The rain had finally stopped by the time Zughaib reached his destination, though the cold, damp air still clung to everything like a heavy fog. The streets of Old Town were deserted, the crumbling buildings and flickering streetlights giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel. Zughaib moved quietly, his footsteps echoing off the broken pavement as he made his way to an abandoned-looking store tucked away in a forgotten corner of the district.
The windows were grimy, the glass cracked and smeared with dust, and the door hung loosely on its hinges, as if no one had entered in years. Zughaib paused for a moment, glancing around. The area was deserted, but something felt off. There was always something off in Old Town. As he reached for the door, his eyes caught movement from across the road. An old man stood there, staring directly at him, his expression unreadable. The man's clothes wear classy and formal of beige suit, his skin pale and thin like paper, but his eyes... they were sharp and empty, full of something Zughaib couldn't quite place.
Zughaib ignored the old man's gaze and pushed open the door, the hinges creaking loudly in the silence of the night. The inside of the store was worse than the exterior—dust coated every surface, and the air was thick with the smell of mold and decay. Shelves stood empty, and the floorboards creaked ominously under his weight. But Zughaib wasn't here for the scenery. There was something hidden in this store, something that would lead him closer to Rex.
His eyes scanned the room, and he moved cautiously, his instincts sharp. As he reached the back of the store, his foot hit something hollow. He stopped, crouched down, and tapped the floor. Sure enough, there was a hollow plank, a faint echo responding to his knocks. He pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on and using the dim beam to examine the floor. A section of the floorboards had been pried up and replaced poorly—almost as if someone had been in a hurry to hide something.
Zughaib pried up the planks, revealing a hidden basement beneath. The ladder was old and rusted, but it held as he descended into the dark space below. The air was colder here, heavier, as though the basement hadn't seen light or fresh air in decades. His flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing red sigils spray-painted onto the stone walls—Anarchy CM symbols, twisted and warped into something more sinister. They seemed to pulse with a strange energy, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
As he moved deeper into the basement, the air grew thicker, the silence oppressive. Suddenly, his flashlight flickered, and Zughaib's heart skipped a beat. The beam fell on something hunched in the corner—a crooked man, his skin pale and sickly, his eyes hollow sockets. His mouth was twisted into a grotesque, carved grin, and his limbs were bent at unnatural angles, as if his bones had been broken and reset in the wrong places.
Zughaib stepped back, his hand reaching for the pistol at his side. But before he could react, the crooked man lunged at him, its movements jerky and unnatural. It screeched as it came at him, its hands clawing at the air, but Zughaib didn't hesitate. He sidestepped the attack, using the creature's momentum against it. With a swift move, he grabbed the thing by the neck and slammed it into the stone wall with a sickening crack. The creature fell to the floor, its neck twisted at an impossible angle, its grotesque grin still plastered on its face.
Zughaib stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. What the hell was that thing? It was unlike anything he had encountered before. There was something unnatural about this place, something dark and twisted.
He continued his search through the basement, pushing open a heavy door at the far end. The room beyond was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a flintlock gun, its owner—a bulky ghoulish man—holding it with shaking hands. Zughaib froze as the gun was leveled at his chest.
The man's eyes widened, and the gun shook even more. "Wait," the man grunted, his voice hoarse and strained. "Wait... you're not one of them."
Zughaib lowered his hands slightly, assessing the situation. The man, though large, looked broken. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, and there was a crazed look in his eye.
"My name's Bobbin," the man said, his voice shaking. "I... I thought you were one of them. The ones who... who were going to changed me." He let out a ragged breath and lowered the flintlock.
Zughaib remained cautious.Not understanding what Bobbin meant.
Bobbin ran a hand through his tangled hair, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting something to jump out at him. "They did something to me. Those... things. They carved me up, twisted me, like they were trying to make me into one of them. But I escaped... barely."
Zughaib's gaze hardened. He pointed at the symbols of Anarchy CM on the walls.
Bobbin shook his head violently. "No, no. It's bigger than them. It's something darker. They're just pawns in the game. The real ones... they're cultists. Freaks. They took over. They serve something... something I can't explain." He shuddered, his eyes wide with terror. "I just want out."
Zughaib glanced at the red sigils on the walls, his mind racing. This wasn't just about Anarchy CM or Rex anymore. There was something far more dangerous lurking in the shadows.
---
Meanwhile, across town, in a decrepit shack, Alzeez groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His body ached, his skin stinging where deep cuts marred his chest and arms, the wounds carved with strange, swirling patterns. He was half-naked, the cold air biting at his exposed skin, and the only light in the room came from a flickering bulb hanging loosely from the ceiling.
The room stank of decay and blood, and as Alzeez's vision cleared, he saw them—crooked cultists, their bodies twisted and deformed, their eyes filled blood-laced with an unnatural hunger. They circled him slowly, their mouths hanging open, breathing ragged and shallow.
Alzeez tried to scream, to move, but his body wouldn't cooperate. The cuts on his skin burned with an unholy fire, the symbols carved into him pulsing with a sickening energy. He was trapped, helpless.
Then, from the shadows, Rex emerged, his face cold and emotionless. He spoke in a low, Latin verse, his words carrying a strange power. "Serviunt eis. Sunt ultra. Non est redemptio." His voice echoed through the room, the cultists nodding in unison, as if they understood the twisted mantra.
Rex approached Alzeez, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "You're lucky," Rex said softly. "You're part of something bigger now. You'll serve them, just like the others."
Alzeez's eyes widened in horror as the cultists began to close in, their twisted limbs reaching out for him.
---
Zughaib and Bobbin left the basement together, emerging back into the cold night air. The encounter with the crooked man and Bobbin's explanation had left Zughaib shaken but more determined than ever. Whatever dark forces were at play, they were connected to Rex, and Zughaib needed to get to him before it was too late.
As they stepped out onto the street, Bobbin stiffened, his eyes wide with fear. Zughaib followed his gaze and saw the old man from earlier—except this time, the man was standing in the middle of the road, his body eerily still. His head was missing, cleanly severed, but his body remained upright, as if held together by some dark magic.
Bobbin whispered, his voice trembling, "That's one of them. One of the crooked ones."
Zughaib didn't hesitate. He pulled Bobbin with him, moving quickly towards Bobbin's sedan parked a few blocks away. There was no time to waste. Rex had to be stopped, and whatever twisted plan he was part of had to be unraveled. But as they disappeared into the night, the headless figure remained, standing in the rain, waiting.
Zughaib knew the hunt for Rex wasn't just about saving Alzeez anymore. It was about stopping something far worse, something ancient and evil that had crept into the city, using the likes of Anarchy CM and Rex as mere pawns.
And Zughaib was the only one who could stop it.