The first crow fell at midnight.
It smacked the pavement like a rock, feathers scattering across the street. The sound echoed down the empty block; wet, sharp, wrong.
Elias stopped walking. His hood sagged against the drizzle, his breath ghosting in the cold. He stared at the crumpled bird.
It twitched once. Then it stilled.
"...Weird," he muttered.
A Tuesday night. Empty sidewalks. Neon signs buzzing like tired insects. One lamp flickered, then went dark, leaving the corner swallowed in shadow.
The kind of hour that felt abandoned, as if even God had clocked out early.
Elias adjusted his jacket and kept moving. He'd seen dead birds before. Just one more reminder that everything fell apart eventually.
The air felt heavy, thick enough to notice. Damp. Wrong. Like the sky was holding its breath.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and muttered, "Figures. Midnight, and I'm still walking home. All this for eight bucks an hour. What a life."
His shoes slapped through puddles. He felt pathetic. He usually did.
The phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the glow lighting his pale face.
One missed call. Anna. His sister.
Elias stared at it. His thumb hovered over the call-back button. For a moment, he almost tapped.
Instead, he locked the screen and stuffed the phone away.
"Not tonight, Anna," he whispered. His chest tightened, but he walked faster.
The city stretched quiet around him, so quiet he could hear his own breathing.
And then—
Something wet landed on his cheek.
He frowned and wiped at it. His fingers came back black, streaked like soot.
"What the…?"
Another drop hit his sleeve. Then another.
The drizzle began in earnest. Thick, heavy droplets spattered the pavement, each one leaving a dark stain that spread like ink.
The smell rose sharp and metallic. Rust. Iron.
Elias lifted his hand. A drop splattered in his palm.
Thick. Oily. Black.
Not rain.
He sniffed his fingers, gagged.
"Blood?"
The drizzle thickened, streaking windows, sliding off parked cars in oily streams. The streetlamps flickered as if the liquid itself was eating the light.
Elias's gut twisted. He wiped his palm on his jeans, leaving a streak like tar.
Then came the thud.
Something dropped inches from his shoes. A crow.
Its body was twisted, one wing bent backward, bone jutting through slick feathers. Its beak clattered against the pavement.
Elias staggered back, heart pounding. "Shit—"
Another crow fell. Then another.
The sound multiplied, impact after impact. Birds hitting roofs, sidewalks, cars. The street filled with the noise of bones snapping, wings tearing, bodies bursting.
Feathers rained down like ash.
The drizzle turned into a storm. Black rain and broken birds together.
Elias threw his arms over his head, stumbling backward.
The city wasn't silent anymore.
Windows banged open. Voices shouted. Glass shattered. A woman screamed from a second-story balcony, shrill and raw.
"My God!"
A man's voice followed, frantic. "What the actual hell's happening?!"
The crow at Elias's feet twitched.
Its neck snapped sideways with a crunch, bones scraping. Its ruined eye filled with a dull red glow. Smoke curled from its beak.
"No," Elias whispered. "No, no, no…"
The bird lurched upright. Broken wings flapped violently. Feathers bristled, twisting sharp as blades. Its head jerked toward Elias.
Then it screeched.
The sound wasn't natural. It wasn't avian. It was metallic, splitting the air like tearing steel.
Elias's skull throbbed. He clapped his hands over his ears and stumbled back.
All around him, the other fallen birds twitched. Dozens. Hundreds. Their bodies writhed, reshaping. Bones splintered, bent, reformed.
Eyes lit up red. Beaks clicked.
The street was alive.
The first crow lunged.
Not at Elias. At the man who had screamed earlier.
The bird hit him square in the chest, claws tearing his coat like paper. The man shrieked, flailing, batting at the mass of feathers cutting into him.
"Get it off me! Oh God—get it off!"
The crow's beak plunged into his throat. Blood sprayed, hot and steaming in the rain.
His scream gurgled into silence.
The bird didn't stop. It dug deeper, feathers flaring like knives, beak cracking through tendon and cartilage.
Elias gagged. His stomach twisted. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
This wasn't real. Couldn't be real.
But the man's body spasming on the asphalt was real. The stink of blood in the rain was real.
A woman burst from a doorway down the street. Barefoot, soaked hair plastered to her face. She sprinted toward Elias, eyes wild.
She grabbed his arm, nails digging hard.
"Run!" she screamed. "For Christ's sake, move your damn legs!"
Elias stammered, throat dry.
She yanked harder. "Move, you idiot! Do you wanna die here?!"
Panic strangled him. Then instinct took over.
Elias bolted.
Feet slipping on the slick pavement, he stumbled into a run, arms pumping wildly, lungs burning in the cold. His pulse roared in his ears louder than the rain.
Behind him, the woman's footsteps slapped close, desperate.
For a heartbeat, he thought they'd both make it.
Then the sound hit.
A wet, heavy smash.
Elias's head jerked back in time to see a black mass plow into her from above; wings and claws and feathers swallowing her in an instant. Her scream cut short as she hit the pavement, the crow-beast tearing into her chest before she could rise.
Elias didn't stop.
Didn't look back again.
Her scream followed as he bolted down the street.
The pavement was slick with rain and blood. Elias's shoes slid, skidding. He caught himself on a lamppost and kept running, lungs burning.
Something crashed to his left. Another crow. It slammed into a man crawling out of a taxi.
"No! Get away!" the man sobbed, swinging his briefcase uselessly.
The crow ripped his face open. His scream ended in a wet choke.
Elias's legs pumped harder. His heart hammered.
The sound of wings filled the air; thousands of them. A storm of shrieking, beating wings.
He turned a corner, stumbled into a wide intersection, chest heaving.
And then he looked up.
The sky was gone.
Above the city stretched a vortex of wings. Black shapes blotted out the moon, circling like a living ceiling. The noise was deafening, a wall of shrieks and cries that rattled his bones.
The rain poured harder. Sheets of black liquid ran down buildings, pooling in the streets.
And Elias understood.
The night itself was alive.
Feathers. Beaks. Eyes like burning coals.