As Agent Mendoza delved deeper into the investigation, a sudden noise shattered the suffocating silence.
The unexpected sound—scratching, movement—echoed through the crumbling building, sharp and unnatural against the decay. The quiet before had been total, making the interruption all the more jarring. Instinct flared. Someone—or something—was here.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice slicing the stillness.
No answer.
Tension coiled in her chest, tight and unrelenting. Was the killer still inside? Was she already too late? Or was it her own imagination unraveling under pressure?
Flashlight sweeping the shadows, gun steady in her hand, she called again, louder. "Hello?"
Still nothing.
Then—CRASH!
She spun toward the sound and fired on reflex. The shot rang out like a thunderclap, chasing a startled rat into the dark.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She exhaled. Safe—for now.
But not for long.
Mendoza swept her light across the hallway, her breath catching when it fell upon something slumped and broken.
A body.
She rushed forward—and froze.
Derek Miller. The officer sent ahead for reconnaissance. He was supposed to be dead.
She knelt beside him, her breath hitching. His body was ravaged—emaciated, his limbs twisted grotesquely, skin torn and sagging like melted wax. Claw marks gouged through flesh from shoulder to hip, and puncture wounds riddled his arms.
Then—a twitch. A cough.
Derek was still alive.
"I'm... not useless," he rasped through blood-clogged teeth. "I swear I'm not."
Then one word, hoarse and final:
"Run."
From deeper within the corridor, something roared—inhuman, violent, unnatural. Distant cries escalated into shrieks of raw terror, echoing toward her like the howl of a nightmare.
Her earpiece crackled.
"I definitely heard that. Any read on what it was? Unit 6, report."
She swallowed, voice trembling. "A-affirmative…"
But before she could elaborate—
THERE IT WAS AGAIN.
The sound rumbled through the ironworks like an ancient beast stirring beneath the earth. Mendoza's hands trembled. She struggled to catch her breath.
Easy, Mendoza. One step at a time.
Unit 6 stumbled upon another survivor—a woman, barely coherent, curled up in fetal position, muttering the same phrase over and over:
"But she was so little…"
Mendoza crouched, signaling silence. A low growl drifted through the night air, mingling with the foul stench of rot and rust. Her flashlight trembled as she rounded the corner.
She raised her binoculars, cutting through the haze.
And then—she saw it.
"Unit 6, report! Where are you now?!"
Pressed behind a rusted pipe and discarded trash bin, Mendoza whispered, "Eastern district... the ironworks. It's… it's still here."
"Why are you whispering? What's there?"
She barely breathed. "Because I think there's something in here with me."
And then she saw it.
A hulking silhouette slouched in the mist, just visible in the shifting shadows.
"Something? What's in there? Do you copy?!"
Her voice cracked. "A monster…"
It stood like a statue—red-skinned, grinning, terrible. A grin far too wide, stretching grotesquely across its flesh. Its frame was cloaked in brown tatters, its face half-obscured by shadows. Glowing eyes flared crimson beneath tangled black hair. Red horns crowned its head like a devil out of myth.
The thing was massive. Eight feet tall. Maybe more.
This wasn't a myth. This wasn't a rumor.
This was Griffith.
Feared in whispers across Stonehaven. A beast among beasts. A predator of predators. Capable of crossing rooftops in a single bound, its claws slicing through steel and bone alike. Witnesses had described blue-white fire, unholy speed, a voice like gravel and glass.
Now it was here.
And it was feeding.
Mendoza could only watch in horror as the creature seized a man—mid-twenties, screaming—and drained him of life. His skin greyed. Veins shriveled. Spider-silk strands sprouted from his scalp. His screams died in a sickening gurgle. Bones cracked. Flesh tightened.
The creature fed on Taiji—the life essence itself.
When it had taken everything, it dropped the body like refuse. The man hit the ground in a hollow thud—another husk among a sea of corpses.
Mendoza stepped back, eyes wide.
"A truly monstrous entity…" she whispered.
Bodies. Dozens of them. Scattered like broken dolls. A massacre, it was.
And then—silence.
Thick. Unnatural. Terrifying.
The air vibrated with the creature's breathing. Wheezing. Horrible. Wet.
A voice crackled over her radio.
"Another monster? What are you talking about?!"
Mendoza's voice was hollow. Distant. "It's… staring at me. Just… staring. It's smiling. It won't move."
Still it stood—motionless. Its teeth bared in a chilling grin, eyes glowing, watching her like prey.
She couldn't breathe.
The creature had no need to charge. No reason to attack just yet.
It had already won.