Chapter Three: The Chase
Luke woke with his heart already racing.
He didn't know why. No sound had woken him. No dream lingered in his mind. But his body reacted before his thoughts could catch up. His skin prickled, his chest was tight, and his breathing was shallow.
Something was wrong.
The apartment was dark, but it wasn't the usual darkness. It felt thicker, heavier, pressing down on him from all sides.
He sat up slowly, eyes darting to the walls.
The mark was there again. The strange black symbol burned into the paint. Only now, it was glowing faintly, like dying embers.
Luke's stomach twisted. "No…"
The glow pulsed once. Twice.
And then the whisper came.
"Luke…"
His entire body froze. The voice was the same as before — low, cold, crawling under his skin.
He didn't wait this time. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his phone, and headed straight for the door. His hands shook as he unlocked it, yanking it open.
The hallway outside was dark. Too dark. The weak yellow lights that usually flickered above the stairwell were out.
Luke stepped back.
Behind him, the symbol flared brightly.
The air dropped in temperature, his breath turning visible.
Something was coming.
He bolted into the hallway.
His footsteps echoed as he sprinted down the corridor. The building was silent, eerily empty, like everyone inside had vanished. He didn't care where he was going — he just had to move.
A sound followed him.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Heavy, deliberate steps.
Luke didn't dare look back.
He flew down the stairs two at a time, gripping the railing only enough not to fall. His lungs burned, his heart hammering, but the sound of those steps never faded. They were closer.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He reached the ground floor and shoved open the exit door. The hinges screeched. He burst into the street.
Night had swallowed the city. But it wasn't the same city anymore.
The familiar street outside his apartment was warped. The lamps were dim, flickering in and out. The buildings leaned at impossible angles, their windows hollow like empty eyes. The sky was the same lifeless grey he remembered from the wasteland.
He wasn't in his world anymore.
And the spirit was still coming.
Luke sprinted down the street. His shoes slapped the cracked pavement, his breath ragged in his throat. He dodged around twisted lamp posts, broken stalls, and shapes drifting in the distance. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision, whispering his name, but he ignored them.
Something growled behind him.
Not human. Not animal. Something else.
Luke risked a glance back.
He wished he hadn't.
The figure was huge, its body built from shadows that coiled and twisted like smoke. Its arms dragged along the ground, its face half-formed, shifting every second — sometimes human, sometimes beast, sometimes a hollow skull.
Its pale eyes burned. Locked on him.
Luke's legs nearly gave out, but fear kept him moving.
He darted down an alley, hoping to lose it, but the spirit slammed against the walls, forcing its massive body through. The ground trembled with every step it took.
"Why me?" Luke gasped, his voice breaking. "Why is this happening to me?!"
No answer came — only the echo of his own words.
The alley twisted unnaturally, stretching longer and longer. His phone flickered in his hand, the flashlight stuttering.
He pushed harder, lungs aching, until the alley suddenly ended.
A wall.
Luke skidded to a stop, panic clawing at his chest. He spun around.
The spirit was there.
It filled the mouth of the alley, its body too large, too dark, swallowing the weak light. Its head tilted as it stared at him, its smile slowly tearing wider.
Luke stumbled back, pressing against the wall. His legs shook violently. His phone slipped from his grip and shattered on the ground.
The spirit's voice slid into his skull.
"You cannot run."
Luke clenched his fists. His breathing was uneven. His whole body screamed at him to give up.
But something inside refused.
"No," he whispered. "Not like this."
He scanned the wall behind him, desperate. His fingers brushed against rusted metal — a loose pipe sticking out from the bricks. Without thinking, he yanked it free.
The spirit moved.
Luke swung the pipe with everything he had.
It passed right through the shadow. No resistance. No effect.
The spirit laughed. Not a sound from its mouth — but a chorus of voices all around him, mocking, echoing, drowning out his thoughts.
Luke's head pounded. His knees gave way.
The spirit reached for him, its shadowy hand stretching, its fingers longer than they should be, curling like claws.
He shut his eyes.
And then—
A burst of light.
Warm, blinding, sudden.
The spirit screeched, its body convulsing as it recoiled. The shadows writhed violently, retreating from the glow.
Luke opened his eyes, stunned. The light was coming from the broken phone on the ground. The screen was cracked, but it glowed fiercely, far brighter than it ever should.
The spirit roared, pulling back into the alley's darkness.
Luke didn't wait to understand. He grabbed the glowing phone and ran.
He didn't know where he was going. Didn't know what had just happened.
But he knew one thing:
The spirits weren't going to stop.