WebNovels

Chapter 2 - The Thing in the Coffee Shop

Flash!

Light exploded across the alley.

For a split second, I saw his face under the mask—black hair. Eyes like mine.

And then he was gone.

Just gone. Like the air swallowed him whole.

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When I got my footing, the alley was empty. My head throbbed. My camera was cracked.

But one photo survived.

One blurry frame of a glowing crate… and a hand with faint white marks zigzagging around it.

Marks shaped like thunder.

I stared at it until my breath evened out, pulse slowly calming.

"What the hell was that, Mercer?" I muttered.

My hands were still trembling—half from adrenaline, half from the dull ache in my head. The photo. The marks. The light.

'You're not crazy,' I told myself. Over and over like it was some kind of spell.

Except spells don't stop your camera from shattering.

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The funny thing is, the next day, I still did all the normal stuff afterward.

Classes. Homework. Cafeteria food that tasted like defeat.

Teachers droned on about wars that ended centuries ago, and all I could think about was THAT ALLEY.

The weird part? Nobody else seemed to notice how off things felt lately. The odd vibe in the air. The sudden power cuts here and there. The faint smell of ozone after every storm that shouldn't have been there.

People carried on like nothing was wrong. But I wasn't people.

And honestly, that was fine. Being invisible had its perks.

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That Thursday, I took the long route home—same notebook under my arm, same half-eaten meat pie in my hand. A journalist never clocks out, right? Even if he's technically just an eighteen-year-old kid pretending to be one.

The streets were half asleep. Vendors shouting, bike horns stabbing the air, heat sticking to my skin. Typical city chaos.

Then I saw the crowd.

Small at first—half a dozen people gathered near an alley. The kind of hush that makes you curious even when your instincts scream otherwise.

I edged closer, pretending to just wander by. Notebook ready.

"What happened?" I asked a delivery guy.

He shrugged, uneasy. "Heard screeching. Like metal tearing."

Another shopkeeper added, "Could be a wild dog."

Except… the alley didn't look like wild anything.

The trash bin was ripped open—not knocked over, RIPPED. Metal peeled outward like soft clay. Claw marks carved deep into the brick wall. And near the gutter, streaks of something dark glistened faintly red under the setting sun.

Blood.

Real blood.

I took a step back in recoil.

'Get yourself together, it's just a little blood... yes just a little.'

I crouched, pretending to tie my laces while sketching quick notes. Hands a little too steady for what I was seeing.

Someone behind me whispered, "Not human."

Another voice muttered, "Don't say that."

I snapped the notebook shut. The sound was loud, final.

This wasn't random. This wasn't rumor.

This was the same pattern. The same signature as the thing from that night.

And for the first time, the puzzle board in my mind—the one covered with pins, strings, and dead ends—started to make sense.

Something was happening again.

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The next lead came fast. Too fast.

It was one of those humid afternoons that made the air taste like metal. I was walking through Main Street, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, notebook under my arm, when I heard a shout.

"Arrrrrgghhhh!!!"

At first, I thought—fight, maybe. Or a drunk losing it.

Then glass shattered.

Everyone froze. Heads turned toward the coffee shop ahead—Steam & Beans. Ironic name, considering the steam now curling out of its cracked door.

Another crash followed, louder this time. The windows shook. Someone screamed.

Normal people ran.

I didn't.

Because apparently, I'm allergic to survival.

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Inside, chaos. Tables overturned. Coffee pooling into dark lakes on the floor.

And in the center—something that should not have existed.

It bent low, body twisting like melted wax, skin flickering between shadow and smoke. Its arms were too long, claws raking deep grooves into the tiles.

The ground vibrated under my feet.

'Holy shit,' I thought. 'It's real.'

I should've run. But my body didn't listen. My hand found my phone, trembling, trying to focus the lens.

This was it. Proof.

The creature moved, a blur of claws and teeth. A guttural snarl rolled out, deep enough to shake the windows.

People outside screamed.

And then—light.

A crack of lightning split the air, bright enough to burn across my vision.

The creature reeled back, screeching.

Figures in black poured in from the side entrance, too coordinated to be cops. Their movements were sharp, almost rehearsed.

The first one through—tall, lean, dark hair falling just above his eyes—swung a sword that hummed with electricity. Blue arcs danced along its edge, crawling up his arm like living veins.

He didn't hesitate. One strike sent the creature stumbling into the wall, smoke trailing from its flesh.

Two others followed.

A lady—platinum blonde hair tied loosely, twin blades glinting at her back—slid low across the floor, almost graceful. There was something familiar about her, something sharp and quiet, like she'd walked out of someone else's story.

The third guy raised a rifle that hissed instead of firing bullets. Silver darts sank into the creature's limbs with a faint electric pulse.

The smell of ozone grew stronger.

The monster lunged for the window, but the swordsman was faster.

He flicked his wrist. Lightning answered.

The creature screamed, convulsed—and the lady drove her blade down into its neck.

Ash.

It just… dissolved. Gone.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

My hand was still raised, phone recording, heart beating like it wanted out of my chest.

And then—his eyes found mine.

Blue. Electric. Unmistakable.

My stomach dropped.

He stepped forward. Not rushed, just deliberate.

By the time my brain screamed move, he was already in my personal space.

Three steps. That's all it took to cross the distance.

Up close, he looked… different. The storm-light still flickered faintly in his pupils. Black hair damp with sweat. Expression calm, too calm.

He reached out and snatched the phone straight from my grip.

"Hey! Give that back, it's my..."

"Nice reflexes," he said. There was a faint crackle under his words—static in human form. "Terrible survival instincts, though."

"I—I was just—"

"Filming. Yeah, I noticed."

He pocketed the phone. "Congratulations. You're officially in over your head."

My pulse spiked. "Who the hell are you?"

Before he could answer, the lady appeared behind him. Her hair tied tighter now. Her gaze—red, cold, unreadable—swept over me like she was measuring if I was worth the oxygen.

"Ryu," she said quietly, "we don't have time for this."

Ryu?

The name hit like static across my brain.

He didn't look at her. Still staring at me. "He saw everything."

"I can forget!" I blurted. "Seriously, I forget stuff all the time—birthdays, faces, exams—"

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Doubt it."

Another figure stepped out from the wrecked café—older, heavier, carrying command in his posture. He looked at me once. That was enough.

"We should bring him, Ryu." The supposed commander said. "If he's still standing after what he saw, he might be useful."

My brain short-circuited. "Bring me where? Wait—what's happening?!"

No answer.

Ryu turned slightly, and for a second, the light caught his face just right—the same profile I'd seen before. The alley. The crate. The blue glow.

What the hell?! It's the same guy!

"It was you," I whispered before I could stop myself. "I wasn't crazy."

His eyes narrowed, something flickering behind them.

Recognition.

"Keep your voice down," he said.

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to yell, to demand answers, to run.

'Careful, Ken,' my thoughts whispered. 'If he really is who you think… yelling won't save you.'

The lady's gaze lingered on me, her hand resting lightly on one of her blades. "You sure about this, Ryu?"

He didn't look away. "Yeah. I am. The boss also feels the same way."

A low rumble rolled across the sky outside—thunder, or maybe something worse.

Somewhere down the street, sirens started. Too late.

Ryu's voice cut through the noise. "Let's move before they arrive."

"Wait—who's they?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Just turned, electricity sparking faintly across his fingers.

Then he glanced back once, eyes locking with mine again. "Welcome to the real story, kid."

Ryu's grin was still in my face when everything went sideways.

Literally.

A gloved hand clamped down on the back of my neck. I barely had time to open my mouth before something cold and damp pressed against it.

A cloth.

"What the—mmph—"

"Don't be dramatic," a low voice murmured near my ear. "This'll be merciful."

Yeah, sure. Easy for the guy not being chloroformed to say.

The chemical smell hit my lungs, sharp and sweet and wrong. My vision went fuzzy at the edges.

Ryu's voice, half amusement, half command. Something about "make it clean."

Clean?

I tried to twist free, elbow back, maybe land a hit, but my arms weren't listening. My knees went weak. The world folded on itself like bad origami.

'Not again,' I thought. 'Not the blackout trope.'

Then darkness swallowed me whole.

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