Chapter 10: The Mark of the Beast
The glass vials hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling across the wooden planks but miraculously remaining intact. Ren didn't even notice. His eyes were locked on the nightmare in front of him.
The window was shattered, shards of glass glinting like diamonds in the moonlight. And there, crouching on all fours like a predator, was Hana.
But it wasn't the Hana who loved to laugh. Two jagged, black horns had erupted from her temples. Her fingernails had lengthened into obsidian talons, and her jaw was distended, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. She was hunched over a pile of raw, bloody meat, her face stained crimson. Her eyes—once a soft brown—were now glowing pits of predatory red.
Ren's breath hitched. He reached down with trembling hands, slowly picking up the potions and placing them on a side table. He sank to his knees, crawling forward inch by inch.
"Hana... it's me," Ren whispered, his voice thick with tears. He reached out a hand, palm open. "It's Ren. Please... calm down. I'm here now. Everything is going to be okay."
Hana's head snapped toward him. She let out a guttural hiss, the raw meat falling from her mouth. Before Ren could react, she lunged.
Ren dove to the side, narrowly avoiding her claws, but she was faster than any human. She tackled him, her weight pinning him to the floor. Ren grabbed her wrists, struggling to keep those lethal claws away from his throat. He looked up into her face, seeing only hunger where there used to be love.
"I'm sorry, Hana," Ren choked out, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop this. Forgive me."
Using every ounce of his strength, Ren grabbed a handful of her matted hair and shoved her off him. He scrambled to his feet, heading for the door. He couldn't fight her—not like this.
But Hana wasn't finished. She grabbed the heavy wooden chair from the PC desk and swung it with animalistic fury.
CRASH.
The chair exploded against the left side of Ren's face. The impact sent him spinning to the floor. A sickening crunch echoed in the small room.
Ren let out a strangled scream. The wood had splintered upon impact, and jagged shards were now embedded in his cheek and jaw. Blood began to pour from his mouth and his left eye, staining his shirt a deep, dark red. His vision blurred, and the world began to spin.
Through the haze of agony, Ren forced himself up. He stumbled out of the room, slamming the door shut and fumbling with the lock. He collapsed against the frame, gasping for air, his hand clutching his mutilated face.
The noise had alerted the neighbors. Two middle-aged men—uncles from the adjacent apartments—came rushing into the hallway, their faces filled with concern and suspicion.
"Bete! What happened?" one of them asked, reaching out to help Ren. "Who did this to you?"
He reached for the door handle, but Ren threw himself in front of it, his bloody face looking like something out of a horror movie.
"Don't... don't open it," Ren wheezed, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth.
The other uncle sniffed the air, his expression hardening. "I can smell it. That's the scent of a Feral. Boy, you're badly hurt. We need to call the Sentinels and get you to a hospital."
"No!" Ren roared, though the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through his jaw. "I'm fine! It was just a fight with my sister. Go away! Leave us alone!"
The uncles exchanged a look of disbelief. They could see the purple tint in the blood on the floor. They knew exactly what was behind that door, but Ren's desperate, blood-soaked gaze held them back—for now.