In the hours that followed, Sunless sat in the shadows, unraveling every possible method of fastest possible kill
A plan began to form.
**Step one**: Wait. Let Alice's Mist seep deeper into the Demon's system. Let it *soften*. Let it *weaken*. Let it forget what sharpness felt like.
**Step two**: He'd climb partway back down the tree. From that vantage point, he'd use his shadow to stretch [Twins Bane] to twenty-four meters—*double range*. Enough to strike from a place of safety.
**Step three**: The eyes. Always the eyes. Strike like a coward. Like a dishonorable snake. Use [A Stubborn Legacy] to infect the wound. Fungus would do what metal couldn't.
**Step four**: When night fell, they'd soak the beast in a mixture of centipede oil and hardened resin.
And then… light it up.
Watch the metal beast burn from the inside.
It was a simple plan.
Which, of course, meant it was **[Fated]** to go wrong.
—————————————————————————————————————————
Cassie's small palm rested over his eyes, cool and trembling.
With a voice taut with tension—tighter than he'd ever heard it—she whispered, barely more than breath:
"Don't look. No matter what happens, don't open your eyes."
Sunny froze, and obeyed.
There was something in her tone. Something *wrong*.
Not the usual nervous flutter of a girl who saw too much—but the bare, raw thread of fear. A *real* fear. The kind that didn't waver or hesitate.
The kind that gripped.
He shut his eyes without hesitation. And just like that, the darkness wasn't a choice anymore. It was a cage.
His breath shallowed. Something cold slithered down his spine, wrapping around his chest like a fist made of ice.
Cassie withdrew her hand slowly, and just like that—he was blind.
No touch. No sight.
Only sound, and shadows.
Or… at least, that's what he thought.
Until the fog kissed his skin.
*Click* *click* *click*
A sound like glass teeth on a stone plate. Rhythmic. Distant. Overhead.
Far above in the suffocating dark sky, something was moving.
Then came the voice.
Cassie's voice again, floating out of the silence. Only this time… it wasn't right.
It wasn't hers.
"Don't look… don't look… don't look…"
It was coming from the wrong direction.
Sunny's heart thudded once, hard. A jolt of ice water in his veins. The voice sounded almost like her—almost. But it was *off*. Warped. Pitched at just the wrong edge. The way a mask fits over a face that isn't quite human underneath.
The air tightened.
"Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look—"
It repeated like a chant, each echo layering over the last. Faster. Louder. Closer.
*Click* *click* *click*
And then the voice shattered. Became a *howl*—not one voice, but hundreds. Screaming. Shrill and jagged, crashing into him like a wave of broken glass and static.
"DON'T LOOK! DON'T LOOK! DON'T LOOK! DON'T!!!"
Sunny stood locked in place, legs numb, vision useless, mind *tearing*. His knees begged to collapse. His gut screamed to run. And just when something in him started to *give*—
It all stopped.
Like a string cut clean.
Silence.
A heavy, unnatural kind of quiet that fell like ash over the world.
He exhaled, breath ragged, eyes still shut tight.
*Click* *click* *click*
Then, Cassie's voice again. Whispered right in his ear. Gentle. Sweet.Loving.
"Open your eyes."
*Yeah. No. I've seen this trick. That's how people die in horror movies.*
Sunny didn't move. Didn't even twitch. His thoughts were a blur of static, but somewhere in the noise, something stood out:
It sounded like her.
It even came from the right direction this time.
But something was *wrong*.
Why was she so calm?
Where was the heat of her breath?
Why was it *cold*?
And more importantly…
*How the hell was she leaning in to whisper… if he was taller?*
Sunny stopped breathing.
The voice came again. Reassuring. Kind.
"Open your eyes… open…"
And then, from right beside his ear, it *snapped*—a burst of *pure malevolence*, sharp enough to flay skin.
"**OPEN YOUR EYES!**"
But he didn't.
Seconds passed.
One.
Two.
Three.
They felt like lifetimes.
He shook from the tension, feeling the moments *age* him. Every second stretched until it nearly cracked his sanity. And then—
The voice pulled back. Fainter. Echoing. Almost dismissive.
"No matter… no matter…"
And then it was gone.
The world slowly bled back into him. The sound of wind stirring branches. The crash of distant waves. The ragged breathing of Cassie and Neph beside him. Alice and Puffy were strangely silent—but their stillness had a weight to it, like they too had come face-to-face with something that wore their nightmares like a second skin.
*Click* *click* *click*
And then…
From far below, the Carapace Demon *roared*.
Steel clashed.
The sound of its scythes scraping together screamed upward like a signal fire.
The air itself *pulsed*. The pressure swept through the roots and branches, a tangible force that blasted the unnatural fog into oblivion—like a bubble of clarity exploding outward.
But Sunny didn't open his eyes.
Not even when the world *slammed* into him.
A *boom*—a physical *detonation* that cracked through his bones.
The ground shook.
His organs *rattled*.
It was like standing next to a skyscraper-sized subwoofer when it dropped the bass—vibration grinding into muscle, sinew, spine.
And then—
Blackness.
---
The **Carapace Demon** was a monster of refinement.
Not cunning. Not clever. But perfected.
It didn't rely on cheap tricks or surprise. It *was* the threat.
Its armor was like industrial alloy—dense, reflective, nearly impossible to pierce.
It had two colossal pincers, two slicing scythes, and eight legs like spears. Every limb was made to kill anything foolish enough to get close, especially anything that tried to crawl beneath it. The one weak spot? Even that had been accounted for.
It was defense and offense merged—no flair, no style, just brutal efficiency.
But even something like that couldn't outmatch *everything*.
Not when *delirious*.
Not when *half-blind*.
Not when soaked in oil and resin, set ablaze, and made to burn like a signal in the black.
It became a beacon.
A lighthouse of fire in the dead mist.
And two very particular predators saw it.
The first was a fog-born creature—a blank existence, a shadow shaped by absence. It didn't move unless seen. Didn't attack unless *noticed*. A paradox of violence waiting to be acknowledged.
The second was foreign to these shores.
A thing with translucent skin and webbed, pulsing wings. Its flesh was filled with gas-bladders, its single eye weak. It couldn't survive in light—thrived only in darkness.
But it *sang*.
Used its twin tails to generate vibrations, sonar pulses that grew in strength and frequency. Until it hit the right one—then the world shattered.
Sound as a weapon.
Opera as execution.
It needed time. But when it struck, nothing survived.
Three monsters met in the black.
And evolution did what it always does—it picked a winner. Or, more accurately, a survivor.
The Carapace Demon.
Barely.
Its armor was wreckage now. Torn and splintered. Vibrated into shrapnel—an iron shell shattered from the inside out.
It survived.
It endured.
And it—*alone*—witnessed the sunrise