Blood Moon Hovering in the Sky

Zachary Flynn's body convulsed violently on the cold, hard ground. His mind raced in confusion, unable to comprehend why Ethan Lewis had turned against him—or how his secret had been uncovered.

"Surprised, Zachary?" Ethan crouched beside him, his movements deliberate and unhurried. With a swift tug, he lifted Zachary's shirt, revealing a grotesque network of writhing veins that pulsed with unnatural life. At their core, a monstrous face contorted and shrieked, its features twisted with rage and despair.

"H-How… did you know?" The voice that emerged was not Zachary's own but came from the hideous visage embedded within his flesh, its tone laced with both defiance and fear.

Ethan remained eerily composed, his hands steady as a surgeon's. He methodically sliced through the veins tethering the monstrous entity, each incision eliciting a fresh wave of agony from the snarling face. Its aura dimmed with every cut, while blood pooled around them like an ominous tide. Ethan showed no reaction—his demeanor as detached and clinical as if he were performing routine surgery.

"The moment we stepped into this restaurant, I sensed an overwhelming presence of malice," Ethan explained calmly. "But malice without origin? That's impossible. I've survived traps far deadlier than anything you could conjure."

He retrieved a dagger hidden in Zachary's clothing, holding it up briefly before continuing his work. "Every face here carries minimal traces of ill intent—except yours. When Grace Quinn spoke to me earlier, your hatred surged uncontrollably. You couldn't mask it any longer."

The monstrous face let out one final, ear-splitting screech as Ethan severed the last vein. In an instant, Zachary's body collapsed into a viscous pool of bloody sludge, leaving behind only silence.

"Trust no one. That was your fatal flaw," Ethan muttered under his breath, his expression unreadable. For all his faults, Zachary had once seemed admirable—a humble, respected figure, a model student. But years of betrayal had taught Ethan a harsh truth: malice wore countless faces.

From the remnants of the sludge, a faint, warm light rose and merged seamlessly into Ethan's body. It felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds—a rare comfort in his otherwise grim existence.

These orbs… What are they? They enhanced his abilities beyond measure. Three years ago, he'd relied on glasses just to see clearly. Now, his vision surpassed human limitations entirely.

"You handled the threat alone, I see." A cool, melodic voice broke the stillness. Grace Quinn stood nearby, her ethereal beauty both captivating and unsettling.

Ethan turned to face her, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Grace. We've never spoken before. Why seek me out now?"

She glanced at the dissolving remains of Zachary, her expression unreadable. "Before we discuss that… don't you want to know why the world has turned against you?"

Ethan froze, his posture stiffening. "You have answers?"

Grace nodded slowly, her words measured. "This is the Lost World—a realm for those who were pulled here by… accidents. It mirrors reality in many ways—aging, society, even currency—but creatures like him"—she gestured toward the remnants of Zachary—"reveal the truth."

"The Lost World?" Ethan echoed, skepticism evident in his tone.

"A place where people are stranded, unable to return to their original lives. Some of us call ourselves the True Gate—a group dedicated to guiding others toward seeing reality for what it truly is."

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "'We'? There are more of you?"

Grace's lips curved into a faint smile, tinged with mystery. "Clever. Yes. The True Gate exists to awaken those the Lost World seeks to erase."