Chapter 9: The Descent of Darkness

  At 2 p.m., the sky above the Inter-Capital was as clear and blue as any other ordinary day. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, seemingly indifferent to the undercurrent of tension quietly spreading beneath the surface. People walked about, chatting, shopping, living their daily lives, utterly unaware that something terrifying was about to unfold—something that, had they known, might have plunged the entire city into chaos.

  Since early morning, the national security system had been activated at its highest alert level. The largest and most advanced hospital in the Federation had been silently and completely surrounded. Patients showing fast recovery were discharged ahead of schedule—of course, only after signing confidentiality agreements and receiving generous compensation. The reason? “Air filtration system maintenance”—a flimsy yet effective excuse. No one was allowed to know the truth; not a single word could leak. Fear had no place in the minds of the public.

  At 3 p.m., the shadow of a reconnaissance helicopter swept across the ground. The streets surrounding the hospital appeared unusually crowded, yet no one noticed the dozens of undercover officers mingling with the crowd in expertly disguised civilian clothes. Police vehicles with fake license plates, disguised as delivery vans, taxis, even ambulances, quietly surrounded the area from all directions.

  Inside the city's central security command center, Major General Martin stood in a brightly lit room, eyes locked onto a digital map where blinking lights marked the positions of tactical units. He spoke little, but each brief command was executed without hesitation. He had faced crises before, assassination plots... but this time, his opponent was not something he could afford to underestimate.

  In his hand was an old piece of paper, yellowed as if it had aged for decades. Yet the writing on it was entirely fresh, as if written less than an hour ago. Red ink—not a vivid blood-red, but a strange pale crimson, as though it had been extracted from something not of this world. The jagged letters looked as if written by a hand not quite human:

  “Tonight, the soul returns. Are you happy?”

  A chill ran down the spine of everyone who saw it. The letter bore no return address, no fingerprints, no DNA, no evidence of ever existing in the real world. It had appeared that morning inside the hospital, as if someone—or something—had bypassed all layers of security to place it there. Stranger still, the surveillance cameras in the room at the time recorded only a blank segment—thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds of complete blackness.

  “The soul returns.” The words echoed in his mind. To others, it might seem like a sick joke. But to him—one of the investigators in the case of twenty students who suddenly and inexplicably descended into madness—it was a warning.

  In the control room, technicians anxiously scanned for abnormal signals, suspicious movements. Each person carried a vague, unshakable sense of dread. It was as if they all felt it—a ghostly breeze brushing their necks, an invisible gaze watching from beyond the reinforced concrete walls.

  Major General Martin turned, his gaze cold and sharp as steel:

  “Everyone to your stations. Nothing—and I mean nothing—leaves this zone.”

  Then he looked at the letter again, feeling as though the words were subtly shifting...

  “The soul returns.”

  Night had yet to fall, but the haunting had already begun.

  8:00 p.m.Night had fallen. The dim yellow glow of streetlamps spilled onto the slick asphalt in front of the central hospital, painting a scene that felt both tranquil and unnervingly cold. Not a single car horn, no hurried footsteps—only silence. The hospital was eerily still, a quiet too perfect, as if the very air was holding its breath.

  At the hospital’s main gate, only two “security guards” stood watch. In truth, they were undercover police officers. Dressed in guard uniforms, they slouched in their chairs, eyes half-closed, appearing drowsy—almost asleep. But beneath the lethargic facade lay sharp awareness; their hands hovered near hidden stun guns beneath the desk, ears attuned to a secure comms channel fed directly from command.

  Inside the hospital, every corridor was under covert control. Most of the regular medical staff had been quietly replaced by security personnel. Each patient room was staffed with two “nurses”—undercover agents tasked with both protection and surveillance. The once-sterile white hallways now felt colder than ever, the fluorescent lighting dimmer than usual, shadows flickering and stretching across the walls as if bleeding in from a parallel, invisible world.

  At Capital Security HQ, the monitoring team was operating at full capacity. Screens displayed a sprawling mosaic of camera feeds—every corridor, stairwell, and room clearly visible. The clatter of keyboards, bursts of radio chatter, and the soft blips of low-level alerts combined into a tense rhythm. But all of it ceased in an instant when a voice cut through the air:

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Where is Major General Martin?”

  The command center froze. Eyes glanced at one another before darting to the tracking panel. But the locator chip embedded in Martin’s command badge… was offline.

  A young officer quickly checked again, beads of sweat trailing down his temple.

  “He’s… been out of the building for over forty minutes...”

  On the dark road leading to the hospital, a black armored vehicle moved silently through the restricted zone. It was Martin at the wheel. No sirens. No radio calls. Nothing. He knew if word got out, the entire command would attempt to stop him. But he couldn’t stay behind. Couldn’t lead from afar while that chilling message—“The soul returns”—was manifesting in the very heart of the Union’s largest medical center.

  Martin did not believe in ghosts—at least not in the conventional sense. But after three decades of confronting every kind of depravity humanity could offer, he understood that some things defied reason… and still killed. And he had chosen to face it himself.

  As the vehicle rolled up to the hospital gates, security forces immediately detected and intercepted it. But when they recognized the man behind the wheel, hesitation took over. A pale-faced officer stepped forward, signaling the guards to lower their weapons.

  “Sir, please return to the command center. This is a Level-One lockdown. You can’t—”

  Martin stepped out, dressed in full police uniform, eyes sharp and unyielding. Silence fell like a curtain.

  “Who authorized Level-One protocol?”

  “I-It was… you, sir.”

  “Then I’m revoking it. From this moment on, I take direct command—on-site.”

  They all knew it was a terrible idea. But none dared object. Orders from the supreme commander were absolute. As they watched him pass through the heavy iron gates into the hospital grounds, every soul felt the same thing—like watching a warrior step into the mouth of hell.

  From the rooftop of the hospital, a sudden chill swept through the air, fluttering the pale curtains behind the windows. A lone black crow descended silently, landing on the roof with a bone-chilling caw before vanishing into the night.

  And on the third floor—in the very room referenced in a case buried thirty years ago—a shadow passed soundlessly across the wall.

  Tonight, the soul would truly return.

  9:00 p.m.The air in the hospital had thickened into a stifling, almost tangible silence. On the 10th floor—the highest level, reserved for patients suffering from the most severe psychological trauma—it felt as though the space had been severed from the rest of the world. The elevator was locked, and the stairwell leading up was guarded by two plainclothes agents. No unauthorized personnel were allowed—not even the daytime attending physicians who normally strolled these halls.

  Inside the special ward—or more accurately, the special floor—the lights were dimmed to half their usual brightness. On each pristine white bed, small, fragile bodies lay curled beneath thin blankets. This was where the high school students—children left permanently scarred by psychological trauma—were being treated. Their minds were as delicate as glass, a single wrong breath away from shattering.

  Two female “nurses” stood near the window, their eyes occasionally flicking to the monitoring screens, though they maintained a gentle, professional composure.

  Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a boy around fifteen sat upright. His hair was tousled, his eyes deep, intelligent—but alert.

  “Hey, what are you doing up?” one of the nurses asked softly, her voice calm yet firm. “It’s late—try to get some sleep.”

  The boy—Tom—turned to look at them, a strange flicker of suspicion glinting in his eyes.

  “Nothing... It’s just... there are more people on this floor than usual. I don’t feel safe when things aren’t clear.”

  The two women exchanged glances, then forced smiles meant to soothe. One of them walked over and gently patted Tom on the shoulder.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. There are just a few extra people around to help keep everyone safe. Want me to count for you? So you know exactly how many are here?”

  Tom nodded slightly.

  Her voice was soft as wind:

  “One... two... three... four...”

  The lights flickered faintly. A shadow slid across the wall—fluid and insubstantial, like a ripple in water.

  “Eighteen... nineteen... twenty... I’m twenty-one... she’s twenty-two...”

  The woman raised a hand and pointed to Tom:

  “And you’re... twenty-thr—wait!”

  HISSSSSS!!!

  A white mist burst into the room, as if an invisible seam in reality had been torn open. It wasn’t steam—it was denser, colder, and carried the acrid metallic scent of decayed time and rusted blood. The two “nurses” instantly staggered and collapsed to the floor like puppets with cut strings.

  Tom remained upright, utterly calm. He smirked. His voice was low but precise:

  “You didn’t count properly... There are twenty-four people here.”

  At that very moment, just outside the hospital ward, a figure approached the door.

  The door to the hospital flung open—not by any authorized command, but through electronic override. It let out a strange, screeching hiss like the dying breath of something once human. The hallway lights spilled onto the 10th floor, chasing ahead a gust of icy wind that crept through every crack and corner.

  A man stepped through.His gaze was calm—too calm—as though he had witnessed the rise and fall of centuries.

  Tom turned to face him, eyes wide open, unblinking.

  “So... you’ve come.”