Under the cover of night, the black spores drifted like tiny ghosts, silently invading the beautiful city. They danced in the breeze, as if searching for a new home. The dim streetlights made their paths in the air faintly visible, like a strange and mysterious dance from another world. The sudden blare of a police siren broke the night's silence, and flashing lights startled the crows resting by the roadside. An unknown disaster seemed to be lurking, showing its fangs.
In a dim living room, Jack stared at the TV news, absentmindedly petting his dog, Park. Park, a strong and gentle bulldog, had been bothered by the constant coughing from the living room where Jack's wife and daughters were. Recently, Park had been acting strangely. He ate very little and became increasingly irritable, sometimes even growling at the air. Jack felt uneasy, especially now, as Park's fur stood on end, as if sensing an invisible threat.
"What's wrong, buddy?" Jack tried to calm him with a gentle voice, patting his back. But Park didn't respond as usual. Instead, he stood stiffly, staring at the door. Jack followed his gaze, but there was only the soft glow of the nightlight on the floor, everything seemed normal.
"Bulldogs only act like this when there's danger..." Jack muttered, his voice filled with confusion and a hint of fear. He bent down to soothe Park, but at that moment, Park suddenly turned his head, his eyes flashing red. His pupils dilated, his teeth bared, and a low growl came from his throat.
"Park?" Jack froze. As he reached out to touch him, Park lunged like an arrow, sinking his sharp teeth into Jack's arm.
"Ow! Dang it, Park! What're ya doin'?"
Pain shot through Jack's mind, and he screamed, trying to break free, but Park's strength seemed to have multiplied, holding on tight. Blood poured from Jack's wound, dripping onto the floor. He punched Park's head with his other hand, but the dog he once knew showed no reaction, only madness in his eyes.
"help! Melissa!" Jack shouted hysterically, tears almost spilling out. A memory flashed in his mind, of when Park first came home. Back then, he was a fluffy puppy, clumsily rolling on the floor, touching Jack's fingers with his wet nose. He was so warm, so cute, his most loyal friend.
But now, that Park was gone. In front of him was a beast controlled by some evil force.
Finally, two police officers arrived frist after a neighbor's call. They were shocked to see the man in a pool of blood and his mangled arm, their hands trembling as they aimed their guns.
"Let him go!" one officer shouted. But Park didn't react, still biting Jack's arm. The next second, a gunshot rang out.
Bang!
Park's body jerked, the red in his eyes fading, and he collapsed to the floor. Blood flowed from his wound, staining the wooden floor.
Jack sat on the ground, clutching his wound, staring blankly at Park's body. His lips trembled, but he couldn't say a word. Tears blurred his vision, and he seemed to see Park's eyes turn gentle again in the last moment, as if saying,"I'm sorry."
Then Jack realized something unusual. His wife and daughter had been staying in the bedroom since drama time, and they still hadn't come out. His pulse quickened, a cold unease spreading through his chest. Something wasn't right.
He turned to the officer, his voice trembling with desperation."Sir, could you please check on my family in the bedroom? They've been sick for days!"
The younger officer, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed mustache, glanced at the elder officer for guidance. The older man's expression remained unreadable, but after a brief pause, he nodded silently. With measured steps, the young officer approached the bedroom door, each step of his boots landing heavily on the hardwood floor, echoing ominously in the tense quiet.
He knocked gently."Miss? Are you okay in there?"
The reply came as a series of harsh, barking coughs that cut through the silence, each one sounding raw and painful. The officer's brow furrowed deeply.
"Miss, can you come out?"
A suffocating silence followed. Ten long seconds dragged by, stretching like an eternity. The door stood firmly shut, an ominous barrier guarding whatever was inside.
The officer's jaw tightened. His voice grew firm, though there was a hint of unease creeping into his tone."Miss, I'm going to come in, okay?"
His hand instinctively moved to his gun holster, brushing the grip as if preparing for the unknown. With his other hand, he reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly.
The door creaked open, the sound slicing through the oppressive quiet like a blade. A sharp, metallic smell hit him immediately—a sickening mix of iron and decay that made his stomach churn. He faltered, staggering back half a step as his senses reeled.
The scene inside was beyond anything his years of service had prepared him for. For a moment, the officer couldn't move. The horrific tableau seemed to grip him, rooting him in place. But then the bile surged in his throat, and his instincts kicked in. He turned sharply, his tall frame nearly colliding with the doorframe as he bolted out of the room.
Jack stood frozen as the officer stumbled down the hallway and out the front door, his composure shattered. Moments later, the man was hunched over on the lawn, retching violently onto the grass.
"What... what did you see?" Jack's voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Jack grabbed the door frame, struggling to stay upright. His body shook, his mind filled with guilt and fear. He had spent so much time at work, barely noticing his family. Their arguments and the divorce papers his wife had threatened with—it all came back like a cruel echo. He had failed them.
He tried to step toward the bedroom, but the older officer's voice stopped him.
"Yes, sir, another case," the officer said grimly into his radio."I'm 95% sure… Yes, backup is needed... Understood. I'll handle it."
Jack's knees gave out, and he clung to the door frame for support. His face twitched, and his heart pounded against his ribs.
"The gods chose me…" he hissed, his lips curling into a wicked grin.
Without warning, he crouched low, then bolted, laughing wildly as the wind whipped past his ears. To him, the police officers were predators—beasts sent by the gods to test him. Their scared faces only fueled his twisted view.
"I'm the king of the jungle!" he howled, his voice echoing through the sterile halls. He jumped out the door and onto the lawn outside. He imagined himself in a dense tropical forest, attacking two bears with one hit. Though the little bear was scared, he showed no mercy.
Was this a nightmare? A cruel trick of his mind?
The surveillance cameras told a story too horrifying to believe. They captured glimpses of Jack—a blood-covered figure, running barefoot at an unnatural speed. His body twisted and contorted like a wild animal, his eyes glowing with a feral hunger. He wasn't just running—he was hunting. His primal roars echoed through the empty streets as he chased anything that still drew breath.
The footage grew more terrifying with each second. Jack pounced on a stray dog, his bare hands reducing the creature to silence in seconds. He didn't stop there. Moving faster than any human should, he turned his attention toward the homes nearby, his movements erratic, his breathing ragged, hunting for more.
Then, suddenly, everything changed.
A middle-aged man stepped into view, his face partially obscured beneath the shadow of a weathered baseball cap. The cameras struggled to capture his features, as though he were cloaked in an unnatural blur. He carried no visible weapon, yet his calm demeanor radiated an air of authority, as if he'd seen horrors far greater than this.
He raised his hand and pointed a single finger toward the sky. What followed was nothing short of divine wrath. A thunderous crack split the night, and a jagged bolt of lightning tore through the air, striking Jack directly on the head.
The force of the strike sent Jack sprawling onto the ground, his body convulsing, smoke rising from his seared skin. Yet, impossibly, he began to rise. His twisted form shuddered as he let out a guttural growl, his bloodshot eyes locking onto the man.
The stranger didn't flinch. As Jack lunged, the man summoned another bolt of lightning, this one brighter and sharper than the first. In his hand, the lightning seemed to solidify into a weapon—a gleaming sword crackling with raw energy.
The battle that followed was unlike anything the cameras had ever recorded. The man moved with calculated precision, his lightning sword slicing through the air with deadly elegance. Jack fought back with savage intensity, his claws tearing through the night, his strength unrelenting despite the injuries. The two figures clashed in a violent dance, each strike illuminating the dark streets in bursts of electric blue.
Finally, with one decisive blow, the man drove his weapon into Jack's chest. Lightning surged through Jack's body, sending arcs of electricity dancing across the pavement. Jack let out a final, earth-shaking roar before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.
And then, as abruptly as he had appeared, the man was gone.
From that night onward, the neighborhood was never the same. Jack's family—and even his neighbors—vanished without a trace. Their homes stood eerily quiet, their windows dark, as though they had never been occupied.
The only sign of the chaos that had unfolded were the blackened scorch marks on the street and the whispers of those who dared to speak of what they had seen. But those whispers only raised more questions.
Who was the man with the lightning? What had Jack become? And why had everyone connected to him disappeared?
The answers, it seemed, were buried along with Jack's body—or perhaps, somewhere far darker.
-----------------
Whispers spread like wildfire, hushed murmurs of an unseen plague—an epidemic no one dared to name. The evidence was mounting: the local hospital's emergency ward was overflowing with patients.
A chubby nurse shuffled to the bed of a young man, her face lined with exhaustion. She adjusted his IV, glancing briefly at his pale, sweat-soaked face. The man mumbled incoherently, his words lost in the chaos around them.
Suddenly, his body tensed. His eyes snapped open, fierce and wild. His pupils dilated unnaturally, and his expression twisted into something inhuman. With a guttural growl, he lunged from the bed, sinking his teeth deep into the nurse's arm.
Her scream tore through the room, high-pitched and raw. Blood spurted from the wound, staining her white uniform as the man gnawed at her flesh with terrifying strength. She tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron. Her legs buckled, the shock of his strength rendering her helpless.
"Help!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
An orderly rushed to her aid, grabbing the man by the shoulders, but the wild patient turned with feral speed. His teeth found the orderly's neck. A sickening crunch echoed as blood gushed, spraying across the room. The man's neck twisted grotesquely as he fell limp to the floor.
Another orderly charged in, but the patient threw him aside with inhuman force, sending him crashing into a row of medical carts. The doctor on duty snatched a syringe of sedative, his hands trembling as he tried to approach.
"Get back!" the doctor barked at the remaining staff, but the snarling patient thrashed and lunged, his roars filling the air. The emergency room descended into chaos. Blood splattered the walls and pooled on the floor. The man's guttural growls mixed with the panicked cries of nurses, the clatter of overturned equipment, and the wail of a nearby patient who struggled to breathe amid the pandemonium.
After what felt like an eternity, several staff members managed to restrain the man long enough for the doctor to inject the sedative. He collapsed in a heap, unconscious, but the damage was done. The emergency room was a battlefield, drenched in blood and strewn with broken equipment.
The doctor leaned against a counter, his chest heaving as he scanned the carnage. Confusion and fear swirled in his mind. What was this?
But the nightmare was far from over.