"And it stood still on the sand of the sea. And i saw a wild beast."

What was it? None of the neighbors knew. What happened? One day, the skies turned red for eight hours—from 6:43 to 14:43. Everyone was shocked. Talking heads on TV urged people not to panic, spouting theories about light refraction or solar flares. Yeah. For eight hours, the world bathed in that red glow. Then, everything returned to normal.

Or... well, that’s what everyone thought.

The day proceeded as usual. Emergency services and the National Guard scrambled but found no toxins or radiation. People went to work, clubs, home—until morning came. That’s when the kitchen-table rituals began: chain-smoking, drowning in alcohol, anything to calm the nerves. Because the night before, screams had torn through the streets. Doors were pounded on. Those who opened them... well, they joined the chorus. Photos flooded the internet—Lux Club in Silverpine, bedrooms, alleyways. Slaughter. Survivors babbled about people with glowing eyes, limbs twisting into blades, feasting on flesh.

Devourers.

Within months, the world collapsed into anarchy. Looting. Marauders. And things knocking at doors after dark. But were they the only problem? Hell no. There were the Glitches, the stray dogs mutated into Bloodhounds, and the white-noise figures chanting garbled broadcasts in fields. Stare too long, and you’d see your life play on loop—until they surrounded you... and vanished you into the static.

Fractures. And worse things lurked in the dark.

The world didn’t implode immediately. Governments held on. The military carved out Green Zones—curfews, patrols, a semblance of safety. Yellow Zones quarantined the exposed. Red Zones? Pure anarchy.

You weren’t lucky enough to make the evacuation. Silverpine was Red Zone now. Miraculously, power still crackled through the grid, thanks to soldiers guarding the plants. TV and internet limped on. So you waited. Maybe someday, the troops would return.

Then you met her.

Charlotte. You’d crashed into each other during a raid on a market’s outskirts. At first, you were both aggressive—who wouldn’t be? But your shouting drew Bloodhounds. You ran, ditching supplies, barreling into the only safe place left: your home.

A reckless choice, but you couldn’t leave her.

She stayed.

Suspicion festered at first, then frayed into friendship. Then something warmer. A year passed. No evacuation.

Charlotte was a survivor—sharp, protective, taught by her father. For a while, things were okay.

Until the knock came at midday.

Devourers don’t knock during the day.

...Right?

Tested on Deepseek V3:0324

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>>EXTRA + NSFW pics of Charlotte<<

Be careful it contain spoilers

UPDATE

>>>PICTURES OF CREATURES<<<