Grey followed Elsa through the dense forest, his footsteps echoing hers, the silence between them thick and suffocating. Since they had landed on the island, not a single word had passed between them, as though some unseen force had bound their tongues. The abyss behind them felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the strange tranquility of the woods. Yet, an unsettling unease gnawed at Grey's core. Something about the forest was wrong.
The trees, the path, even the air—they seemed familiar, like the forests he'd known above. But this place… this place was different. The longer they walked, the stronger his instincts screamed at him. A sense of bloodlust clung to the atmosphere, so thick it was almost palpable. He scanned the woods, the underbrush, the shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. No attackers. No hidden figures waiting to strike.
Just silence. Just them.
His gaze flickered back to Elsa, her figure moving ahead with unnatural ease. She seemed oblivious to the tension gnawing at him, her steps unnervingly light, her crimson hair swaying with the rhythm of her walk. In her hand, she held a lantern, faintly glowing in the daylight.
Grey's eyes narrowed. A lantern? He hadn't noticed it before. Where had it come from? He traced his gaze to the black ring on her finger—the one she used to store items—but that wasn't what troubled him. The question wasn't where it came from; it was why she needed it here.
She hadn't used it in the abyss, where darkness reigned. But now, in broad daylight, she chose to pull it out?
His chest tightened. If Elsa was using the lantern here, it meant one thing: something was very wrong with the forest.
Grey gulped as he scanned their surroundings. The trees stood tall, perfect in their beauty—too perfect. The vibrant green of the leaves glowed unnaturally in the soft sunlight, a radiance that felt staged. Birds chirped in rhythmic harmony, their song too precise, too well-composed to be real. Even the breeze, gently swaying the branches, felt off, like a whispered lullaby designed to lull the mind into complacency.
The deeper they ventured, the stronger the pull. A whispering voice at the back of Grey's mind urged him to stop. To stay. A thought crept into his consciousness, sly and tempting—Wouldn't it be nice to rest here? To sit beneath one of these trees and finally let the world drift away?
For the first time in years, Grey felt the seduction of peace. A real, undisturbed peace.
But peace wasn't meant for him.
Suddenly, something moved above.
His instincts flared. Before he could process it, his hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his body tense. His eyes snapped upward, scanning the treetops, heart racing.
Thud.
Something small struck his head, and Grey flinched, his body bracing for an attack. But the impact was light. Too light.
He looked down.
An apple.
Grey blinked, confusion flickering across his face. He bent down and picked up the apple, his fingers curling around its smooth, cool surface. Shame prickled at the back of his neck—being startled by something so trivial stung his pride. He glanced ahead at Elsa, her figure moving steadily through the forest. She didn't even bother to turn around.
She didn't see it, right?
"Pathetic," he muttered, the word sour in his mouth. To think he'd been on edge, ready for an ambush, only to be caught off guard by an apple. Still, as he examined the fruit, a gnawing hunger began to rise in him, sharp and relentless. It hit him all at once—he hadn't eaten since before the abyss. Maybe longer.
The apple's crimson skin gleamed, unnaturally pristine. His stomach clenched with need, and despite the unease that churned in the back of his mind, he found himself raising it to his lips. His hand moved on instinct, driven by hunger more than reason.
Just one bite, he thought, fingers tightening around the apple's perfect surface.
Slowly, almost instinctively, Grey raised it to his lips, ready to take a bite.
"Don't eat it."
But at that moment, Elsa's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. It wasn't loud, but the sharpness in her tone froze him in place. The apple hovered inches from his mouth, his fingers tightening around it, muscles tensing as if his body were fighting some invisible force.
Slowly, Grey looked up at her. Elsa had stopped, her back still facing him, but something about her posture—something subtle—was off. The air around her seemed to warp, thickening with a weight that pressed down on him. Then, she turned.
Her face was pale—too pale—and her blue eyes—usually sharp and alive—were now cold and hollow, devoid of warmth or recognition. They were eyes that bore no trace of the woman he knew.
Grey's mouth went dry. "Elsa?" he whispered, though his voice barely escaped his lips. His instincts screamed at him to step back, to draw his sword, but he couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the wrongness of it all.
Without a word, she stepped toward him, the lantern in her hand casting eerie shadows that twisted around them like serpents. She leaned in close, her breath chilling the air between them. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed in his mind, growing louder and louder until it was a deafening roar.
"Wake up."
Grey's mind was a blur of confusion. Wake up? Her words made no sense, lingering like a distant echo in his thoughts.
He stared at Elsa, trying to grasp her meaning, but her face showed nothing—no explanation, no hint of acknowledgment. She shook her head silently and turned away, her movements smooth and unnatural.
"Hey! What's wrong with you?" Grey shouted after her, frustration giving way to fear. "What do you mean, wake up? And why shouldn't I eat this apple? Is it poisonous?" His voice rang out, but Elsa didn't even turn. It was as though she couldn't hear him, as if his words were swallowed by the stillness of the forest.
Suddenly, a deep, guttural growl vibrated through the air, shaking the trees. Grey's breath hitched. His hand reflexively reached for his sword, and in that instant, the ground beneath his feet trembled. The trees shivered, leaves rustling like whispers from unseen creatures. A long, bone-chilling screech echoed from the depths of the forest. The sound clawed at his insides, twisting his stomach into knots.
What... is that?
Grey's instincts screamed danger, and his body went rigid. Even Elsa stopped, her head tilting ever so slightly. She stood completely still, as if waiting for something. The eerie silence that followed only made the hairs on the back of Grey's neck stand on end.
Then, from the shadows, a soft rustling sound reached his ears—a slithering, almost rhythmic motion, like scales sliding across dry leaves.
His eyes darted toward the source. "Who's there?" he demanded, the tension in his voice palpable. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, cold sweat gathering on his palms. His pulse raced as his senses heightened, searching, scanning the darkness. Then, it emerged.
From the depths of the forest, a massive serpent slithered into view. Its long, sinewy body moved with terrifying grace, and its golden eyes—eyes that mirrored his own—locked onto him. Grey's breath caught in his throat.
No... His thoughts spiraled. There's no way I can fight that.
He took a shaky step back, his legs heavy as though weighed down by the crushing realization. The creature before him was beyond anything he had ever faced—massive, coiled, and ancient, its presence suffocating the air. Its golden eyes, eerily similar to his own, locked onto him with a predatory gleam. The sheer size of the monster dwarfed the beasts of the upper forests. The tension in the air pressed down on him, thick and suffocating.
One glance was enough for Grey to know—he couldn't win. Not against this.
His grip on his sword tightened, but it felt like a mockery of the threat before him. His mind raced through every tactic, every trick he had ever used, but they crumbled under the weight of the reality standing before him. Maybe if he had time to prepare, he could fight this monstrosity, but right now, there was no strategy for this. No escape.
But he hadn't lost hope. Not yet.
Elsa was still here. She was strong—he had seen her power. If anyone could fight this creature, it was her. If she fought, maybe…
His eyes flicked to Elsa, but she just stood there, her expression unchanged and calm, as if the giant snake didn't exist. Her blue eyes gleamed, locked onto him, not the creature. There was no fear, no concern. Her nonchalance sent an icy chill crawling up his spine.
Why isn't she moving?
"Elsa…" he muttered, the word barely escaping his dry throat. His voice trembled. "You have to—"
But before he could finish, she cut him off.
"Are you scared?"
The words were light, almost teasing. But Grey recoiled instinctively. The question wasn't playful; her tone held something... wrong. Something inhuman.
His heart thudded painfully against his ribs as he looked closer. Elsa's eyes were empty—void of life, void of any warmth. Her usually vibrant face was now devoid of expression, her lips moving mechanically, not matching her voice. It was like watching a puppet speak, its strings pulled by some unseen force.
'This...'
Grey's feet moved on their own. He took a step back, dread coiling inside him. Behind him, the giant snake hissed, its mouth opening wide to reveal rows of sharp, glistening fangs. Its breath, hot and rancid, washed over him. He was trapped—between the beast and whatever Elsa had become.
"Come here, Grey. It's dangerous... this big sister of yours will protect you," Elsa's voice mocked, but there was no malice—only care and worry for him in her tone. Yet her face was devoid of any emotion, as if lifeless. The amusement she always had when teasing him was absent. Grey's eyes trembled as she took a step forward, her red hair shifting unnaturally.
Swish... swish...
The strands of her hair seemed to move on their own, twisting and writhing like living creatures. And then, as Grey watched in horror, the vibrant red locks began to morph—each strand turning into a slithering snake.
Hissss...
Dozens of serpents replaced her hair, their cold, dead eyes reflecting his terror. Their tongues flickered, tasting the air, and every single one of them was focused on him, hungry and eager.
Grey's breath quickened. His grip on his sword tightened to the point of pain, but his hands trembled uncontrollably. He took another step back, but there was nowhere to go. The giant serpent behind him coiled closer, trapping him in place.
Elsa's body continued to warp, her neck twisting at impossible angles, her limbs elongating grotesquely. Her fingers stretched, the skin peeling back as blackened, claw-like nails grew from them.
Crack... crack...
The sound of bones snapping filled the air as her transformation accelerated, each shift more hideous than the last. Her eyes remained fixed on him, devoid of any humanity. Her expression was that of a doll—blank and lifeless.
Grey's stomach churned at the sight. His mind rebelled, struggling to comprehend the madness before him. He could feel the room spinning, his vision blurring at the edges as bile rose in his throat. He clutched his head with one hand, his body convulsing under the weight of the overwhelming bloodlust that pressed down on him like a tangible force.
His heart pounded in his chest—loud and frantic. It felt like a drumbeat of impending death. For the first time in years, Grey was truly, deeply afraid.
Then, as if to push him further into despair, Elsa's voice came again. But it wasn't coming from the monster in front of him; it echoed from deep inside him, soft yet chilling.
"It's not what you see that should scare you."
Grey's breath caught in his throat. He froze, the voice cutting through the madness like a razor. His thoughts scrambled as her words echoed in his head, over and over. Her eyes—those cold, piercing blue eyes—locked onto his once more, glowing faintly in the dim light. There was something ancient in them—something knowing.
"It's what you can't."
Before Grey could even process what she was saying, her voice whispered one final command, the words dripping with a terrifying authority.
"Wake up."
And the world collapsed.