The first time I heard it, I thought it was just the wind.
A low, guttural howl — more animal than human — echoing through the crumbling streets of a city forgotten by light.
But it wasn't the wind.
It was hunger.
The kind that gnaws beneath your flesh, rips at your soul, and never, ever lets go.
This city used to have a heartbeat. A pulse. But now, silence reigns, broken only by the distant sounds of things that should not exist.
Monsters.
Wolves, twisted beyond recognition—eyes burning like hellfire—prowling in packs like ghosts of the damned.
Titans, hulking shadows towering over the ruins, their steps shaking the ground like the drums of apocalypse.
Ghosts—whispering the screams of the lost, their voices twisting reality into madness.
And beneath them all, something worse—a darkness that isn't just absence of light but a living, breathing void.
They call it The All Dark.
It creeps. It consumes.
It waits.
I thought I understood fear.
I was wrong.
Because nothing prepares you for the moment when that howl isn't outside anymore.
When it's inside you.
When the hunger beneath the flesh starts to claw its way out.
And by then, it's already too late.
If you think this is intense, just wait for what's next.
The monsters aren't the worst part.
The real nightmare is what comes after.