In Between Realms

Seyfe's heart hammered in his chest as the birds swooped down on him, their beaks snapping like vice grips. His first instinct was to strike, to fight, so he swung the dull blade at the nearest one. The creature was fast—too fast. It darted around the strike with horrifying agility, its black wings trailing decay like a suffocating fog.

A second bird came at him, claws extended, and before he could react, it latched onto his arm, tearing through his sleeve and sinking its claws deep into his skin. The pain was instant, searing, like hot iron pressed to his flesh.

Seyfe screamed, the sound ripped from his throat, sharp and guttural. He swiped frantically at the bird with his blade, but it twisted, raking its claws further into his flesh, shredding skin and muscle as it fought to cling to him.

The world seemed to blur, the weight of the baby in his arms barely registering as he tried to free himself from the bird's relentless assault. His arm was a mess of shredded skin, blood pouring down his wrist, staining his already dirtied clothes.

Another bird came at him from behind.

Damn it, he thought, realizing that his struggle was hopeless. He couldn't fight them off forever.

His vision swam with pain, but he forced himself to swing again, desperate to make them back off. With all his might, he slashed across the nearest bird's neck, severing its wing just as it screeched and fluttered away in agony.

But there were too many. And they weren't backing off.

Seyfe's breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled backward, clutching the bleeding arm, his teeth gritted against the sting of his wounds. The birds circled again, each one more determined than the last.

The decaying sky above them loomed like an endless abyss, the sounds of their shrieks and the grinding of metal filling the air.

And still, the infant in his arms cried, oblivious to the terror unfolding around them.

The birds came at him again, their fangs gleaming and their claws raking through the air with deadly precision. Seyfe's heart pounded in his chest as he staggered back, blood soaking his arm and dripping onto the cracked ground beneath him. His vision blurred with pain, but his instincts were sharper than ever.

Then, something caught his eye.

A series of exposed electrical wires, dangling from the decaying ruins of a tower just ahead. They flickered erratically, sending brief sparks into the air as electricity surged through them.

It was a gamble, but it was the only chance he had.

Seyfe gritted his teeth against the pain, his pulse pounding in his ears. With his good arm, he ripped off part of his sleeve, biting down hard to tear it free. He quickly wrapped it around his hand, making a makeshift shield to protect himself from the shock.

The baby in his arms wailed, but Seyfe could feel its warmth, its fragile weight a reminder of what he was fighting for.

I can't die here. Not like this.

Without hesitation, he bolted toward the exposed wire, each step a painful jolt as his torn arm dragged behind him. The birds screeched, diving once more, but Seyfe was faster now, desperation fueling his every movement.

He reached the wire just as another bird lunged at him, its fangs snapping inches from his face. With a primal yell, he swung the surging wire, wrapping it around the creature's body. The electricity coursed through it with a crackling sound, and the bird let out a high-pitched scream before its body convulsed and disintegrated in a shower of sparks and decaying feathers.

The other birds hesitated, but only for a moment.

Seyfe didn't wait. He swung the wire again, striking down another bird, the surge of power lighting up the air around him as the electricity burned through their forms, turning them into nothing more than smoking husks.

The birds screamed, their once-terrifying flight now erratic and panicked. But Seyfe, bleeding and bruised, was relentless.

Each swing, each strike, sent another bird crashing to the ground in a sizzling heap of ruin. The air stank of burnt feathers and scorched flesh, but Seyfe couldn't stop now.

When the last of the creatures finally fell, twitching and smoldering, the silence that followed was deafening. His chest heaved, sweat mingling with the blood on his skin as he glanced around the desolate wasteland.

He had survived. But for how long?

Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled—a low, rumbling shake that sent waves through the sand. Seyfe's heart skipped a beat, and his grip on the baby tightened instinctively. Something enormous was coming.

His mind raced, his pulse thrumming in his ears. The last thing he needed was for whatever had caused this to see him—see them.

Stay quiet. Stay hidden.

He glanced around, frantic, searching the desolate ruins for any kind of shelter, any place where he could conceal the child. His eyes darted from one crumbling structure to the next, every piece of debris an obstacle, every shadow a potential hiding place.

Then, through the haze of dust and decay, he spotted it—a small, weathered basket tucked beneath the wreckage of an old building. It was partially covered in sand, as if abandoned long ago, but it looked intact enough to serve its purpose.

Without hesitation, Seyfe rushed toward it, his legs burning with effort, his heart pounding in his chest. He barely registered the sharp pain in his arm as he crouched down and gently placed the baby into the basket. The child's wails had stopped, the warmth of Seyfe's embrace replaced by the cold reality of their situation.

His hands shook as he arranged the baby carefully, trying to shield it with whatever cloth he had left, hoping that the faint scent of decay wouldn't draw attention. The shaking ground was growing more violent, as if something massive was nearing.

Seyfe looked around desperately. His eyes searched the landscape, half-expecting the ground to split open at any moment.

Come on, come on…

His breath came in sharp gasps, and with one last look at the baby, he stood, searching for a place to hide himself. The basket would have to do for now. But where could he go?

The rumbling continued, growing louder, closer. Whatever was coming, Seyfe knew one thing for certain—it wasn't something he could face head-on.

The ground trembled violently once more, the shaking intensifying until it felt as though the very earth beneath him was splitting apart. Seyfe froze, his breath caught in his throat as the air grew heavy, thick with something foul.

And then, from the far horizon, it emerged.

At first, it was nothing more than a dark shape on the edge of the ruin, a towering figure that seemed to loom larger with every passing second. But as it drew closer, Seyfe's stomach churned, his instincts screaming to run, to hide, to do anything to escape the horror now bearing down on him.

The creature was massive—far larger than anything Seyfe had ever seen. Its body was a twisted mockery of flesh and metal, as if it had been pieced together from the remains of countless beings, both human and machine. Its limbs were too long, too thin, and jagged, like broken bones thrust through torn flesh. Spindly arms, ending in clawed hands that scraped against the ground, each step sending ripples through the air.

Its head was a grotesque mass of pulsating, infected tissue, an impossible array of eyes—too many eyes—stitched into its surface, each one blinking and weeping blood in unison. Its mouth hung open, but it wasn't a mouth—just a jagged, gaping wound filled with rows of needle-like teeth that dripped something thick and black. From its throat came an awful, wet gurgling sound, like something struggling to scream, but unable to.

The creature's back was a mass of exposed wires, circuits, and mechanical parts that sparked erratically, connected to its body in horrific, unnatural ways. Its wings—if they could be called wings—were made of torn, rusted metal, flapping with an unsettling grind, each movement sending more sparks flying into the sky.

But the worst part? The stench. It reeked of decay, of rust, of something wrong in the very marrow of the world. A smell so foul, so deeply unnatural, that it made Seyfe's stomach twist violently, threatening to empty his insides.

The creature lumbered forward, its twisted form dragging itself across the landscape with each agonizing step, sending the sand and ruins scattering in its wake. It wasn't walking—no, it was more like dragging itself, like a thing that had been torn from its place in reality and was desperately clinging to whatever it had left.

Seyfe's mind reeled, unable to process the sheer monstrosity before him. He felt the urge to turn and run, but his body was frozen, his legs locked in place by terror. Every instinct told him to hide, to escape the gaze of those too many eyes.

But it was too late. The creature's gaze was already upon him.