I never thought sound could cut.
Not just as a metaphor. Actually cut: slice you open from the inside, as if the body surrenders to the simple act of listening. The song of those things was just that: an invisible saw working on my chest, my ears, and my teeth all at the same time.
It seemed to dig into my memory, bringing splinters of broken recollections to the surface: the sound of car glass in an accident, the tinkling of a glass falling just before bad news. It was an attack on my personal history.
We followed Astrad down the refrigerated aisle, tossing bags of flour into the air with every step. The white clouds enveloped us, muffling reflections, but not the shriek. That shriek stuck to our skulls.
We emerged into the central space of the supermarket: the area with cheap clothes, tables piled high with t-shirts, and endless racks of discount pants.
But it wasn't as I remembered it.
Clothing, carpets, mattresses, and fabrics covered the floor as if someone had wanted to cushion the entire room. And in between them, the girls. Milia, Louise, and even Carla—the police chief's granddaughter—were organizing the scene with military haste: some threw fabrics, others dragged packages, all of them building an absurd and wild stage.
["You survived after all."]
Kiti stood before Astrad with a handful of wires, tape, two kitchen knives, and one of those plastic trumpets that screamed "TODAY 2-FOR-1!". She stuffed everything inside his brown trench coat.
["Just in case you need more attention."]
["Mika, take those four and spread the flammable liquid in the center,"] —Louise ordered.
["On it."] Mika gave a crooked smile and, with a nod, put three still-trembling students to work.
["You're sexy when you think,"] —Astrad said.
["You're less of a moron when you're bleeding,"] —Louise shot back, without missing a beat.
For the first time, I understood the real intention of those two: they were enjoying the danger.
(((They're insane.))) That thought settled in everyone's minds. But no one dared to stop them.
The chorus of glass continued to approach from the cold aisle.
...
They didn't take long to appear. Three silhouettes emerged slowly, each step a screech of crystal against ceramic. A living cacophony.
And then we saw it: the creatures stopped short when they encountered the improvised carpet of fabrics. They recoiled from it as if it were lava.
["This makes no fucking sense,"] —Carlos muttered.
["A planet in the sky doesn't either. Shut your mouth,"] —Louise cut him off.
We hid behind tables, under blankets, between clothing racks. Everyone, except him.
["Kekeke… Didn't you like my gift?"]
Astrad was sitting on the discount table, as if waiting for visitors. He laughed in the monsters' faces.
Less than a minute ago, he had given us an explanation: brutal, simplified, but an explanation nonetheless.
They were called Vitrum.
Genocidal creatures, ready to play with their prey. Fast enough to block an exit. Vulnerable to noise, dust, direct light, heat. Lethal in every other way.
In short: move or die.
Carlos swallowed hard as the Vitrum responded to Astrad with a growl in unison.
["Hold,"] —Louise whispered.
And it happened.
One of them leaped in a dance of blades and landed on the discount table, right in front of Astrad. The wood groaned, and the chorus of shrieks transformed into a challenge.
He smiled, insolent.
["NOW,"] —Louise shouted.
And we moved.
Fear didn't matter. The plan didn't matter either.
Move or die.
...
........................
JOURNAL ENTRY NO: 512
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Vitrum (Bestia Fragmentata)
REGIONAL ALIASES:
Latin America: El Concierto de Botellas / La Licuadora Andante (The Bottle Concert / The Walking Blender)
Industrial Zones (Anglo): The Shard-Swarm
Survivor Nickname: The Windshield Man
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): The Mime Made of Knives
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT
CLASSIFICATION: ANOMALY / VENATOR
Its nature is that of a pure Anomaly, a collective consciousness assembled from broken glass and an almost tangible malevolence. Its conduct is that of a Venator, but a sadistic one. It doesn't hunt to eat in the classic sense; it hunts for the pleasure of dismantling its prey, piece by piece.
DANGER LEVEL: RED (4 stars)
4 Red stars, and a serious contender in the 'End of the World' category. Forget your bullets; you can't kill trash. You don't fight it to win; you fight it to create an escape window. Its regeneration makes it functionally immortal in a standard fight. Without sonic weapons or a coordinated demolition plan, facing it is suicide by a thousand cuts.
AGGRESSIVENESS LEVEL: RELENTLESS
It's not just aggressive; it's sadistic. It's a predator with the mentality of a torturer. It enjoys the panic, the screams, and the sound of flesh being sliced. It will not stop until everything in its radius is turned into a bright red puddle or you have managed to escape. There is no deterrence, only survival.
🧬 COMBAT FILE (TL;DR)
TYPE: Aberration / Construct
AFFINITY: Conceptual (Collective Consciousness) / Physical (Sonic and Slashing)
🎯 PRIMARY WEAKNESSES:
High-frequency sonic weapons (destabilize its cohesion), Soft terrain (hinders its movement and regeneration). Dirty air (saturated with dust and the like) blocks its thrown blades. Extreme heat (deforms its components).
📌 KEY STRENGTHS:
Massive regeneration at the fragment level, Swarm form (stealth/evasion), Attacks that cause severe bleeding, Blinding flashes of light. "Choral song" of metallic-glassy screeches that can cause dizziness or nausea.
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
Biblical Hells: Compared to minor demons of torture. Entities whose existence is based on inflicting the maximum possible pain. The difference is that this one is made from the remains of a shopping mall.
Urban Folklore: They are considered the "spirits of looters," the violent souls of those who died in acts of pillage, trapped in the broken glass of the windows they shattered.
Collective Consciousness Theories: Some believe they are not individuals but a hive mind, a singular consciousness that manifests in multiple glass bodies. This would explain their perfect coordination.
Astrad's Analysis: Are they mutations? Ghosts? A modern art project gone terribly wrong? Whatever it is, it's proof that the universe has a sadistic streak and terrible taste in recycling.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS
PHYSICAL AND SENSORY DESCRIPTION:
A humanoid assembly of glass fragments of all kinds—windshields, bottles, mirrors—held together by what appears to be a rusted metal frame or a solidified shadow. Its form is unstable, with elongated and disproportionate limbs ending in clusters of sharp blades. It has no defined face, only a mass of crystals that reflect light in thousands of directions, creating a blinding, strobe-like effect. Its movement is erratic and screeching, a cacophonous concert of glass scraping against glass, accompanied by a smell of dampness, rust, and the sweet, metallic scent of fresh blood.
BEHAVIOR AND ECOLOGY:
They are pack predators that hunt in groups of at least three. Their most terrifying behavior is their ability to dissolve into a "swarm" of glass shards, a swirling, nearly invisible cloud that moves with great speed and stealth to surround their prey. They prefer to return to their humanoid form for the attack, an act presumed to be purely sadistic, as their swarm form could be more efficient. They do not consume flesh but seem to "liquefy" their victims with countless cuts to then absorb the blood and organic fluids from the ground. They often "play" with a survivor, wounding them and letting them flee only to hunt them again, prolonging the terror.
☣️ PROTOCOLS
RECOMMENDED ENCOUNTER PROTOCOL:
DO:
Use sonic weapons (stun grenades, high-frequency devices) to destabilize it and buy time.
Flee towards soft, dirty terrain (mud, sand).
Use heat as a deterrent (flamethrowers).
Shoot at its limbs while you flee. (It's better than nothing).
DON'T:
NEVER ENGAGE IT IN DIRECT COMBAT.
Don't trust traditional firearms (the damage is minimal, and regeneration is almost instantaneous). Shooting at the limbs works to a certain extent; on the chest or head, you're just fooling around.
Don't stand still.
Don't look directly at it when it's reflecting light.
FIELD REPORT (Recovered from the audio of a scavenger team in a shopping mall):
"...I hear something. Sounds like... like someone sweeping up glass. [Sound of high-pitched scraping]. Shit, they're here! Get back! Back! [Sound of a gunshot, followed by a flash and a scream]. Agh, my eyes! I can't see anything. [Another, sharper scream]. It's everywhere! It's like a storm of...! [The recording cuts off with a wet sound and a final screech]"
🎤 ASTRAD'S NOTES (THE ONLY SHIT THAT MATTERS):
Who the fuck ordered the 'vengeful recycling' DLC? This isn't a monster; it's the materialization of a migraine. It's as if the trash decided it had had enough of us and rose up to return the favor, in the form of a thousand fucking knives.
Forget being a hero. You can't kill a pile of broken bottles. You shoot it, and it laughs while it rebuilds itself. You cut it, and now it has more blades than before. It's a video game enemy designed by a sadistic programmer to make you break your fucking controller. Its only weaknesses are an earache and having to step in mud. Pathetic and, at the same time, invincible.
And it doesn't even kill you quickly. It enjoys the process. It's an artist of suffering. If you run into this thing, don't think about fighting. Think about which direction you're going to run and pray your boots are faster than its regeneration. Because if it catches you, your last sound won't be a battle cry; it will be the tinkle of your own body shattering into pieces.