*The sea’s hum grows louder, and the hunters emerge from the fog…*
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The fog had swallowed the sky by the time Old Knife and I stumbled back into camp, the distant sea rumbling like a drumbeat against our ribs. Faces crowded around us in the stone hut, flickering firelight painting their fear in sharp relief. Old Knife flung the slime-streaked rag onto the ground, his voice hoarse: “They’re not just taking people. It’s a hunt.”
The crowd exploded—screams, curses. A man grabbed my collar, shouting, “You’re dooming us with this news!” Aya pushed through, her thin frame dwarfed by the chaos. Her eyes locked on the rag, tears spilling over. “That’s… that’s Xiao Yu’s scarf. They took her.” My chest tightened. Before I could speak, Aya’s fists clenched. “We have to save her!”
Old Knife pounded a fist into his palm. “We’ve hid for ten years—they’re at our doorstep now! We fight, or they drag us down one by one!” Across the fire, Gray Robe—a lean woman in tattered robes, once a scientist—snapped back, “You’re mad. We don’t even know what they are. Going down there is suicide.” She wanted to torch the lower slopes, seal the mountain. Knives were drawn, voices clashed. I tried to shout them down, but Aya’s cry cut through: “You’re arguing while they’re killing below!” She bolted toward the camp’s edge. I lunged—too late.
She’d snatched a rebar spear and a coil of rope, leaving a crumpled note: “I can’t let Xiao Yu die.” I cursed, slamming my fist into the wall. Old Knife grabbed my arm. “She’s gone, Lin Ze. We’ve got no choice.” I glared at him. “You pushed her too far.” He smirked, bitter. “She’s got more guts than you, fisherman.”
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We chased her down the slope, fog thick as soup, rocks slick underfoot. At the mid-slope ruins, the air stank of rot. A severed hand clutched a fishhook, its skin sprouting purple scales. A body lay tangled in dried tendrils, chest studded with jagged metal—like it’d been remade. My stomach churned. “They’re not eating us,” I muttered. “They’re using us to build.” Old Knife picked up a bone shard etched with symbols, squinting. “This isn’t natural. They’ve got a plan.”
A low, layered hum rolled through the mist, like a chorus of drowned voices. My head throbbed; I swore I heard Xiao Yu’s sobs in it. I shook it off, but Old Knife’s face paled. “They’re… calling.”
A shape erupted from the fog—bigger than the last, its shell glowing blue, six whip-like tentacles lashing out. It lunged at me, a tendril snaring my leg. I drove my spear through one, purple blood spraying. Old Knife roped its head, yanking hard. We toppled it, but its shell cracked the ground, throwing us back. A piercing buzz ripped from its maw, and the sea below boiled—shadows rising. “Reinforcements!” I gasped. We scrambled up, stone shattering behind us.
Back at camp, the note was all Aya had left. Her shoe lay near the cliff, caked in purple slime. The lookout post was empty—only a puddle of violet blood marked where the guard had been. Gray Robe stumbled over, wild-eyed. “Something came through the fog—took three more!” I ran to the edge, peering down. The sea churned with dozens of glowing shapes circling a bone-and-metal monstrosity rising from the waves. There, midair, Aya dangled, a tendril around her waist. Her spear jutted from a creature’s side, still dripping. She thrashed, alive.
My knuckles whitened around my spear. Old Knife grabbed me. “You’ll die down there!” I shook him off, teeth gritted. “That’s Aya. If I don’t go, who will?” The sea’s buzzing swelled into a mocking chorus. I leapt from the cliff, fog swallowing me as the camp’s firelight faded above.