The sound of a knock echoed through the heavy silence of the night, a sharp, insistent beat on the wooden door.
"Open the door. I know you are there!"
But no reply came. The house, long untouched by life, seemed to breathe only in the shadows, abandoned, forsaken by time.
"Open the door, or I will break it down!"
Still, there was no answer. The man's patience frayed, his fury growing with each passing second.
"You make me truly angry," he growled, his voice dripping with menace.
Boom.
This time, the knock was no longer a plea but a blow—like a weapon striking the wood.
Boom.
"You will regret this," he snarled.
Boom.
The door splintered, the cold tip of an axe emerging from the wreckage, casting a cruel shadow.
As the axe withdrew, a round eye peered through the hole, its gaze searching, probing.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The door crumbled, and from the dark void beyond, a figure emerged, framed in silhouette.
"Where are you?"
With a grin curling his lips, the man stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room like a predator. In his hand, a rusted axe dangled like an old companion, gleaming with malice.
He swung the axe at everything—the table, the chairs, the smallest glass—nothing escaped his wrath.
"So, you are hiding in there," he mused, his voice almost curious.
Then, in a blur of motion, he leapt to the next door.
Boom.
Boom.
This door, weaker than the first, shattered with two strikes, its fragments scattering in the air.
Behind it, three figures huddled together, trembling uncontrollably.
Their bodies were thin, gaunt, the mother's child so frail that the bones seemed to ache beneath the skin.
Their eyes were wide with terror, locked in a desperate dance of panic.
The father, desperate, stepped in front of them, his body a feeble shield.
"I'll take your wife and your children," the man with the axe said, his voice like ice, cold and final.
"No, please… I swear I'll pay you back next week," the father begged, his voice a ragged whisper.
"You said the same thing last week," the man replied, his words hollow with disdain.
"This time, I will pay," the father insisted, his voice trembling with desperate hope.
The man with the axe took another step, but the father—weak, but defiant—lunged at him, throwing his fragile body between the monster and his family.
"No, please!"
The axe struck without hesitation, smashing into the father's face with a sickening thud.
The man flew back, his body crumpling like paper against the wall.
"I won't believe your lies anymore," the man with the axe muttered, his eyes narrowing as they turned to the mother and child.
"Follow me, or I'll drag you."
The mother stood frozen, her gaze flickering between her husband's crumpled form and the beast before her.
"E…e…e…"
Her words caught in her throat, her body trembling, paralyzed by fear.
She could not move. Her legs buckled beneath her, and tears blurred her vision, tracing the outline of her hopelessness.
"No, don't!" The father's weak voice called out, struggling to rise.
But the man with the axe was unmoved.
"I'm done wasting time," he said, his voice cold and final, as the axe swung again.
The blade cut deep into the father's side, splitting open his torso beneath the ribs.
The father collapsed, blood pooling around him, staining the floor in crimson.
"No… my husband…" The mother screamed, the sound of her anguish shattering the air.
She ran toward him, but the man with the axe was faster, his grip tightening on her face, dragging her away with the force of inevitability.
She clawed at his hand, her body thrashing in panic, but it was as though she fought against a mountain.
"Aaaaah…" Her scream echoed, a raw cry of desperation, until her voice cracked, leaving her breathless.
"Stop," the man with the axe warned, his voice low and chilling. "Or I'll do to you what I did to your husband."
There was no reply—only the soft, broken sobs of a woman who had given up.
"You follow me," he commanded the boy, pointing the axe toward him.
The boy, his mind reeling from the horrors unfolding, obeyed without a word.
No thought, no feeling—only instinct, moving his legs as though he were a puppet, strings pulled tight by fear.
The man dragged the mother out of the house, leaving the father bleeding in the dark.
But as they neared the door, the mother—summoning all the strength she had left—kicked the man with the axe in the groin.
"Run, and don't look back!" she cried, her voice raw with desperation.
The boy, without hesitation, obeyed. His legs moved faster than ever before, driven by pure fear.
As he fled, he heard the sound of something heavy crashing behind him—a thud, the man with the axe's voice cursing.
But he did not turn back. He did not dare.
Before he could escape far, a deafening explosion shattered the night.
Boom.
Bricks flew, dust clouded the air, and all that could be seen was the silhouette of a man, standing in the center of the chaos.
As the dust settled, a sinister aura enveloped the man, dark and thick, like shadows made flesh.
Above him, an illusion of a flower began to bloom, its petals fragile, delicate—but something was wrong.
A crack appeared, splitting the flower in half.
Crack.
The crack spread like a disease, and the flower fractured into a thousand shards of light.
Boom.
"Aaaarghh…"
The creature screamed, a sound so piercing, so unnatural, it seemed to tear the air itself.
The man, once human, twisted and contorted as his body grew and shrank, limbs stretching, arms elongating, then returning to normal only to stretch again.
Boom.
Finally, his body stopped shifting, but it was no longer his own.
He towered twice as high, his limbs long and grotesque. His skin, once human, now darkened to ashen gray, and blood poured from his eyes.
Iron rods with chains emerged from the air, impaling the creature's body, as if the heavens themselves had cast their judgment.
"Aaaaarghh…"
The creature screamed again, a noise so unnatural it bled into the very souls of those who heard it.
"Oh no…" The man with the axe whispered, his voice trembling, terror in his eyes.