The air outside was dry. People walked in silence, eyes down, faces drawn tight. They moved like ghosts, each person wrapped in their own bubble, keeping to themselves. No one spoke much anymore. There was no point. No one wanted to say what they knew would happen.
There were rumors, of course. But no one really needed to say them out loud. Everyone knew about Dog Woop—the smoke demon. They knew what he did. And more importantly, they knew that if you saw smoke, or if you breathed it in, you were done.
Lucas had never seen him. He didn't want to. But there were people who'd seen Dog Woop. They swore he was made of smoke, a beast with no form. His eyes were fire, his body was nothing but a cloud of black smoke that killed with the flick of a hand.
People said they heard him before he got close. His footsteps echoed like the sound of a hundred voices, crying out, laughing at the same time.
That was the worst part. You couldn't fight him. You couldn't run. You just waited, waited for the smoke to find you, for the footsteps to get louder. And when it did? That was it. People dropped like flies. Sometimes it was instant. Sometimes it took longer. Either way, everyone who inhaled the smoke ended up dead.
Lucas hadn't believed it at first. Who could? It sounded insane. But as the weeks dragged on, with cities burning and entire villages wiped out, he started to wonder if maybe there was truth to it.
He'd heard enough stories, seen enough bodies to know something was happening. The government couldn't stop it. They tried, of course, but their weapons had no effect. Dog Woop was... something else.
Lucas kept to the back streets, trying to avoid the open air. He thought, maybe, if he didn't breathe too deeply, he could keep from dying like everyone else. But the city felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that the smoke was out there. That it was coming for him.
As he passed an alley, he caught a whiff—just a faint trace—of something burning. His stomach twisted. He stopped, looked around. Nothing. The smell was still there, like dry ash, but it was fading. Maybe it was just a fire. Maybe it wasn't him.
He took another step.
The ground trembled, just a little. His heart skipped. The sound of footsteps. A scraping noise like nails on metal.
No. No, no. He started to back away. The hairs on his neck stood up. There was no mistaking it now. He could feel it, like an itch crawling on his skin. Something moving through the air, pulling at his breath.
And then the smoke. It rolled into the alley, twisting through the cracks in the stone, swirling around him. He tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. It slid down his throat like liquid fire, choking him.
He couldn't scream. Couldn't even cough. His vision clouded. His body burned from the inside. His legs gave out, and he fell hard against the ground.
Through the haze, he saw a figure. It was a man—but it wasn't. His face was a fire, burning out of the smoke, a grin pulling wide.
"You should've stayed inside," the thing said, its voice an echo.
Then the world went silent.