Chapter 3

A Walker? It was just a silly little child.

The man tried to shout, but all that came from him were huffed words. He was still scared to make noise, but that boy surprised him so much that his voice leaked.

Too bad for him, for this mistake cost him his life. A tendril flicked from the opening of this corridor, appearing out of nowhere, fast and strong.

It took just a moment for that hand to point somewhere else, and many loud noises shook the buildings and ground. The man saw no hand anymore. Just stud, bone, blood, and something missing. His hand disappeared with the tendril, eaten or dragged somewhere where no survivor dared to look, or they weren't able to see anything.

Shock? The man had no time for that because the pain and fright found its way into his mind. The messed-up flesh that was left around his elbow couldn't leave his eyes, and his throat and mind snapped.

Blood splurged. So much blood. It left the group frightened and the man screamed in pain more than in panic. The whole group made their move, forcing the man to remain quiet by shoving their hands over his head. It was a matter of life and death, so they almost beat him up to remain silent, though the blood still dropped, and his hand was no more.

It was too late to even try. Killing him wouldn't solve much either, as right there, scrapping noises started to click, followed by red droplets raining from the sky. Each of those people held no point in life since that hand disappeared too fast. Maybe... more hands will soon follow.

Which Darks adored the hands?

Well, not like this idea was right.

Bitting their lips, clutching their fists and the man's mouth, the group could only watch as drops of blood rained down like a foretelling of their death. They dropped to their faces, hair, filthy bodies, and around them, including the trashcans. There was a lot of it, and wide in range. They struggled with the huffing man when the smell and hideous groan spread next.

Silent and with utmost horror, the man with the remaining hand looked up, still clutched by the other people around him.

Carnijaw…

It was a sorrowful Dark full of craziness and power outside of a normal person's scope of understanding. The man thought of his upcoming horror and felt so wronged.

What have I done? Who deserved this? Me!? He thought.

A monster with horrific features, size, and blood glanced down from the roof, resting above and up between the buildings. It had a massive head with four thick and large limbs many times its head's size. They were coming from that head, making this Dark appear like an oddly shaped spider; if the spider was more than a dozen feet large, and its limbs made up the majority of its size.

Those limbs resembled human arms in all regards, looking thick like pillars, with less obvious knuckles and thinness, and their filthy colorations and poor skin demonstrated how many Darks looked like. But they were bulging in strength capable of snatching bodies and shattering them like buildings, so this Dark was a piece of bad news.

Carnijaw was standing on top of those buildings, each limb touching a different roof and its head glared straight down, dropping blood from its hideous twitching mouth. It was laughing, for there was a great prey below. Its head seemed to be its whole torso, angled down from dozens of feet, pushing its mouth to its center above crazy-looking eyes. Multiple dark eyes filled with veins looked at the group as if the prey just arrived, but it had already eaten its fill, obvious by the blood dripping from its chewing mouth.

The carnage was its nature, noted by its name. Its jaw was straight from horrors, smiling with countless sharp teeth and looking wide enough to swallow a man whole.

Many long tendrils were around its head, gliding down like hair, but they were thick and muscular, capable of flexible movement, extensions, and touch. They could support quick defensive moves, grab things, or support its movement. Each tendril ended in a denser form, with a dull or sharp edge.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“We are... so dead.” Mark from the group declared.

Tendrils flickered in a moment, unleashing quick and long-range gushing motions that sliced the group from the handless man. He fell to the middle of the corridor, bathed in blood, and he heard screams and flickering strikes that pushed against the flesh, laughable weapons, and this corridor.

Panicking, he fled. Away? He didn't want to see the flying heads or hands of those people, nor that cursed Dark. He didn't want to hear the crunching sounds of human bones becoming food, or blood becoming liquor.

He ran. Fled. Soon, he was close to the corner of that corridor, almost stumbling by the corpses in the way.

Just twenty more feet...

Then dozen feet. Still dozen. Dozen? “Why is the corner so far?” he asked himself, noticing he stopped moving and feeling things.

He tried to move his legs and failed. He was a great runner. His legs should be pushing him to run and move. Well, his legs weren't where they were supposed to be. Where did they go? He didn't understand. There were only studs under his knees that moved in puddles of his blood. He no longer felt pain, while the blood loss was excessive like his emotions and hysteria.

“Well... sh--” His vision suddenly turned, making a circle. He was free! He flew up, and then down to the ground. A head fell from the headless man who couldn't even run, think, or clap.

Not like he had to ever consider it any longer since his head was no longer thinking of its free will.

Now, it was just food; Carnijaw's favorite.

Satisfied, Carnijaw almost smirked, if it could be called that thanks to its hideous mouth. It looked down on those remaining pests, pained, cut, and bleeding people. They were screaming in terror, feeling their lost limbs, penetrated flesh, and flowing blood. Their bodies were good just a few moments ago.

Now, in the fear of death, the adrenalin remained and they were yet to die. Screaming to their heart's content was all they could do, while a few even tried to flee, but it was to no avail.

It mattered nothing to Carnijaw, who was at Rank 5 of a hideous group and Family of Darks called Demons. Rank 5 wasn't an excessive number. Numerous Walkers could kill it in a blink, yet where were those heroes and soldiers in such pressing times?

Darks consume living beings to live, improve, and survive. It was their rule and part of their hunts for instincts. They were like predators at the top of their game and clashed against this world in a bid to appease that which came, giving them growth and glazing their Madness.

Carnijaw was happy, then cracked in an odd evil noise akin to laughter before a rather weird thing occurred. Carnijaw's jaw extended from the head, raising another jaw. It opened, flashing a thick tendril from its other jaw that had yet another small jaw at the end of this tendril, bitting onto a man. In a moment, he disappeared and became minced meat after the tendril returned.

William didn't see or hear those crunching noises but probably heard those screams that were lost in buzzing or noises that weren't much different. He kept pushing his hands, hoping the noise would disappear, and this nightmare will pass on.

Even when the first prey was finished, the second soon followed. Then the third sometime later, while the tendrils moved from time to time. Chewing kept going, and Carnijaw ensured no prey escaped.

To anyone's surprise, the last one bled to death, since Mark was no coward and shoved a knife into his neck. Death was better than watching the sight above, or hearing those noises and seeing those dreadful sights.

With all that added together, he was so horrified that it lifted any sense of life from his mind. So he picked an easy escape, unwilling to sense how Carnijaw grabbed his flesh and quenched its thirst with a fresh body.

More crunching sounds followed. The flow of blood, bits of flesh, and bones fell to the ground, as some of these things couldn't be processed, or it was annoying, or not adequate. Carnijaw liked flesh and blood the most, second to the brain of course. Bones were nasty. They didn't taste like anything, and its preferences were high.

But everything could be food.

Consume. Feast the living. Some Darks had their tastes like people or animals. Perhaps this Carnijaw didn't like to eat bones, but most did thanks to their thick and savage teeth. It spat most bones to the ground, or into the convenient trashcans positioned close below.

Five minutes passed since the feast started. William remained in the same position, silent and oblivious to the death before him. Even when some blood ended up on himself, or bits of bones fell close, he didn't care.

But his hand and stress rose even higher until some hyperventilation occurred and everything was far from being over. He feared it would keep going forever. There was no chance, nor remedy. It was starting to resemble something. Tests. Stays in rooms while lost.

He lied to himself, giving rise to ignorance, fear, and confidence that his mother would come back, or he was dreaming. He was unsure how ignorant he was, but it was how he grew up. Nothing and nobody would blame a five-year-old for thinking like this. Not even if he was meant to be a Walker one day, fight those monsters, and do this time some justice.

William was just a child. He couldn't do anything because Walkers had to grow up and Awaken later in their lives, growing properly until they would matter. They couldn't become protectors out of nowhere, which was the worst aspect that hindered humanity for the betterment of survival. For more than seventy years, this didn't change much.

Born with the Emblems, dictated by the rules of this new world, the System would rise and give the rest of their fate.

Not like William needed some assurance about it, for he was too young, while his mother was always there for him. Always...