For two months, the world became nothing but running.
Miyu drifted from forest to forest, from ruined barns to abandoned shacks, hiding in the cracks of forgotten places. She slept curled in corners, her hair tangled and filthy, her body raw with wounds that refused to heal. The whispers never stopped. The hunger never stopped.
But worse than the hunger… was them.
The hunters.
Sam and Dean Winchester.
Their shadows followed her everywhere. Their voices, their gunfire, the burn of their holy weapons—they haunted her steps. She smelled their presence before she saw them. She heard the growl of the Impala's engine in her dreams.
Every time they found her, the cycle repeated.
Miyu would freeze. Her shadows would writhe, mouths shrieking for blood. But her body shook, her human eyes wide with terror. She remembered the flash of holy fire, the sting of consecrated bullets, the roar of Dean's shotgun, Sam's chanting voice.
And then—she ran.
Through the woods. Through rivers. Through ruins.
Always running.
Always with their boots pounding behind her.
Sometimes Dean would shout, his voice sharp, furious:
"Get back here, damn it!"
Sometimes Sam would cry out, almost pleading:
"Miyu, stop! You don't have to do this!"
But she never stopped. She never turned.
She was terrified of them.
The mighty hunters had become her nightmares. They weren't just men—they were punishment. Retribution. The proof that she could never win, never belong, never escape.
The cycle consumed her.
One night, she hid in the wreckage of a church, her tendrils curled around her like a cage. The stained glass was shattered, moonlight spilling across her trembling form. Her eyes stared blankly at the broken altar as the whispers coiled in her mind.
> Run, Miyu. They're coming.
You'll never be free of them.
Better to kill them. Better to feed.
But she couldn't.
Every time she thought of fighting, she remembered the pain. The burning. The screaming. The holy fire consuming her shadows.
And so, she ran. Again.
Weeks blurred into months. Her body grew thinner, her eyes more sunken. The whispers grew louder, crueler, mocking her cowardice.
> You're no monster. You're prey.
The hunters own you. The hunters will end you.
Still, Miyu fled, her bare feet bloody from the endless chase. She tore through villages, through fields, through the endless night. She left destruction only when hunger consumed her—but even then, she fled before the Winchesters could close in.
Two months.
Two months of running, never resting, never safe.
Until one night, cornered in the ruins of another forgotten town, Miyu collapsed in the dirt. Her tendrils wrapped weakly around her body, their mouths silent for once.
Her voice cracked as she whispered to herself:
"I don't… want to be hunted anymore…"
But in the distance, the growl of the Impala's engine echoed again.
The cycle would not stop.
The hunters were coming.
And Miyu knew—deep down—that one day, she wouldn't be fast enough to run.