The Porin Forest swallowed them whole. Fog clung to their ankles like grasping fingers, cold and damp. Above, the moon hung as a pale crescent, barely visible through tangled, skeletal branches that twisted together like exposed ribs. Crickets were silent. That alone unsettled Clyde. In forests like this, silence was never natural. Only the crunch of wet leaves beneath their boots broke the quiet. They were halfway in when Marlowe spoke under his breath. "According to the report, a boy disappeared here at sunset." Clyde swallowed. The fog thickened, pressing against his ears, dulling sound as though the forest itself wished to hide what moved within it.
Then it struck him.
A violent jolt tore through Clyde's mind. His vision warped, the forest dissolving into fractured shadows. He saw a child. Small. Shaking. Crying. Hands reaching out in desperate pleading.
Then came the sound.
A heart bursting apart.
A howl followed, raw and ecstatic, as something tore into it.
Clyde staggered, dropping to one knee. His violet, star-filled eyes flared to life, constellations igniting within them as Hollow Star reacted on instinct. Marlowe was at his side instantly, steadying him. "What did you see?" Clyde fought for breath, his voice unsteady. "A child's heart. It is happening now. The Howling is close." Marlowe nodded once. "Then we move."
The scream came moments later, sharp and broken, echoing through the trees.
The Howling burst from the fog.
Its blue flesh stretched tight over warped limbs that bent in unnatural directions, bones jutting beneath the skin like broken branches trapped inside a sack. Its movements were erratic, violent, driven by hunger rather than reason. A faint Moon Cage surrounded it—a pale sphere of lunar light meant to contain the unstable ichor twisting inside its body.
But the cage was unstable.
Thin lunar sigils flickered along the surface of the barrier like fragile silver scars. They pulsed weakly, forming geometric chains meant to stabilize the creature's corrupted essence.
Marlowe stepped forward calmly.
He reached beneath his coat and drew his Echo Gun.
The weapon was compact and obsidian-black, its surface etched with worn lunar sigils of its own. These markings glowed faintly as the weapon awakened, resonating with the surrounding moonlight. The barrel vibrated softly, gathering compressed soundwaves into a sealed chamber.
The Howling thrashed wildly.
Cracks began to spread across the Moon Cage as its unstable ichor pushed against the sigils trying to contain it.
Marlowe raised the weapon.
He did not aim for the head.
Nor the limbs.
He aimed directly at the chest.
The shot was sharp and focused.
The Echo Gun released a violent pulse of compressed sound. The sonic round itself was invisible, but the air warped as it traveled forward, tearing through fog in a distorted ripple.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The Howling's body jerked as the impact struck its chest.
Then the harmonic effect detonated.
A crushing vibration erupted inside the creature's ribcage as the sonic frequency tore through bone and flesh. Instead of blasting outward, the energy collapsed inward, pulverizing everything at the center of the chest.
The heart shattered.
Not pierced.
Not ripped.
Shattered.
Fragments of bone and ruptured tissue collapsed inward as the organ was crushed into pulp by the violent resonance. A hollow crack echoed through the forest like stone splitting under immense pressure.
The Howling convulsed violently.
And the Moon Cage reacted.
The pale sphere surrounding the creature trembled violently as the stabilizing sigils struggled to maintain their structure. Thin lines of silver light flickered across the barrier, the once precise patterns beginning to distort.
The first fracture appeared directly where the sonic vibration had struck.
A faint crack ran through one of the lunar sigils.
Then the sigil split.
The glowing line fractured into two broken halves, the delicate geometry collapsing as the corrupted ichor inside the creature surged wildly without the heart to regulate it.
Another crack followed.
Then another.
Soon the entire surface of the Moon Cage began to fracture like glass.
The sigils themselves started to mutate.
Lines bent out of shape. Circles warped into jagged spirals. Symbols that once formed sacred lunar script twisted into chaotic patterns that no longer obeyed their original structure.
Some sigils flickered violently as if trying to repair themselves.
Others shattered completely.
Small fragments of glowing script broke apart and dissolved into drifting motes of pale light, falling slowly through the air like dying embers.
The barrier could no longer hold.
The Moon Cage collapsed.
The remaining sigils cracked one final time before disintegrating completely, their fragments dissolving into faint lunar dust that scattered across the forest floor.
With the stabilizing sigils gone, the Howling's body convulsed once more before collapsing inward like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence returned.
Marlowe lowered his weapon, exhaling slowly as the faint hum of the Echo Gun faded. Clyde stood frozen, heart pounding.
"You are incredible," Clyde whispered.
Marlowe reloaded with a quiet metallic click, sliding another sonic round into the chamber.
"Stay close to me," he said calmly. "That was one of the weakest Howlings."
His gaze swept the fog ahead.
"The ones that wipe out villages are far worse."
Clyde nodded slowly.
Then his attention shifted.
The child stood a few steps away.
The boy appeared completely ordinary.
Too ordinary.
His clothes were clean. His face unmarked. He stood motionless, breathing shallowly as though he had simply wandered out of the forest unharmed.
Yet something felt wrong.
The air around him felt unnaturally heavy, as though the forest itself refused to approach him.
Then memory struck Clyde like ice.
Captain Marek's report echoed in his mind.
"The missing boy was found. Safe."
Clyde's breath caught.
If the real boy had already been found…
Then who was standing here?
The child's head lifted slowly.
His eyes were dull.
Glassy.
Empty.
They did not focus on anything.
His lips twitched upward into something that resembled a smile, but the expression never fully formed.
"Don't," Clyde whispered, every instinct screaming.
The boy lunged.
His jaw split apart with a wet tearing sound, stretching far beyond human limits. Skin ripped along his cheeks, exposing raw muscle and bone. Fingers elongated mid strike, joints snapping as they bent backward into crooked, thornlike hooks.
Clyde shut his eyes, reaching inward for Hollow Star.
Nothing answered.
The forest stilled.
Then a cold voice spoke.
"Enough."
Aldric stepped forward.
The air grew heavy.
Clyde felt it instantly—a crushing pressure filling his chest as though gravity itself had suddenly increased. Leaves flattened against the ground. The fog sank downward as if dragged by invisible chains.
The child's body snapped backward mid-lunge.
Gravity twisted around him.
His momentum reversed violently as the space he occupied became unbearably dense. His spine bowed as the force pinned him in midair, boots scraping uselessly against nothing.
He hung there trembling.
Aldric raised one hand slowly.
The pressure increased in controlled pulses.
He was not lifting the boy.
He was amplifying the weight of the space itself, compressing the child within his own mass.
Then the change began.
The boy's chest bulged outward as his lungs strained against impossible pressure. Ribs pressed against the skin until the flesh stretched thin and pale. Dark veins spread across his torso like fractures in glass.
A sharp crack split the forest.
Bone tore through flesh.
Then another.
The ribcage pried itself open from within as something expanded beneath it. Blood streamed downward, dripping heavily onto the leaves below.
His spine lengthened.
Vertebrae slid apart one by one with a grinding sound as gravity reshaped the body into something longer.
Heavier.
Wrong.
Skin resisted briefly.
Then it split open in ragged seams.
Long strips of flesh peeled away and collapsed under their own weight.
Beneath them something moved.
Something segmented.
His arms collapsed inward at the shoulders, bones folding before dissolving into the growing mass.
Then the legs emerged.
Pairs of them unfolded violently from beneath the ruined torso, dragged free by the relentless pull of gravity. They struck roots and stones as they extended outward, slick with blood before hardening into curved, chitinous limbs.
The boy's face failed last.
His features sagged beneath the crushing pressure. Eyes stretched downward before sliding out of place. His mouth collapsed inward, twisting into a meaningless shape.
Then the skin tore free.
It fell silently among the leaves.
What remained was no longer human.
A centipede Howling coiled where the child had been.
Its body stretched the length of a carriage, encased in dark blue chitin that pulsed faintly with trapped life. Beneath the armored shell, fragments of ribs, skulls, and fingers pressed outward as if trying to escape.
Its many legs moved in slow synchronized waves.
Each step sent faint tremors through the ground.
Two pale eyes opened.
They held no thought.
Only hunger.