Rian didn't sleep that night.
He sat by the cracked window, watching the city flicker in the distance. Fires burned where buildings used to stand. Every few minutes, something howled out there—too human to be an animal, too wrong to be human.
The glow from earlier still lingered in his chest. He could feel it—warm, pulsing, alive. Like a second heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Eat again… feed again…
The whisper came softly, almost tender, like it was part of his own thoughts.
Rian pressed a hand to his head. "Shut up," he muttered.
Nara stirred in her sleep on the floor. Her small frame was wrapped in a burned blanket. Every time she exhaled, he could see her breath, fogging the cold air. She looked fragile, too fragile for this world.
He wanted to protect her. He really did.
But when the whisper came again, he felt a strange itch in his throat—like hunger, but deeper. Not for food. For something else.
He remembered the light. The taste of it. The warmth that filled his veins.And the power that followed.
That power had saved them.
So why did it feel so wrong?
By morning, smoke had cleared enough for them to move. The apartment was no longer safe; the stairwell was filled with corpses that didn't stay dead for long.
Rian tied a strip of fabric around his face to block the smell. "Stay behind me," he told Nara.
She nodded, eyes down.
They crept down the emergency stairs, one careful step at a time. The walls were covered in black ash, the air heavy with rot. Somewhere below, a faint dragging sound echoed.
Rian froze.
A figure was crawling up the stairs—slow, twitching. Its skin was gray, its mouth hanging open. One eye was gone.
"Shit."
Nara gasped. "Is it—?"
"Don't talk." Rian tightened his grip on the metal pipe.
The thing stopped, head tilting at an unnatural angle. It sniffed the air, then screamed—a broken sound that scraped the inside of Rian's skull.
He swung. The pipe crushed its skull with a sickening crack.
The sound echoed.
And just like before, light began to leak out from the corpse.
Nara stepped back. "Rian… no."
He couldn't look away. The glow pulsed, reaching toward him like it knew where it belonged.
He told himself to run. To leave it.
But when it touched his skin, the warmth exploded through him again—rushing up his arms, spreading to his chest. His vision flashed white.
And the whisper laughed.
Good. More.
Rian fell to his knees, gasping. It felt good—too good. The pain, the exhaustion, the fear—all washed away in seconds. He could breathe again. His heart felt unstoppable.
But beneath that rush, something else crawled in—a deep, nauseating guilt.
He looked at his reflection in the stairwell window. His right eye shimmered faint violet again. His veins pulsed darker than before.
"What's happening to me?" he whispered.
Nara's voice trembled behind him. "You're scaring me."
He turned around too fast. "Nara, I—"
She flinched.
That hurt more than anything.
He lowered his voice. "I didn't mean to— I just…"
"I saw it," she said. "That light. It went into you."
"I didn't ask for this."
"But you didn't stop it either."
Rian had no words. The truth sat heavy between them.
They reached the ground floor after clearing two more staircases, each one worse than the last. The lobby was half-destroyed, windows shattered, walls smeared with ash and something darker.
Outside, the street was chaos frozen in time. Cars had crashed into each other. A bus burned in the middle of the intersection. No one was left alive—only hollow bodies walking aimlessly, as if replaying their last moments.
Rian kept low, pulling Nara by the arm as they moved through the wreckage. Every sound felt too loud—the crunch of glass, the flap of loose paper, even their breathing.
At one point, they ducked behind a flipped car. Two of the Hollow passed by, their heads twitching as they scanned the air.
Rian held his breath. His muscles tensed. His heart hammered so hard he swore they could hear it.
But they didn't. The creatures shuffled away.
Only when they were gone did he exhale.
"Come on," he whispered.
They crossed the street and entered a small convenience store. The glass door was cracked, but intact. Inside, the air smelled like burnt sugar and decay.
Shelves were overturned. A few instant noodle packs still lay scattered on the floor.
Nara went to grab one. Rian stopped her. "Wait."
He listened.
Silence. Then—faint breathing from behind the counter.
Rian raised his pipe. Slowly peeked over.
A man crouched there, clutching his stomach. His face was pale, eyes hollow but focused. He was still human.
"Hey!" Rian said softly. "It's okay. We're not—"
The man's hand shot up, trembling, pointing a gun at him.
"Stay back," he hissed. "You—you're one of them. I saw your eyes."
Rian froze.
Nara stepped forward. "Please, we're not—"
"Shut up!" the man barked, finger shaking on the trigger.
Rian raised both hands slowly. "We just want food. That's all."
The man's breathing was ragged. "Your eyes. They're glowing. You're infected."
"I'm not—"
Before Rian could finish, the man fired.
The bullet missed his head by an inch, smashing into the shelf behind him.
Rian ducked instinctively, adrenaline flooding through his body. The whisper roared inside his skull—loud and clear this time.
Kill him.
Feed.
Rian lunged forward before he could think. His body moved on its own—fast, precise, inhuman. He knocked the gun away, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him into the floor.
The man gasped, choking, eyes wide with terror.
"Rian!" Nara screamed.
He didn't hear her. Not really. The light under the man's skin was visible. He could see it—the glow beneath the surface, calling to him.
"Rian, stop!"
He hesitated. His grip loosened. The man coughed, blood dribbling down his chin.
Then the man's eyes rolled back—black veins spreading across his face.
He wasn't human anymore.
Rian's heart dropped. "Shit!"
The man's mouth opened unnaturally wide, a shriek tearing from his throat. He grabbed Rian's arm with impossible strength.
Nara screamed again.
Rian didn't think. He swung the pipe, hitting the man across the face once, twice, three times. Blood splattered. Bone cracked.
And then, silence.
The body twitched once, then went still.
Rian staggered back, chest heaving. His arms shook. The glow appeared again—soft, inviting.
He didn't fight it this time.
When it touched him, it was like lightning under his skin. Every nerve lit up. His mind buzzed with energy and pain, pleasure and horror.
The whisper purred.
Good boy.
He fell to his knees, trembling. His hands glowed faintly purple for a few seconds before fading.
Nara backed away slowly, eyes wide. "What are you?"
Rian looked at her. His throat felt dry. "I don't know."
"You— You killed him, and then—"
"He wasn't human anymore!"
She shook her head, tears welling up. "You didn't even hesitate."
Rian wanted to scream. To deny it. But she was right. The moment he'd seen that glow, his body wanted it.
Needed it.
And worse… he'd enjoyed it.
He leaned against the counter, gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white. "I didn't want this, Nara. I swear."
"I know," she said softly. "But you're changing."
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
They stayed in the store until nightfall. Rian sat near the door, pipe beside him, staring out at the empty street.
The city was quiet again, but he knew it was the kind of quiet that came before something worse.
Nara sat in the corner, hugging herself, avoiding his gaze.
Rian could still feel the energy in his veins—like fire that wouldn't go out. His vision was sharper. His hearing, clearer. But beneath that strength, a darkness simmered.
The hunger wasn't gone. It was waiting.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "We'll move at dawn."
Nara nodded without looking up.
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The whisper was still there, soft and patient.
You can't stop now. You need it. You crave it.
Rian gritted his teeth. I'm not your puppet.
The whisper laughed—cold and endless.
You already are.
He opened his eyes, sweat beading down his face. Outside, the purple light in the sky pulsed once, as if in answer.
Rian didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every time he blinked, he saw the faces of the people he'd killed.
And the glow that followed.
The taste of it still lingered in his veins—sweet, intoxicating, unforgettable.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat—too fast, too strong.
"Just one more time," he whispered to himself, hating how easily the words came out.
But deep down, he already knew.
It would never be just one more time.