902: Story 902: Shadows in the Mist 902: Story 902: Shadows in the Mist The woman’s breath ca in shallow gasps as Draven cut through the last of her chains.
She slumped forward, but he caught her before she hit the ground.
Outside, the wind carried distant moans—zombies, or sothing worse.
He had little ti to get answers.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She swallowed hard.
“Mira.
Mira Caldwell.”
His eyes narrowed.
He had heard that na before—whispered in survivor camps, spoken with equal parts fear and desperation.
Dr.
Mira Caldwell, one of the lead scientists responsible for the virus that turned the world into a nightmare.
Draven’s grip tightened around his machete.
“You caused this.”
“No,” she croaked, shaking her head.
“I tried to stop it.”
Before he could respond, the cabin trembled.
A low, guttural growl seeped through the wooden walls.
Shadows slithered in the mist outside, their movents unnatural, their forms flickering like a fla caught in the wind.
Mira grabbed his arm.
“They know.”
Draven barely had ti to react before the door exploded inward.
A figure lood in the threshold, its limbs impossibly long, its hollow face stretching into a grotesque grin.
The Hollow Man.
Draven had only heard of it in rumors—an entity that fed on fear, lurking in the mist, waiting for its victims to break.
Its presence alone sent an unnatural chill through his body, his muscles locking up.
He gritted his teeth, fighting the creeping dread sinking into his bones.
Mira wasn’t so lucky.
She let out a choked gasp, her eyes glazing over, paralyzed by terror.
The Hollow Man took a step forward, its shadow elongating across the room.
“Fear tastes… sweet,” it whispered, its voice like rusted tal scraping against stone.
Draven forced himself to move.
He lunged, swinging his machete at its head.
The blade passed through like smoke, and a cold laugh filled the room.
The Hollow Man wasn’t sothing that could be killed.
Mira’s body convulsed, her lips parting in a silent scream.
The creature was feeding on her terror.
Draven had one chance.
He grabbed the burning remains of the cursed book from the fireplace and hurled it toward the entity.
The flas burst outward, sending the shadows recoiling.
The Hollow Man screeched, its form twisting violently before vanishing into the mist.
The mont it disappeared, Mira collapsed, her breath ragged.
Draven crouched beside her, gripping her shoulders.
“We need to move.”
She nodded weakly, but before they could leave, a distant whistle echoed through the night—a sound that sent ice down Draven’s spine.
A train.
Mira’s head snapped up, fear flickering in her eyes.
“The Ghoul Trainmaster,” she murmured.
“It’s coming.”
Draven pulled her to her feet.
Whatever that thing was, they weren’t going to wait around to find out.
They fled into the mist, the distant sound of wheels grinding against rusted tracks growing louder behind them.
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