It was 7:00 PM in Yuvenille, a city that never truly rested, especially when the sun dipped below the horizon. Here, the nightlife was as lively as the daytime hustle, with bars, clubs, and restaurants coming alive in waves of neon lights and distant music.
In one of the trendiest bars in town—a sleek, modern spot adorned with flashing LED lights and state-of-the-art audio equipment—the crowd was already in high spirits. Music pulsed through the room, a heavy bass line synchronizing with the dancing bodies scattered across the floor.
Beautiful women swayed under the strobe lights, captivating the crowd as their silhouettes cast fleeting shadows on the walls. Men watched and cheered, their laughter mingling with the music, as they toasted and chattered loudly.
Off to one side of the bar, seated at the counter with a half-empty glass in hand, was a man who seemed untouched by the euphoria around him. He was big, broad-shouldered, with a stubbled face and a set of tired eyes that hinted at an underlying sorrow. He took a long swig of his drink—a large mug of beer, which he downed in one go—before letting out a deep, rumbling belch.
The sound turned a few heads in his direction, and some patrons exchanged displeased glances, but he barely noticed. The man’s gaze drifted over to the crowd of dancers, but even the spectacle of lights and laughter couldn’t lift the gloom from his face. After a brief, disinterested look, he turned back to the bartender, his empty mug clinking against the counter as he pushed it forward.
The bartender, a man in his late twenties with a friendly demeanor and sharp eyes, noticed him. He was wiping down glasses with a practiced motion, but he shot a warm, curious glance at his customer. He’d seen countless faces come and go in his line of work, each with their own stories, but this man—this stranger with the sorrowful eyes—piqued his interest.
“Tough day, huh?” the bartender ventured as he filled the mug. His voice was calm and casual, an invitation to talk if the man needed it. “Life’s a bit like this drink: sometimes it’s bitter, but you gotta take it one sip at a time.” He slid the refilled mug over with a small nod, hoping his words might offer a shred of comfort.
The man paused, his fingers lingering on the mug’s handle, then glanced up at the bartender. There was a glint of amusement behind his gaze, as if he’d heard the remark and wanted to give it a chance, but didn’t quite believe in it.
“That’s one way to put it,” he replied. His voice was rough, carrying a heaviness that hinted at recent wounds. He raised the mug to his lips, taking a long sip before setting it back down. “But tell me, Jame Bard…” He’d noticed the name on the bartender’s badge. “What would you say if you’d just lost your shitty ten-years job, and then found out your girlfriend’s been cheating on you with your best friend?”
For a split second, Jame the bartender froze, his smile faltering as he absorbed the man’s words. He let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, damn. I’ve gotta admit, that’s… rough. I think I underestimated your level of bad.” He shook his head, an apologetic smile creeping onto his face. “Sounds like you’ve been dealt a rotten hand.”
The man smirked, a bitter smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, guess you could say that. But as you said, it is what it is. I’ve just gotta deal with it.” He shrugged, raising the mug again.
The two fell into a comfortable conversation, discussing everything from Jame’s favorite drinks to the strangest patrons he’d served. Despite his gloomy demeanor, the man—who eventually introduced himself as Duncan Frond—found himself warming up to the bartender’s easygoing nature.
They shared a few laughs, and by the fourth drink, Duncan was feeling just a bit lighter, as though the weight of the day had started to ease, even if only temporarily.
“Look, Duncan,” Jame said after a moment, giving him a scrutinizing glance. “This is your fourth round. I know it’s been a hell of a day, but sometimes enough’s enough, yeah? Fifth one’s on the house, but maybe after that, it’s time to call it a night?”
Duncan considered the offer, his tired eyes brightening with a faint spark of gratitude. “Not a bad deal, Jame. You’ve got me,” he chuckled. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel a little of the camaraderie that had grown between them in such a short time. Maybe tonight wasn’t as miserable as he’d expected.
Just as he lifted the mug to his lips, a sharp, thunderous boom echoed through the bar, sending a tremor across the room. Even the loud music couldn’t drown it out. The entire place went silent, and every pair of eyes turned toward the entrance, anxiety flickering in the crowd. Whispers of confusion spread, and some of the braver patrons began moving toward the door to investigate.
Duncan, despite the alcohol-induced haze, felt a jolt of curiosity. He was a man with nothing to lose anymore, after all; what could possibly make his day worse? Beside him, Jame looked visibly concerned, muttering something about his newly purchased motorbike parked out front.
Together, Duncan and Jame joined the growing crowd surging toward the exit, curiosity and apprehension driving them forward. The fresh night air hit Duncan’s face as he stepped out, and he took in a deep, cleansing breath. But what he saw when he lifted his gaze made the air catch in his throat, his eyes widening in disbelief.
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High above, the sky was not as it should be.
A massive, jagged tear stretched across the heavens, splitting the sky open like a wound. Within that rift, strange and impossible sights flickered—an expanse filled with swirling galaxies, glittering constellations, and vibrant nebulas that should’ve been invisible to the naked eye. The surreal beauty was interspersed with chaos, like watching countless fragments of the universe battling for space within a confined space.
Some people gasped, others stood frozen, their faces painted with awe and terror. A few of the braver souls pulled out their phones to capture the sight, while others murmured prayers or gazed silently at the fractured sky. Duncan’s mouth hung open, and after a stunned moment, he muttered the only words that came to mind.
“Oh… fuck.”
The vulgarity felt like a whisper against the gravity of the scene, yet it seemed to snap a few people out of their daze. It was a sight beyond comprehension, something so inexplicable that even Duncan, who had braved his fair share of hardships, found himself feeling dwarfed and insignificant.
Beside him, Jame looked equally shaken. “Duncan… what the hell is this?”
Duncan shook his head, unable to peel his gaze from the cosmic tear. “I don’t know. But whatever it is… it’s not good.”, he felt it.
As they stood there, transfixed, the tear seemed to pulse, and a faint, shimmering mist began to spill from it, descending slowly toward the city like a ghostly fog. The sight was eerily beautiful, yet something about it felt wrong, as if the mist carried secrets—unspoken and unfathomable—within its depths.
Jame instinctively took a step back, his face pale. “We should get inside, man. I don’t know what that stuff is, but I don’t think it’s anything we want to be close to.”
Duncan didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the mist as it drifted lower, curling and swirling like tendrils of smoke. The first traces of the mist reached the ground, creeping across the pavement and caressing the legs of those closest to it. A woman nearby gasped, clutching her arm as the mist touched her skin, her face contorting in shock.
“It’s… cold,” she murmured, rubbing her arm as though trying to shake off the chill. Her words sent a ripple of unease through the crowd, and people began backing away, yet their eyes remained glued to the spectacle in the sky.
Duncan felt a chill creep down his spine, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He didn’t understand what was happening, but some primal instinct warned him that this was no ordinary phenomenon. The tear, the mist, the cosmos bleeding into his reality—it all felt like an omen, a prelude to something dark and dangerous.
A shiver passed through him, and he finally tore his gaze away from the sky, his mind racing. Whatever was happening tonight, it had shaken him to his core.
Duncan didn’t look back as he hurried out of the scene, but before he left, he slipped two hefty bills into Jame’s hand. “Here, cover the tab and keep the rest for yourself friend.”
Jame gave him a brief nod, still visibly shaken as his gaze returned to the strange, fractured sky outside. His mind raced, wrestling between his curiosity about the tear in the heavens and a sense of creeping dread that told him to leave now.
He muttered, “Yeah, probably a good idea to not be around this mess.”
Man finished Duncan payment and changed his clothes while counting the tipped cash. He then left the bar through a backdoor and made his way down a dimly lit hallway toward the parking area. The musical chaos inside the bar growing quieter as he moved farther away. He pulled out his phone and called his manager, listening to the dial tone echo faintly as he walked. The eerie silence in the garage unsettled him, but he pushed the feeling aside.
When his manager finally picked up, Jame forced a calm tone. “Hey, uh, listen… I’m heading out early. Some kind of... weird event happening outside. I’ll make up the hours, but I’m not sticking around tonight.”
The manager grumbled about protocol and shifts, clearly unaware of the disturbance outside, but Jame was barely listening. His attention was fixed on the rows of parked cars and bikes, each one shrouded in shadows cast by the flickering overhead lights. The air was thick, almost stale, and a faint metallic smell lingered.
“Fine, whatever, just make sure you fill back the missing hours by weekend.” his manager muttered before hanging up. Jame lowered his phone, a bit relieved, but couldn’t shake the creeping feeling that something was... off.
The garage lights buzzed, casting an unsettling glow over everything as he approached his motorcycle. It was a newer model, T15 Zeus, his pride and joy, parked in a far corner where he thought it’d be safest. But as he reached his bike, the uneasy feeling intensified. Shadows seemed to shift unnaturally at the edge of his vision. He brushed it off, chalking it up to nerves, and fumbled for his keys.
What he didn’t see was the figure watching him from above, nestled within the deep shadows of the ceiling. It was a grotesque creature, with elongated limbs and twisted, smoky skin that seemed to exude darkness itself. Its eyes were small, slitted, and gleamed with an unnatural light as it observed Jame from above, waiting, coiled like a spring ready to strike.
Just as Jame slid the key into the ignition and turned it, he heard a faint scratching sound above him. He froze, glancing around, his heartbeat quickening as his skin prickled with unease. For a moment, he squinted up at the ceiling, but the shadows were too dense to make anything out.
“Come on, Jame. Don’t lose it now,” he muttered to himself with a shaky laugh, attempting to reassure himself. He exhaled, shaking his head, and reached for the throttle.
The creature above tensed, shifting its smoky limbs along the ceiling beams, following his every movement with a predatory gaze. As Jame’s fingers brushed the throttle, the creature made its move, descending silently behind him with its elongated arms reaching out like talons.
A chill ran down Jame’s spine just before he felt the weight of something dark and twisted land on his back. Before he could scream, a clawed, smoky hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. His muffled cries echoed briefly before fading into the cold, stale air of the garage.
From outside, there was only a single, brief scream, swallowed by the oppressive quiet that followed. Jame’s motorcycle sat in the shadows, engine still idling, the keys swinging from the ignition as if waiting for him to return. But Jame would not be leaving the parking area tonight.