Jin Yeong's legs burned as he led the survivors down the stairwell, their footsteps a frantic rhythm against the cracked concrete steps. The red exit sign below flickered like a dying ember, promising escape but feeling impossibly far. His muscles ached from the endless running, the weight of the steel pipe in his hand dragging at his arm. Fighting that last monster had taken something out of him—not just energy, but a piece of himself he wasn't sure he'd get back. The air was thick, heavy with dust and the sharp tang of blood, and every breath felt like swallowing grit. But stopping wasn't an option. Not with the growls echoing closer, deeper, hungrier.
The group moved as one, their panic binding them together. The woman Jin had saved limped at his side, her jaw clenched against the pain of her twisted ankle. The man with enhanced strength gripped his fists, his face pale but determined. The woman with heightened reflexes darted glances over her shoulder, her steps quick and unsteady. The healer, a young woman with wide eyes, clung to the railing, her breaths shallow. They were all exhausted, teetering on the edge of collapse, but the promise of the exit kept them moving.
The stairwell vibrated beneath their feet, a low rumble that sent a chill through Jin's spine. He glanced up, his heart stuttering. The walls groaned, concrete dust sifting down like ash. Something was coming—something bigger than the last.
A deep, guttural snarl tore through the air, shaking the railings. It wasn't the skittering crawlers or the armored beast Jin had felled. This was heavier, its presence pressing against the air like a storm. A massive clawed hand smashed through the upper landing, its jagged nails carving through steel and stone as if they were nothing. The wall buckled, cracks spiderwebbing outward.
Jin's stomach lurched. This thing was massive—too big for the stairwell, too big for them to fight. Its snarl rolled through the space, low and hungry, promising death.
"Keep moving!" Jin hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't need to shout; the terror in his tone was enough. The group surged forward, their steps chaotic, desperate.
The woman beside him stumbled, her injured leg giving out. Jin's arm shot out, catching her before she hit the stairs. Her eyes met his, wide with fear but fierce with resolve. "I'm fine," she gasped, pushing herself upright. "Don't stop."
He nodded, his throat tight, and pulled her along. The exit was close—third floor, maybe second if they were lucky. But the monster wasn't rushing. It didn't need to. Its weight shook the stairwell with every step, deliberate and unyielding, like it knew they were trapped.
The third-floor landing came into view, the door slightly ajar, its exit sign flickering weakly. Jin's chest tightened with hope, fragile and fleeting. "There!" he said, pointing with the pipe. "Through the door!"
The group didn't hesitate. The man with enhanced strength reached it first, slamming his shoulder against the door to force it open. The others piled through, Jin and the injured woman last. He glanced back as he crossed the threshold, just in time to see the stairwell collapse behind them.
The impact was deafening. Concrete shattered, steel twisted, and a cloud of dust exploded into the air, choking their lungs. The ground shook, knocking Jin off balance. He caught himself against the wall, the woman clinging to his arm as they stumbled into the new floor.
For a moment, no one moved. The dust settled slowly, their coughs and ragged breaths the only sounds. Jin's legs trembled, exhaustion sinking into his bones. The pipe felt like an anchor in his hand, his arms heavy from swinging it, from running, from surviving. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath, his eyes scanning the group. They were alive. Barely.
The office floor stretched before them, a maze of overturned desks, shattered monitors, and scattered papers. The emergency lights flickered, casting jagged shadows that seemed to move on their own. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of ink, sweat, and something darker—something that made Jin's skin prickle.
"We can't stay here," he muttered, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. "That thing's still coming."
Before anyone could respond, a voice cut through the silence, weak and strained, from deeper within the floor. "Is someone… there?"
Jin froze, his grip tightening on the pipe. The voice was human, but it carried an edge—something off, like a radio signal caught between stations. The others stiffened, their eyes darting toward the sound. The woman beside Jin took a step back, her breath hitching.
"Sounds like someone needs help," the healer whispered, her voice uncertain.
Jin's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed to keep moving, to ignore the voice and find another way down. But the exit was blocked, the stairwell gone. This floor was their only path forward.
"Stay close," he said, keeping his tone even, not commanding but firm. He stepped forward, the pipe raised, his footsteps careful over the debris. The group followed, their movements tense, silent except for the crunch of glass under their shoes.
The voice came again, closer now, trembling with pain. "Please… help me."
Jin's pulse quickened. The distortion was clearer this time—a faint echo trailing the words, like they were being replayed a fraction of a second too late. It wasn't right. He slowed, his eyes scanning the shadows. The others hesitated behind him, their fear a tangible weight.
They rounded a row of cubicles and saw him—a man slumped against a wall, his dress shirt soaked with sweat and blood. His face was pale, his eyes unfocused, one hand clutching his chest as if trying to hold himself together. His dark hair was matted, his glasses cracked and hanging off one ear. At the sound of their footsteps, his head lifted, his gaze flickering to them.
"You… you made it," he rasped, his voice glitching faintly, the words echoing a heartbeat too late.
Jin stopped, his grip on the pipe tightening. The man's lips moved, but the sound didn't match, like a poorly dubbed film. The air felt heavier now, pressing against Jin's chest. The others froze, their breaths shallow.
The woman with heightened reflexes stepped forward, her voice cautious. "Are you hurt? Can you move?"
The man's breath hitched, a dry, brittle sound that echoed faintly. "I… I'm fine," he said, but his voice repeated, "I'm fine," a split second later, in the same strained tone.
Jin's blood ran cold. The woman's question echoed too, her own voice bouncing back: "Are you hurt?" The sound was exact, unnervingly perfect.
The air shifted, growing thick, oppressive. Jin's heartbeat pounded in his ears. "Who are you?" he asked, keeping his voice low, not accusing but searching. "What's going on with your voice?"
The man's eyes flickered to him, too wide, too glassy. He let out a weak laugh, the sound glitching mid-breath. "Min Jae-Wo," he said, his voice trembling but clear. "I worked in IT, third floor. Network support." He paused, his breath ragged, the echo trailing: "Network support."
Jin's eyes narrowed. The man was human, not a monster, but something was wrong. "Your skill," Jin said, keeping his tone neutral. "What is it?"
Min Jae-Wo's fingers dug into his chest, his body trembling. "Its called… Echo," he said, the word repeating faintly: "Echo." He grimaced, his voice cracking. "It's not just sounds. I feel… everything. Every scream, every cry, every bit of pain from this floor. It's in my head, my chest, my bones. I can't stop it. I don't choose what I take—it just happens."
His body convulsed, a shudder running through him. His voice broke as he spoke again, layered with echoes of other voices—sobs, screams, pleas for help. "I hear them dying. I feel their fear. Their pain. It's too much." His eyes, wild with anguish, locked onto Jin. "I can't make it stop."
The woman beside Jin gasped, her hand covering her mouth. The man with enhanced strength shifted uncomfortably, his fists clenching. "That's… awful," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Jin swallowed, his throat dry. Min Jae-Wo wasn't a threat, but he was a liability, drowning in a skill he couldn't control. "Can you move?" Jin asked, keeping his voice steady, not pushing too hard.
Min shook his head, his breath hitching. "I don't know. It hurts… everything hurts." His voice echoed again, layered with a woman's scream, a man's choked gasp. He clutched his head, his fingers trembling. "But you need to go. Now."
Jin's pulse spiked. "Why?" he asked, his voice low, urgent.
Min's eyes darted to the shadows behind them, his breath stuttering. "It's here," he whispered, the words glitching, repeating: "It's here."
A low, wet scrape echoed across the floor, like metal dragging through flesh. Jin's heart slammed against his ribs. The emergency lights flickered, plunging the office into near-darkness, the red exit sign barely glowing in the distance. The air grew suffocating, pressing against them like a physical force.
No one moved. No one breathed.
The sound came again, closer, deliberate. A faint click, like claws tapping tile. Then—a muffled sob, not from Min, but from somewhere in the shadows. Jin's stomach dropped. Someone had made a sound.
The air shifted violently, a rush of movement too fast to track. A desk exploded outward, splintering against the wall. A woman's scream tore through the darkness, raw and terrified, cut off by a wet, ripping sound.
Jin spun toward the noise, the pipe raised, but the darkness swallowed everything. He couldn't see her, couldn't tell who it was. The healer's voice broke, a choked whimper. "She's… she's gone."
The thing was here, in the room, hunting them. Jin's breath came in shallow gasps, his exhaustion forgotten as adrenaline surged. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it—its presence, its hunger, lurking just out of sight.
Min Jae-Wo groaned, his body trembling as he clutched his chest. "It's listening," he whispered, his voice layered with echoes of screams, of pain. "It hears us."
Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, his knuckles white. He wanted to move, to run, to fight, but they were blind in the dark, and the thing was waiting. He leaned toward the group, his voice barely a breath. "Stay quiet. We need to leave."
The others nodded, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror. The man with enhanced strength clenched his fists, the woman with reflexes froze, her breath held. The injured woman beside Jin gripped his arm, her fingers trembling but silent.
They had to move. They had to get out. But the thing was close, its wet, dragging steps circling them in the dark.
Jin's eyes locked on the faint glow of the exit sign. It was their only chance. He whispered, so low it was almost inaudible, "Follow me. Slow. Silent."
They nodded, their movements careful, deliberate. The air was thick with fear, but they moved, step by step, toward the distant light, praying the thing in the shadows wouldn't hear them.