Capítulo 208: Chapter 208
The night had always felt different ever since the first sighting. People tried to forget it, pushed the memories deep down, and swore it was just a tale told to frighten children. But those who survived the night knew the truth. There was something out there, something hungry.
Clara had lived most of her life inside the heavy, smothering walls of her small, crumbling apartment. She'd grown up in a world where black and red were forbidden. To see either color outside during the night was a death sentence. She remembered how people's faces had dropped when the government first issued the bans, when they started tearing apart everything with black and red—clothing, fabric, and even the streets had been painted over to dull gray. The world had become a muted place, drained of life.
It wasn't enough to keep the Crimson Sin away.
Every night, the streets outside fell into silence. No cars. No sounds of animals. No people. The world at night was an empty tomb, everyone locked behind their doors, windows closed and tightly shut, afraid to breathe, afraid to blink too loudly. They were all afraid of the Crimson Sin. If it found you, you were dead.
And so Clara hid. Everyone did. It was easier than facing what had become their reality. Easier than the truth that a single speck of red or black could end your life.
The rules were simple: no red. No black. No blood. Any hint of these colors meant the Sin would come. It would appear from nowhere, silently, swiftly, and in the span of a few seconds, it would take what it wanted—your life. The screams had stopped over time, the sound of dying people cut off quickly, as if the Sin didn't need to torture its victims. It had no time for such things. It was precise, brutal, and efficient.
Clara's apartment was far from the worst of the city's decay. The crumbling walls, the peeling wallpaper, the dim light from the single window she left open. Her clothing was gray, stripped of any hint of color that might give away her existence to the Sin. She was just another person hiding, waiting for the night to pass, praying it wouldn't find her.
But tonight was different.
Clara had been alone for hours when she first heard the banging.
Thud. Thud.
It was faint, a distant sound, coming from somewhere in the alley below her apartment. Her breath caught. She tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. The thuds grew louder. Someone was out there. Someone was outside.
She was frozen, unable to move, staring at the small sliver of moonlight filtering through the window. It shouldn't be possible. No one dared go out anymore. Not since... not since the last time.
And then she heard it—a soft, scraping sound, like nails against stone. It stopped.
Clara's stomach turned over. She moved to the window slowly, pressing her face against the cracked glass, hoping to see nothing. Hoping to see anything but what she knew was there.
In the alley, a figure stood, just beyond the reach of the moonlight. The silhouette was unnaturally still, like it was waiting, watching. Clara's heart raced in her chest as she recognized the shape—human, but not quite. It was a figure in a long coat, its edges dragging along the ground, too long. And there, at the hem of its coat, were stains. Red stains.
Her pulse quickened. She'd been warned. The signs were clear. Whoever this was, they were a fool. Or worse.
The crimson sin could take anyone. And it had no mercy.
Clara backed away from the window, her breath shallow, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. The figure remained there, just outside her line of sight. She couldn't see its face, but she knew, deep down, that it was waiting. It was watching.
Minutes passed. The figure didn't move.
Then came the knock.
Three heavy raps on her door. A pause. Then another set of knocks, quicker, more insistent. Clara froze, her breath caught in her throat. She knew who it was. Or at least, she had a terrible suspicion. There was no mistaking the sound.
"Clara," a voice called from behind the door. "Clara, I know you're in there."
The voice was soft, familiar, but wrong. It shouldn't have been there. It couldn't have been.
It was Greg. The one person she had once loved, back when the world wasn't a graveyard of death and fear. Before the bans, before the Crimson Sin. He was her friend, her partner. Until he'd made a mistake. Until he'd gone outside when the sun set, wearing a red scarf.
The Crimson Sin had found him. He was the first victim Clara knew of. She had been there when he collapsed, when his life had been snatched away by that unseen force.
But now, now he was back. The bans were in place for a reason. Red was illegal for everyone, including the dead.
Clara backed away from the door, her heart hammering. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for the lock, her skin cold and clammy. She had to make sure. She had to know if it was really him.
Her hand was shaking when she turned the key, and when she opened the door just a crack, she wished she hadn't.
There he stood, or rather, what had once been him. His face was pale, lips cracked and bloodless, his eyes empty voids. His red scarf clung to his neck, the very thing that had sealed his fate. His coat was soaked in blood—his own blood, now thick and congealed. His fingers twitched, as if trying to reach her. He was no longer the person she had loved. He was something else entirely.
The Crimson Sin had taken him. And now, it was here, in her apartment, standing before her. Clara knew she couldn't escape. No one escaped once the Sin had found them.
The creature, or whatever it was, opened its mouth, revealing jagged teeth that scraped against each other with a soft, grinding noise.
"You have to help me," Greg's voice rasped from behind the mask of decay. His voice was too soft, too unnatural.
Clara's chest tightened. She shook her head violently, the urge to run overwhelming, but her legs refused to obey. She felt trapped, cornered.
"No..." she whispered, but her words caught in her throat. "You're not him."
Greg tilted his head, his body jerking in unnatural ways. His hand shot out toward her, and before she could move, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The last thing she heard was a low, guttural growl.
Then everything went silent.
Clara stood there in the dark, pressing her back against the door, fighting the urge to scream. She had to think. She had to survive.
But she knew, deep down, that there was no escape. The Crimson Sin didn't leave. It never left. It came for everything that was black or red, for any trace of blood.
She tried to lock the door again, but it didn't matter. There was no use.
She turned, only to see it standing behind her. The crimson figure, eyes empty, face twisted into something unnatural, mouth agape.
Clara didn't scream. There was no use. She couldn't scream.
Her last thought was that she had always thought she could escape. Always thought she could hide. But the Crimson Sin never let go. It never stopped, not until everything red and black was gone.
Then, with a single flick of its wrist, her life was taken.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder