The outskirts were a graveyard of chaos. Smoke choked the air, carrying the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of burning debris. The screams of the dying had faded to whimpers, the desperation of survival replaced by the quiet of defeat. The ground was soaked with the lives of those who once struggled, red streams running through cracks in the parched earth.
The sound of distant gunfire had ceased, replaced by the grotesque echoes of beasts feasting on the fallen. Flesh tore, bones snapped, and wet squelches filled the otherwise muted surroundings. Those still alive moved like shadows in the chaos, darting from cover to cover, their breaths ragged, their faces etched with terror.
Where thousands had once huddled together for survival, only a few dozen remained, scattered like broken fragments of a once-living mosaic. Bullet-ridden bodies lay intertwined with the shredded remains of those mauled by the beasts. A mother, clutching the limp form of her child, knelt motionless among the ruins, her eyes hollow and unseeing.
---
Amid the carnage, a lone figure emerged, walking steadily toward the forest at the edge of the outskirts. His presence was an enigma—calm, unhurried, as if the chaos around him did not exist. His black coat fluttered lightly in the breeze, though the wind itself seemed to bow to him, avoiding his path. Stray debris, bits of metal and rubble, veered away as though repelled by some unseen force.
Each step he took carried an unshakable weight, an aura that silenced even the faintest whisper of panic in his vicinity. Those who glimpsed him from afar felt an inexplicable chill, as if they were witnessing something unnatural, something beyond their understanding.
---
As the figure neared the forest, he paused, his gaze falling to the ground before him. There, sprawled lifelessly on the dirt, was a lean body with a gaping hole in its chest. Blood had pooled beneath it, forming a dark stain that soaked into the earth.
The figure knelt, his movements deliberate and careful. He placed a hand on the body, feeling its cold, lifeless flesh. His gaze shifted slightly forward, to a thick smear of blood trailing across the dirt. Blonde strands of hair were caught in the crimson mess.
A flicker of emotion crossed his otherwise stoic face—anger, sharp and searing—before it was extinguished, replaced by an emptiness more chilling than the chaos around him. Without a word, he lifted the body into his arms, carrying it as though it weighed nothing.
---
The figure reached the edge of the forest, where the towering trees cast long shadows. He gently placed the body against the trunk of a sturdy tree, its bark rough and ancient. Then, kneeling before the body, he reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and pulled out a flower.
The flower was unlike anything natural—black as the void, its petals pulsating with a life of their own. The very air around it warped and twisted, as if reality itself recoiled from its presence. Space seemed to tremble, shrinking away in fear.
---
As the flower left his hand, a new sound arose—a distant, guttural roar. The beasts scattered across the outskirts, still feasting on the living and the dead, suddenly stopped. Their heads snapped toward the forest, their glowing eyes locking on the figure.
In an instant, they charged. Dozens of beasts—spider-like horrors with serrated legs, hulking monstrosities with molten eyes, and vulture-like creatures with jagged wings—rushed toward him in a frenzied wave.
The man sighed, a sound laced with annoyance. He stood, turning his head toward the oncoming stampede. His gaze, cold and unyielding, met theirs.
His right eye, visible beneath the shadow of his brow, glimmered with an unnatural light. The other eye was hidden beneath a tattered eyepatch, its secrets concealed.
As his gaze landed on the beasts, they stopped mid-charge, their massive forms trembling. And then, without warning, they disintegrated into dust. The air filled with the sound of crumbling, as if the beasts had been unmade, reduced to nothingness.
But it wasn't just the beasts. Humans caught in the same line of sight—those screaming, running, or hiding—collapsed as well, their bodies disintegrating like fragile ash.
The man's expression didn't change as he turned back to the body before him. Kneeling again, he placed the black flower into the hole in the body's chest.
---
The moment the flower touched the bloodied flesh, it pulsed with a deep, dark red light. The surrounding air grew heavy, vibrating with a low hum that resonated in the bones. The flower seemed to drink the blood, its pulsations growing stronger as it merged with the body.
New veins and arteries began to sprout, weaving themselves into place as the flower's energy infused the body. Flesh knit itself back together, the raw wound closing at an impossible speed. Within moments, the hole was gone, leaving unblemished skin where death had once reigned.
The figure stood, staring down at the body as its pallor faded, color returning to the once-dead flesh. He placed a hand on the chest, feeling the faintest hint of warmth returning.
"I hope you don't turn out like me," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with unspoken meaning.
Without another glance, he rose to his feet and walked away, disappearing into the shadowed depths of the forest.
---
Behind him, the body stirred. A faint sound broke the silence—a metallic "ding", resonating softly like the chime of an ancient bell.
Darkness shifted in the corners of the forest as the body's eyes fluttered open.
Answer to the previous riddle: "A River"
Riddle of the Day: "Two fathers and two sons went fishing. They only caught three fish to eat. Why?"