I didn't hear the scream at first. The deafening roar of the undead crashing against the building drowned it out, the thundering of their feet reverberating through the walls. But it came again, piercing through the blood-slick fog in my mind.
The woman's scream.
She had fallen—no, she hadn't fallen. She was gone. Her soul had vanished into me, and all that was left was the hollow, lifeless body in front of me.
I stared at her for what felt like hours, the weight of her death hanging in the air, suffocating me. But the hunger… it was still there, gnawing at my insides like an animal desperate to break free. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, scratching and clawing at me, urging me to devour more.
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and tried to force the hunger down. It didn't work.
I staggered back from her body, as if the act of consuming her soul had physically thrown me off balance. I was shaking, and it wasn't just fear or disgust. My body… it felt different. I could feel the power in me, thrumming under my skin, hungry for more. But it wasn't the kind of power I wanted. It was the kind that took—took lives, took souls, took humanity.
I wiped the blood from my hands, though it was useless. It stained my skin, as though it was meant to stay there, as though it had fused into me.
"Focus," I whispered, but even I didn't believe it.
I glanced at the door, hearing the undead growl as they shambled closer, their rotting bodies scraping against the floor in a maddening rhythm. The building wouldn't hold much longer. I had to move. But my legs felt like lead, my mind clouded with the taste of power, the gnawing emptiness that echoed in my chest.
I had killed her.
I had killed her and taken her soul—her life—and it didn't matter that I had tried to save her. It didn't matter that I had needed to survive. I had fed. And now, there was no turning back.
The hunger clawed at me, fiercer now than before, as though the act of consuming her had unlocked something darker. The soul of a living person wasn't like the dead. It wasn't like the rotting husks that littered the streets. Their souls were full of life—pain, love, fear—and they wanted to survive. When I had pulled hers into me, it had fought. And I had forced it down.
A shiver ran through me. I was no better than the monsters outside.
The undead had arrived. Their growls were louder now, close enough that I could hear their rasping breaths through the thin walls. I moved quickly, heading for the nearest window. There was no other way out, no time to think, no time to mourn.
I ripped the curtain aside and looked out. The city was bathed in a sickly orange light, the horizon flickering with the glow of distant fires. The streets were choked with the undead, but there was something else too—humans, survivors, running for their lives, ducking into buildings, and fighting back.
I should have gone after them. I should have tried to help. But my instincts were screaming at me to leave, to find safety, to feed.
A low growl from behind made me whirl around. I had almost forgotten about the woman—her body still lying in the hallway, lifeless and empty. But now, something was wrong.
Her soul had been consumed. It was gone. But something else… was rising.
I turned, my heart thudding in my chest as the undead began to swarm in from the hallway. But it wasn't just one. There were dozens—no, more than that. They moved with an unsettling intelligence, not the slow, shuffling creatures I had grown used to. These… these things were different.
They were organized.
And they were coming for me.
I backed away, my breath coming faster, the hunger gnawing at my insides, the power surging in my veins. I could hear their growls growing louder, the rattling of bones, the scrape of their rotting feet against the floor. They weren't mindless. They were... learning.
My hands trembled as I reached for the jagged piece of metal I had used earlier, but I knew it wouldn't be enough. I could hear the woman's scream still echoing in my mind, the sound of it growing more distant as her soul vanished into the void.
She wasn't the only one.
"Survive," I whispered to myself. "Survive."
I turned and ran, my footsteps echoing down the hallway as the undead closed in. My heart pounded in my chest, my breaths ragged. But something else had changed. The power inside me was calling to me, urging me to feed, to consume what I could, to become stronger.
It was a promise.
A promise of survival.
I burst through the door and into the street. The chaos outside was even worse than before. Buildings were on fire, black smoke rising into the sky like a funeral pyre. People screamed in the distance, and I could see them—living, human souls—running, fighting, trying to make their way through the wreckage.
I couldn't help them. Not yet.
I had to survive.
I moved through the streets, dodging debris, trying to make my way toward the edge of the city, where I could find shelter. But the hunger was unbearable now, a gnawing ache in my gut that only grew sharper with every step. I could see the souls of the living, hanging just above their bodies, beckoning me.
It was too much.
I reached out, grabbing the nearest soul. I felt the rush of power again, that intoxicating surge of strength, the raw energy flooding into me. And as I consumed it, I felt something shift inside me.
Something darker.
It was the soul of a man—angry, desperate—and I could feel his emotions—his rage—burning through me. But with it came something else: clarity. The undead… they weren't just rising because of the plague. They were evolving. Learning. Something had triggered their change.
I could feel it now, a whisper in my mind—something ancient, something old as the earth itself.
A god.
The dead were no longer mindless. They were being controlled.
And I had just made myself a part of it.