Chaos thundered through the stairwell as the class surged downward—then everything shattered.
From below, a spear with a wicked, razor-edged tip shot through the air. It collided with the teacher mid-stride, punching through his torso and pinning him to the wall with a sickening thunk. Blood sprayed across the tile. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.
A choked scream broke the spell.
A girl collapsed to her knees, trembling and sobbing. Two others turned away and vomited, the stench of bile joining the metallic tang in the air.
"Mr. Harris!" someone shrieked.
"He's dead, oh god, he's dead—"
But there was no time to mourn. From the darkness at the foot of the stairs, a tall, pale creature emerged, spear in hand, lips twisted in a crooked, almost gleeful grin. As it stepped into the light, it chuckled—a sound so cold and wrong it made Caan's skin crawl.
He saw it again: a faint, threadlike glow above the creature's head, shifting and swirling in the shadows. He blinked hard, forcing himself to look away.
No time to think. Run.
Caan sprinted, barely aware of Eric—the broad-shouldered jock—and Lansom, the class bully, scrambling right behind him. The others froze or scattered in panic, screams and pleas echoing down the hall as the creature advanced.
A wet, slicing sound rang out.
The spear flashed, carving through students with horrifying speed and precision. Bodies fell one after another, cries cut short, blood pooling beneath swinging arms and outstretched fingers.
"Go, go, go!" Eric shouted, shoving Caan forward.
The three tore down the hallway, sneakers slapping on linoleum, breath ragged.
Caan didn't dare look back, but he could hear the inhuman footsteps gaining on them, and the wet scrape of the spear against the floor.
They rounded a corner—the exit was ahead, flooded with harsh daylight.
Then, in one swift, traitorous move, Eric glanced at Lansom. The bully gave a twisted nod.
Before Caan could react, Eric's arm lashed out and hooked his leg, sending him crashing face-first to the floor.
"Move it!" Eric yelled at Lansom, who nearly tripped over Caan in his rush to escape.
The two bolted through the exit, panting and wild-eyed. At the doorway, they turned and looked back—just long enough for Caan to see the cruel relief on their faces.
For a second, they almost looked grateful.
Thanks for being the scapegoat, their looks seemed to say. That's all you were ever good for.
Caan stared after them, pain blooming in his chest—not just from the fall, but from the raw, familiar sting of betrayal.
Behind him, the creature's shadow loomed