A handful of days had passed without whispers… without those eerie sounds in the dark. The last time Max had felt it—that strange certainty that something was following him on his way home—it had been enough to keep him awake for nights.
Something had been there. Hiding. Always lurking between the shadows. It can't be just my imagination, he told himself.
Each time he strayed too close to the grove of trees, his eyes would sweep across the darkness. Shadow after shadow. The dreadful thought never left him—the sense of being watched… stalked… waiting for the perfect moment.
At home, his aunt had noticed the change.
"You've been quiet lately, Max. Is something wrong? You hardly sleep," she asked softly, her voice wrapped in quiet concern.
"It's nothing, Aunt. Just school… games… you know, the usual," Max muttered, trying to sound casual, masking the unease coiled beneath his words.
But she kept looking at him with those searching eyes, as if she knew he was hiding something. Deep inside, Max wanted to tell her about the shadows… about the feeling of being followed—but he could not. He didn't want her to think he was losing his mind.
That night, she pressed some money into his hand.
"Go get that game you've been saving for. You've earned it," she said with a small smile, her tone wrapping him with encouragement.
"Thanks… I'll finally get to try it," he whispered, warmth softening his voice.
Neither of them knew how quickly joy could turn to horror.
One evening, Max returned from the video game shop, clutching in his hand the treasure he had saved for months to buy. His aunt had given him part of the money, the rest he had scraped together, coin by coin.
Now, at last, it was his: a brand-new virtual reality headset, complete with controllers—his long-awaited escape.
His eyes were fixed on the box, unable to look away, as if he blinked, the prize might vanish. Excitement fluttered inside him. He longed to tear open the wrapping, to place the visor over his eyes… to step into worlds he had only seen through videos.
As he walked, Max remembered a shortcut he had discovered not long ago on one of his trips home from school. Tonight, he decided to take it—a narrow, battered street, scarred by the war, now nearly abandoned.
The street was empty. Cold. Shadowed. On any other day, Max would have avoided it. But tonight, impatience outweighed caution. He could not wait another moment.
Lost in thought, he didn't notice at first—something in the air shifted, then stilled again. But this time… he heard it. A sound.
He stopped in the middle of the street, not far from where, days ago, those unsettling growls had haunted him. The air grew unnaturally cold.
The space around him began to tremble, like heatwaves rising off a summer road—but darker. More sinister.
Max's pulse hammered in his chest as a shadow began to take form before his wide, disbelieving eyes. At first, it was no more than a thin wisp, almost invisible. Then it thickened, writhing… twisting… like living smoke. Black smoke. Heavy. Malignant.
From the heart of that mass, two eyes flared open—crimson, burning. Their gaze locked onto Max, freezing him where he stood.
The creature stepped forward. First, the faint outline of a leg formed—black and jagged, shifting between solid and shadow. Another step, and the figure emerged fully from the gloom.
Before Max towered a shadow demon. Dark and terrible. Nearly three meters tall. Jagged claws gleamed faintly, arms hanging at its sides, cords of sinew pulsing and shifting beneath a body caught between matter and smoke. The air vibrated with its presence, a low hum resonating through Max's very bones.
The monster leaned forward and released a guttural growl. Slowly, its maw opened into a cruel smile—rows of razor teeth glistening in the dim light.
"This… this can't be. I thought they said the Shadow Demons were defeated… gone for years. So… how… how can one be standing here… right in front of me?" Max whispered, voice shaking, disbelief tearing through every word.
Max stumbled backward, legs unsteady beneath him, voice barely above a whisper. Terror rooted him to the ground.
"Move, Max—run! Don't freeze! If you stay, you'll die!" he urged himself inwardly, thoughts louder than his breath.
The demon tilted its head, studying him—and then unleashed a roar so violent the earth trembled. The sound tore through the trees, sending flocks of birds screaming into the gray sky.
Max snapped from his trance. Blood surged back into his legs. Instinct took control. He turned and ran, faster than ever. His feet hammered the cracked pavement, carrying him down the desolate street and into the dense woods beyond.
The chase had begun. Branches lashed at him. Roots clawed at his ankles, as though the forest itself conspired against him. Limbs tore at his clothes, scraping skin—but Max pressed on, adrenaline fueling every step.
He risked a glance over his shoulder—and there it was. His worst fear was confirmed. The shadow was no illusion.
The demon thundered after him on all fours, claws tearing deep gouges into the soil. Its shifting form flowed unnaturally, sliding effortlessly around obstacles. Its speed was monstrous. Inhuman.
"Why me? What do you want from me?" Max yelled, his voice breaking against the dark.
Max's steps faltered. He burst into a clearing—but fate betrayed him. His foot caught on a jagged rock, and he fell hard, pain flaring in his knee. He groaned, forcing himself up, trembling with panic.
"No time! Get up, Max—get up!" he yelled, teeth gritted, fighting the agony.
But the demon was already upon him. It loomed above him, crimson eyes narrowing. One massive arm lifted, claws gleaming in the pale moonlight.
The killing blow hung in the air. Time seemed to slow. Memories flashed before Max's eyes—the smiling faces of his parents, the wreckage of the car crash, the years of whispers and loneliness.
"No… it can't end like this," he gasped, his voice cracking beneath the weight of despair.
Tears streaked down his pale cheeks as the demon's talons descended, mere inches from his throat. And at that moment, Max truly believed this was the end.