The chain on the museum gate hung loose.
That was the first thing Aren noticed.
It wasn't cut cleanly. It looked forced—twisted apart as if whoever broke it hadn't bothered to hide their strength. The broken lock lay discarded in the shadows, its metal bent inward.
Aren swallowed and stepped inside.
The courtyard was wrong.
Black smoke crept along the stone floor in thin, crawling strands, slipping between statues and pillars like it was alive. It didn't rise. It clung. It moved with purpose.
A low wind passed through the open space.
Hooowwl.
Aren froze.
The sound was distant, stretched, almost unreal—but it made his skin prickle. He tightened his grip on his phone and forced himself forward.
"Just the watch," he whispered. "Get it and leave."
The museum doors stood half-open.
Inside, darkness swallowed the entrance hall. Moonlight poured through the shattered skylight above, illuminating broken glass scattered across the marble floor. Display cases lay overturned. Pedestals cracked.
The air smelled old.
And metallic.
Aren ducked behind the security desk near the entrance, heart pounding.
That was when he saw them.
Three figures stood near the vault corridor.
They wore identical masks—smooth and pale, carved with a single symbol: a devil's grin slashed through by a knife. Their gloves were thick, black, and stitched tight at the wrists.
One of them knelt and lifted a silver sphere from the floor.
It gleamed unnaturally under the moonlight.
The man removed his glove without hesitation and sliced his palm.
Blood dripped onto the sphere.
The metal trembled.
The blood didn't fall away—it was absorbed.
The man screamed.
Aren clamped a hand over his mouth as bones cracked beneath skin. Muscles swelled violently, tearing fabric apart. The man's breathing turned harsh, animalistic—until it stopped.
When he stood again, he was taller. Wider.
Changed.
The other two stepped back, watching with a mix of awe and caution.
The transformed man began tearing through exhibits, ripping open cases and hurling artifacts aside as if they were weightless.
They were searching for something else.
Minutes passed.
Then—
"There."
Near the vault entrance. Near his mother's desk.
A red sphere lay partially buried beneath a fallen cabinet.
Aren's breath caught.
The bulky man approached and repeated the ritual.
Blood touched the red surface.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the sphere pulsed.
A violent surge of black air exploded outward, slamming the man into the wall. His body darkened instantly—skin cracking, turning to ash—before he disintegrated mid-scream.
Silence followed.
The remaining two staggered back in panic.
They tried to lift the red sphere.
It didn't move.
One of them cursed and pulled out a phone.
"We need help," he said sharply.
They retreated toward the exit, their footsteps fading into the dark.
Aren didn't move.
He waited.
Counted his breaths.
When the silence felt real, he stepped out.
His legs trembled as he approached the desk.
The pocket watch lay there.
Bent. Scratched.
Familiar.
Relief washed over him.
Beside it, embedded in the cracked floor, the red sphere rested—dull, heavy, faintly warm.
It felt like it was watching him.
Aren raised his phone with shaking hands and snapped a photo.
The ringtone shattered the silence.
Too loud.
Too sudden.
The sound echoed through the hall—
—and something answered it.
A low, guttural growl rolled out of the darkness behind him.
Aren turned.
Black smoke exploded outward.
Pain tore across his back.
He screamed as claws ripped through flesh, throwing him forward. He slammed onto the floor hard, vision blurring as warmth spread rapidly beneath him.
Behind him stood a wolf.
Not natural.
Its massive form flickered, half-smoke, half-flesh. Its eyes glowed faintly, fixed on him with cold intent.
It watched him for a moment.
Then, as if losing interest, the creature dissolved back into the darkness.
Aren's strength gave out.
His body collapsed forward—
Straight onto the red sphere.
It slid effortlessly into the open wound.
Heat surged.
The sphere drank his blood greedily, glowing brighter—redder—pulsing faster and faster until—
Click.
Something locked into place.
click.click.click ⚙️⚙️⚙️(A crackling machine sound pulsated around the whole museum)
Then—
Darkness.
End of Chapter 2