"Mommy, look! There's a big dog outside!" Timmy's excited voice echoes through the small house as he peers out the window, his small hands pressed against the glass. His innocent curiosity gets the better of him as he spots the creature lurking just beyond their front yard. Without a second thought, he rushes outside, eager to greet what he assumes is a friendly animal.
In the other room, Timmy's mother is engrossed in her sewing project, the rhythmic motion of the needle through fabric calming her as she works. "That's nice, Timmy," she replies absentmindedly, her attention more on the stitches than on her son. "You shouldn't bother it, though. It might have fleas." But when she hears no response from Timmy, a slight unease begins to creep into her.
She puts down her sewing, wiping her hands on her apron as she steps out of the room. "Timmy?" she calls, her voice tinged with mild irritation as she notices the front door ajar, a sliver of the outside world visible through the gap. "Oh, what did I say?!" She huffs in frustration, marching toward the door, ready to scold her son for not listening. But as she steps outside, the warm evening air wraps around her, and she's met with an eerie silence.
The usual sounds of birds chirping and distant laughter from neighboring children are absent, replaced by a heavy, foreboding quiet. "Timmy?" Her voice is louder now, tinged with a growing concern as she scans the yard, her eyes darting from side to side. The twilight shadows stretch long across the ground, making everything seem more ominous. She takes a few cautious steps forward, her heart pounding faster with each one. "Where did that boy run off to?"
Her foot suddenly hits something soft yet solid, and she instinctively looks down. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees a small, crumpled pile of clothes lying on the ground—the very clothes Timmy had been wearing just minutes ago. The fabric is soaked in a deep, crimson pool that is steadily spreading across the dirt. A feeling of dread curls in her stomach as she drops to her knees, her trembling hands reaching out to touch the clothes, as if by some miracle, her son might still be there, hiding beneath them. But there's nothing. Just empty, blood-soaked fabric.
A cold wave of panic washes over her, and she struggles to breathe, her chest tightening as her worst fears begin to take shape. "Timmy?" she whispers, her voice breaking as tears blur her vision. She stumbles to her feet, her mind reeling, and turns to call for help, her voice hoarse with desperation. "Chief! Chief, help! Somebody, please—"
But her cries for help die in her throat as she spins around, coming face to face with a grotesque, nightmarish creature. It's on all fours, its massive body as large as a car, yet its form is unnervingly human-like, a grotesque parody of both man and beast. Its fur is matted with blood and grime, and its eyes gleam with a malevolent intelligence that sends a shiver of pure terror down her spine.
The creature seems to grin at her, a wicked, toothy smile that stretches across its grotesque face as if it's toying with her, savoring the moment. Her eyes widen in horror as she notices something hanging from its mouth—a small, delicate hand, limp and lifeless, the tiny fingers still curled as if they were clutching something only moments before.
"Timmy…my Timmy…no!" The realization hits her like a sledgehammer to the chest, and a raw, primal scream of anguish rips from her throat. The world seems to tilt on its axis as her knees give way, and she crumples to the ground, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of her grief and terror. Her sweet little baby is gone, devoured by what she thought was a harmless dog.
In a blind panic, she scrambles to her feet, her only thought now to run, to get away, to find help before it's too late. But she's barely taken a few steps when she feels a sharp, searing pain tear through her back, ripping through her flesh like a hot knife. She screams, but the sound is cut short as the creature's massive claws dig into her, pulling her down with terrifying strength.
She's flung to the ground, and before she can even process the agony, the creature is on her, its jaws snapping shut around her leg with a sickening crunch. The pain is excruciating, an all-consuming fire that spreads through every nerve in her body, making her entire being scream in agony. She thrashes, trying to fight, to escape, but it's futile. The creature's teeth tear into her again, ripping through muscle and bone with horrifying ease.
Her vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges as her body is ravaged by sharp claws and fangs. Each bite, each tear of her flesh, sends shockwaves of pain through her, until she's nothing more than a raw nerve, every inch of her body screaming for relief that will never come.
Blood pours from her wounds, pooling around her as the life drains out of her, her thoughts dissolving into a haze of agony and despair.
The last thing she sees before the darkness consumes her is the creature's gleaming eyes, cold and merciless as they watch the light fade from hers. And then, all that's left is…nothing.
~
The eerie silence of the night is broken by the distant sound of marching boots, growing louder as they approach the outskirts of Hackett Town. A group of soldiers, clad in dark, battle-worn uniforms, move with practiced precision through the debris-laden streets. At their head is a man with a commanding presence, his eyes sharp and unyielding beneath the brim of his military cap. This is the General, a seasoned warrior whose name is whispered in fear and respect across battlefields.
He signals for his men to halt as they come across the lifeless body of Timmy's mother, her broken form sprawled across the dirt road, the blood from her wounds soaking into the earth. The General crouches down, his expression grim as he surveys the scene. His gloved hand hovers over her still form before he finally touches the bloodstained ground, his fingers curling into a fist.
One of his soldiers, a young man with fear etched into his features, looks around nervously, the distant howls of the Junsui Demons sending shivers down his spine. "Sir, what should we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
The General stands up slowly, his hand moving to the gun holstered at his side. He pulls it out with a practiced ease, the cold metal gleaming under the pale moonlight. His eyes narrow as he listens to the haunting cries of the demons echoing through the night air.
"This may be a hopeless fight," the General says, his voice low but resolute, "but let's take out as many of these fuckers as we can. Don't give up until the end."
His words are like a spark, igniting a fire in the hearts of his men. They nod in unison, their fear replaced by a steely determination as they tighten their grips on their weapons. The General holsters his gun with a swift motion and raises his hand, signaling his soldiers to move forward.
They advance deeper into the town, their footsteps quick and silent, their eyes scanning every shadow for the telltale signs of the Junsui. The howls grow louder, more menacing, as they close in on the heart of the battle. The General's expression is set, his mind focused on the fight ahead. He knows the odds are against them, but he also knows that they cannot back down—not now, not ever.
As they push onward, ready to face whatever horrors await them, the General silently vows to make every shot count, to bring down as many of these creatures as he can before the night is through. For the fallen, for those who still cling to life, and for the town that once was. The battle is far from over, and they will fight until their last breath.