"You heartless monster."
Only twenty-four hours had passed.
"No… stop it, Angela," he whispered.
"Stop it? I'm saying the truth. No child could kill their own parents."
And the whispers had already begun—slithering through the edges of his mind, relentless and accusing. Their past had returned to hunt them, ceaselessly.
Jack paced back and forth, over and over again. The sound of his muffled breaths echoed against the walls of the dark skull.
His nails clawed at his arms, again and again, blood dripping onto the crimson sand.
His gaze wandered—to the horse tied in the corner, to Harris, bundled up in shadows. Harris's eyes were fixed on him, and if Jack stared hard enough, he could see murder dwelling in their depths.
But no—he mustn't let himself be deceived. The voices, the thoughts… they were all the fog's doing. He mustn't rely on his vision or instincts.
"There are no scars on his body, no bruises either. Are you sure he was abused?"
"I heard he poisoned his parents to death."
"Well, I heard he slit their throats while they slept."
"For a child to do something like that…"
"HE MUST HAVE BEEN FULL OF MALICE."
No. That wasn't why.
"I'm sorry, but we can't accept him."
Jack's lips parted slightly, but he bit them closed, stumbling toward his horse and eventually lying close to it. The sound of its heartbeat calmed him. Slowly, his breathing steadied.
I… I wasn't angry. I was sad.
After a while, Jack's eyes opened. They itched slightly, so he reached to scratch them—but for some reason, his right arm felt obscenely heavy.
Seriously… am I that tired?
Sigh.
At least the voices have eased up a bit. Maybe if we're lucky, the fog has already passed.
It was… faster than usual.
He tried to stand, but his right arm refused to move.
The hell…
He turned toward the arm, and his eyes widened.
What the hell…
A rotten, pungent smell filled the air—the smell of decay. His arm's skin had turned purple; some parts had completely corroded, exposing crooked bones tearing through flesh and muscle.
This isn't right… not even two days have passed.
"I told you," Harris said. "The fog is full of malice."
Jack turned toward Harris, who was surrounded by a graveyard of shattered stone. Half his face had begun to melt away, revealing bone and muscle tissue.
Yet still, he remained eerily calm.
"How long do you think we can stay before we lose our minds?"
"And become monsters." Harris gestured toward Jack's arm. "I'm guessing… two more days at most."
Jack was stunned. Even in this situation, Harris was still thinking clearly. He knew Harris still believed that going outside and killing it was their only option. But…
"This time the fog is fast. Even its effects are accelerated. That also means it'll fade earlier than normal."
Harris frowned and yelled, "But you can't guarantee that! Right now, we can clearly see that we'll die if we just wait around!"
"And we'll die instantly if we step into the fog. So what's the difference?" Jack snapped back.
"You foo—"
"Harris, we are powerless. We don't have a choice. So for now… let's hope."
"Or, if you truly wish to leave…"
"Then leave alone."
Harris grimaced but said nothing.
Jack let out a sigh of relief and whispered, "It's okay. I won't leave."
A little girl wrapped her hand around him.
"Thank you. Please… never abandon me again."