The warped: Dark seed saga

The stale hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold, artificial glow over the small interrogation room. Chang sat at the table, his expression a mask of bemused patience. His wrists, zip-tied to the chair, rested easily on the metal surface, his fingers tapping in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

Across from him, Shariff leaned forward, arms crossed, gaze sharp. The air between them was heavy with something unsaid, a tension that had been building ever since Chang started talking.

"So you see," Chang continued, voice smooth as silk, "the Otherworld isn't just a place. It's an opportunity. A way to evolve. To shed the weaknesses that tie us down here in what you would call the real world."

The door swung open, and Detective Carter stepped in, balancing a takeout bag in one hand and a large drink carrier in the other. He set the meal down in front of Shariff—a double cheeseburger, loaded fries, and a sweet tea.

"Figured you'd be in here a while,"Carter announced, before he popped the lid off his cup, took a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Well, he has some interesting things to say," Shariff said before taking a bite. He chewed slowly, eyes locked on Chang as the former cop leaned back. Across the table, Detective Carter sat down and shook his head, dunking a fry into a pool of cheese and ranch before popping it into his mouth.

Chang tilted his head, watching them both with something that bordered on amusement.

"Y'know," he mused, "it's kind of funny, watching you eat. All those oils, sugars—rotting you from the inside out. But I suppose you still have the luxury of worrying about clogged arteries."

Shariff exhaled through his nose, taking a sip of his sweet tea. "I'm a simple man, Chang. I eat what I like. I don't take diet advice from a guy who doesn't technically exist in any known biological sense."

Chang smirked. "You're both curious though. I can see it." He leaned forward, restraints creaking. "No matter how much you both try to play it cool, there's a part of you that's asking—what if?"

Carter snorted, sliding into the seat across from him. "Yeah, I'll pass on your vampire diet, thanks. Fries don't try to kill me after I eat 'em."

Chang chuckled, shaking his head. "How about your partner over there? What does the good doctor think?"

Shariff stiffened. "What?"

Chang leaned forward, his presence shifting—something about him felt more solid now, like the room bent slightly around him. His face looked smoother, younger—subtle changes, but undeniable.

"You're a curious man, Shariff. You wouldn't be here otherwise. Even now, you're wondering, aren't you?" Chang's voice softened, coaxing, smooth as velvet. "What would it be like? To be free of disease. Of decay. Of death."

Shariff barely reacted, but something in his posture gave him away—a fractional hesitation, a flicker in his eyes.

Carter, chewing loudly on his burger, raised an eyebrow. "I swear, you salesmen types never quit." He waved a fry toward Chang. "If you're trying to con him into your weird-ass club, you might wanna work on your pitch. Needs more 'cool' and less 'creepy cult leader.'"

Chang ignored him. His focus remained solely on Shariff.

"You must be sick with something," he mused, voice too knowing, too casual. "Or someone you love is. Otherwise, why hesitate? Why let my words linger?"

Shariff's jaw clenched, but he didn't break. "You're reading into things."

Chang smiled. Too wide. "Am I?"

For a moment, no one spoke. Shariff took another bite, but he barely tasted it now. His mind was working too fast, piecing together the implications of Chang's words.

Then—it happened.

It wasn't sudden, not yet. Just a simple shift. His shoulders rolled back, his chest expanding like he was drawing in something more than air. The shadows beneath his chair seemed thicker, darker.

"I don't need to convince you," Chang continued, "because even as we speak, I am changing." He lifted his hand—his wrinkles had faded, the sag in his skin erased. His fingers flexed, smoother, stronger.

Carter stopped chewing. "…The hell?"

Shariff, despite himself, leaned in slightly, studying him.

"Even now," Chang continued, "I am healthier than I have ever been. My body is rewriting itself. My lungs? Clear. My blood? Clean. Every flaw, every weakness? Gone." His eyes gleamed, something unnatural lurking in their depths. "I haven't been this strong since I was twenty-five. And in another hour? Maybe younger."

Shariff's fingers twitched. A scientist at heart, his instincts warred with his logic. The rational side of him rejected it outright, but the evidence was undeniable—the man in front of him was changing.

"Remember you can't bleed," Shariff muttered. "I can't study what I can't sample."

Chang gave a mock frown. "Yes, quite the conundrum. But you know,"—his smile turned sharp—"have you ever seen a god bleed."

The room went still.

Shariff's brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Chang tilted his head. "Marisol, of course. She is what we are all here for the birth of our true god."

Silence.

Carter froze mid-chew, blinking once before slowly lowering his burger.

Shariff scoffed, an automatic, reflexive reaction. "No. That's—No. She's a normal girl."

Chang chuckled. "You're so sure? And yet, didn't this all start with her. She is special, unlike the rest of us."

Shariff's stomach dropped.

"No, youre just trying to confuse us." he muttered, but it wasn't as strong as before.

Carter's gaze flicked between them, the easy humor draining from his expression. His hand shifting instinctively closer to his gun.

"You're full of shit," Carter said. "She's a missing kid. A stepdaughter to a cop who's lost everything. You disrespectful piece of shit."

Chang's grin widened.

"Believe what you want, but it would be much easier to show you if I could get a little nibble..."

The lights flickered.

Shariff's heart pounded—he barely had time to register the shift before—

Chang moved.

The zip ties snapped like brittle twigs. One second he was seated—the next, he lunged, faster than any human should move.

Shariff barely had time to react—a cold grip latched onto his wrist, pulling him forward, Chang's mouth opening, teeth bared—

Gunshots.

The room exploded with sound as Carter fired multiple rounds—point blank, the bullets ripping through Chang's forehead and chest.

Click—click.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Chang staggered, his grip on Shariff tightening—before he stopped.

His breath hitched. His eyes flickered, and for the first time—there was something else there. Surprise. Maybe even fear.

Then—his body collapsed inward.

Not like a normal death. Not like a man falling.

His flesh crumbled—peeling into blackened ash, his very form disintegrating into dust and smoke, swirling in the stale air. His last breath came as nothing more than a whisper—

"Better hurry."

The last of him scattered into the air, curling into nothing.

"She won't be human for very long."

And then—he was gone.

Silence.

Shariff's breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hand trembled where Chang had grabbed him. His skin still burned from the contact.

Carter, gun still raised, exhaled a slow, shaking breath.

Shariff swallowed. Hard. His mind reeled, trying to force reality back into place, but the ashes on the floor refused to let him.

Carter, still gripping his gun, let out a rough laugh. "Holy shit. What the actual fuck just happened?"

Shariff couldn't answer. His pulse thundered in his ears. His mind scrambled for logic, for a rational explanation—anything that wasn't the truth staring him in the face.

Because the only thought pounding in his head, the only thing he could focus on now, was the name Chang had left them with.

Marisol.

And if Chang was telling the truth—if she really wasn't just human—

They needed to get ahold of aiden and garrison before it was to late.