You don't have the right—"
"No," the Vics interrupted, the corners of their mouths curling into a chilling smirk. "Not me. Us."
As if on a silent command, the shadows of the ruined dance hall entrance shifted.
A crowd poured out.
At the front was Principal Larissa Weems. Her pristine white gown was now stained a shocking, bloody red.
Behind her stood dozens of Nevermore students.
Every single one of them was splattered with viscous red paint, their expensive formal wear ruined. But far more terrifying than their appearance was the look in their eyes.
Cold. Furious. The absolute hostility of a pack whose territory had been violated.
Low, threatening growls rumbled from the throats of the Furs (Werewolves), their fingers twisting into claws, eyes glowing feral green in the darkness.
Several Scales (Sirens) removed their inhibitor necklaces, opening their mouths slightly, the silent sonic pressure causing the air to warp.
The Stoners (Gorgons) placed their hands on the brims of their beanies, the gaze beneath promising to freeze souls.
The Psychics stood expressionless, telekinetically lifting debris and jagged metal shards, causing them to orbit their bodies with a dangerous hum.
"If you don't accept our proposal," Vic's voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a mountain, "then when these three eventually walk out of your police station, certain... 'accidents' might occur."
"For instance, being torn apart by a stray 'wild animal'." (The Werewolves bared their fangs).
"Or perhaps being led by a mysterious 'hypnosis' to fall from a great height." (The Sirens' lips moved soundlessly).
"Maybe they'll accidentally see something they shouldn't and end up permanently 'petrified'." (The Gorgons tilted their hats up).
"Or even... being struck with surgical precision by a falling 'brick'." (The stones around the Psychics began to spin faster).
Donovan's face turned an ugly shade of grey.
"Are you... threatening the police? Larissa, are you just going to stand there? It was just a prank."
"No, Sheriff Galpin."
Principal Weems raised her chin slightly, her voice dropping to sub-zero.
"Vic is merely stating a series of... probability-based outcomes given the current climate."
"Furthermore, this was not a prank. This was a public act of aggression and a declaration of war against Nevermore."
Donovan looked at the unmasked, icy rage in the eyes of the "outcasts," then down at the three pathetic morons on the ground. A vein pulsed in his forehead.
He gritted his teeth, knowing there was no way he was walking out of here with these kids unscathed. The power of Nevermore was far beyond what a small-town Sheriff's department could handle.
"You have to guarantee their survival."
He squeezed the words through his teeth.
"Of course, Sheriff," Vic said, his smile bright but completely devoid of warmth.
"I promise, not a single hair on their heads will be... missing."
He placed a heavy emphasis on the word missing.
Then, he turned to the silent army of students behind him and raised his voice.
"Fellow Outcasts! Serum has incredible healing abilities! So, remember the rule—"
"Don't kill them! But beat them within an inch of their lives!"
The students surged forward in silence, like a tidal wave swallowing three pathetic reefs.
The screams and pleas for mercy were instantly drowned out.
Vic thoughtfully stepped forward and pulled the ruined doors shut, blocking the view from the outside.
From behind the doors, dull thuds and muffled screams began to echo.
Donovan's face was ashen. He turned sharply.
"Sir... shouldn't we... shouldn't we breach and go in?"
A rookie officer, fresh on the force and still full of misguided heroism, asked nervously, his hand hovering over his holster.
Donovan spun around and smacked the rookie upside the head.
"Breach?! You want to die in the line of duty, Rookie? You want the Captain to hold a memorial for you tomorrow while your mother cries over a medal? Stow your weapon! We are leaving! NOW!"
In dead silence, the police cruisers turned and fled the grounds of Nevermore Academy in disgrace.
The sounds echoing from behind those closed doors made every officer's back break out in a cold sweat.