Part II — The Noise That Devours
He found her near the train underpass — cornered by two figures that weren't quite human.
Their eyes glowed faintly, like wine catching candlelight; their teeth too sharp, their movements too smooth.
Vampires, his brain said — though the word felt too theatrical for what he saw. They were hunger wearing skin.
"Hey!" he shouted before thinking.
Both turned.
The woman stumbled backward. Blood on her sleeve. Fear in her breath.
One of the vampires grinned. "Run along, singer."
The other tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Wait. I know that scent…"
Kai felt something in him snap.
All the static, all the humming nights, all the fear — they compressed into one unbearable note, then broke open.
The air imploded.
Sound became matter.
Matter became him.
His body twisted, convulsed — bones shifting like instruments being retuned mid-song.
He couldn't scream; the sound inside him was too big. It tore through his throat as a low, rolling growl that vibrated through concrete.
Claws raked the pavement.
Muscles rippled, skin burned, hair bristled.
He fell, rose, fell again — half crawling, half becoming.
And when his vision cleared through the haze of rage and pain, he saw himself reflected in a rain-slick puddle.
Amber eyes. Silver veins.
A jaw that wasn't his own.
The vampires lunged — too late.
The first one hit a wall, spine cracking.
The second's scream was cut short by a blur of motion and impact.
The world became red.
Instinct. Movement. Sound.
A chorus of teeth and blood and electricity.
He was no longer hearing the world.
He was the world screaming.