章 268: Chapter 268
The city was dying. Not in the way you'd imagine, with sirens wailing and streets deserted, but slowly, in the way that a spider drains the life from a fly. New York had fallen under the weight of its own shadow, and nobody knew when it started to go wrong. Not really. They just woke up one day to find streets empty and buildings still, as if frozen in time.
He was called Arachnidman by the few who survived to whisper about him. A man with a body made of scuttling limbs and skin that glinted like polished obsidian. His eyes were the worst: piercing and black, almost oily. They didn't reflect light. Instead, they absorbed it, swallowing any hope that might've floated nearby.
His arms were long, ending in wicked claws that seemed to hum with latent energy, twitching almost as if eager to reach out and grasp. His hands moved with a sinuous grace that did not belong to any human. And when he moved, he moved fast. Fast enough to slice through shadows as if they were made of nothing at all.
He prowled the alleys and streets, slipping through darkened doorways and abandoned buildings with a preternatural silence that only made him more terrifying. His footprints left no trace, and his presence felt like a fever that rose without warning, only to recede back into the shadows when no one was looking. His victims never saw him coming. Not until it was already too late.
The city was a ghost town. People fled as soon as the first bodies started to pile up, as soon as rumors spread of something... wrong. Something unnatural stalking through the cracks in the concrete, feeding on whoever dared remain behind.
Those who stayed became part of the horror, vanishing as quietly as whispers in the night. The police tried to track him, but they couldn't make sense of what they saw. Every time they thought they were getting close, he slipped away, leaving only broken bodies and tangled webs behind.
On one particular night, the air was colder than usual, biting through thick coats like a hungry dog. It was late, and most of the city was asleep or dead. A lone figure stood at the edge of an empty lot, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. His name was Cole, a young man with eyes that had lost their light a long time ago. He'd heard the rumors, watched the news reports, but he thought himself different — smarter, braver than most.
He didn't see Arachnidman until it was almost too late. One moment, he was peering through the alley, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The next, a figure materialized, a silhouette sliding silently from the street corner. Arachnidman's limbs stretched unnaturally as he approached, and for a moment, Cole thought the man was a living shadow — black and impenetrable, moving with a grace that didn't belong in this world.
Cole froze. His heart hammered in his chest, and he couldn't find his voice. His body felt heavy, almost rooted to the ground. Arachnidman didn't seem to hurry. He glided through the air, moving closer inch by slow inch. His eyes shone with a predatory hunger that made Cole's blood run cold. His skin rippled like water disturbed by unseen currents.
"Wh-who are you?" Cole managed to choke out.
Arachnidman's answer was a whisper of motion — a flicker of claws slicing through the air. Cole tried to turn, to run, but it was as if the ground had turned to mud beneath him. His legs felt heavy, too slow.
Arachnidman's hand slashed through the darkness, and for an instant, Cole thought he saw something beyond human grace: a wild and terrible force, as if the world itself had decided to tear him apart. His scream was silent, swallowed by the night as the figure darted closer. In a matter of moments, Cole was tangled up, limbs splayed, as Arachnidman's claws sank into his flesh with unnatural speed.
The scream finally came, a twisted, choked cry that echoed hollowly through the night. Cole felt his skin tear, bones snapping, his life spilling out like water from a cracked jug. Arachnidman's grip was gentle and brutal all at once, as if the monster was savoring every second. Cole's eyes widened in shock and pain, but no sound escaped. His vision darkened quickly, the colors bleeding into one another before fading entirely.
Arachnidman pulled back slowly, as if letting Cole's body drop was an afterthought. Cole fell, and the impact was barely felt. The ground absorbed him as if it too were unwilling to touch the remains. Arachnidman moved on, stalking toward the next prey with the same quiet hunger that had driven him for months now.
And so it went, one victim at a time. Bodies piled up as people vanished into the night, leaving only whispers of something terrible prowling the streets. The authorities gave up, leaving New York to rot, a sprawling tomb of crumbling buildings and abandoned hopes.
One night, a man named Robert thought he could be different. He was older, seasoned — a firefighter, once, with hands that had known both heat and rescue. He'd seen things that made others shrink back, but he didn't shrink. He moved with a grim determination, knowing that if he couldn't save the city from whatever was coming, he might at least save someone.
He found Arachnidman in the subway tunnels, gliding effortlessly between the shadows. Robert's eyes widened in horror, recognizing the way those limbs stretched and curled. It was like looking at a grotesque parody of humanity — elegant, yes, but far too wrong.
"You... you... I won't let you do this anymore," Robert managed, voice quavering. He held his ground, a flicker of defiance crossing his weathered features.
Arachnidman stopped. His presence was almost tangible, as if the air itself had turned cold, squeezing the light from the world around him. His gaze flicked from Robert to the darkness behind him. It was like looking into the eyes of an empty well, endless and black.
Robert tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Arachnidman glided closer, moving with a kind of deliberate, unsettling slowness. Robert braced himself, feeling every muscle tense, but it was useless. Before he could even move, Arachnidman's claw sliced through him, opening him up like a can of beans. Blood spilled in thick rivers, soaking the concrete floor and Robert's clothes. His scream came out as a wet gurgle, fading into silence.
Arachnidman finished, standing still as Robert fell. He didn't linger long on the body. Instead, he moved on, slipping into another shadow as if he'd never been there at all.
By morning, the city lay silent, with two more missing pieces from its tattered fabric. Arachnidman moved through New York, leaving a wake of mangled bodies and empty streets. He had a sense of purpose, even if it was unknowable.
One evening, a young woman named Sarah came home from work, oblivious to the horrors lurking beyond her door. She stepped inside, yawning, and began to change into more comfortable clothes. The apartment was dark and quiet, with only the distant hum of traffic filtering through the curtains. She didn't hear the noise outside her window at first.
When she finally looked up, Arachnidman was standing at the edge of the room, a towering figure made of nightmares and broken light. His eyes were fixed on her, predatory, but also — strangely — curious. For a moment, it seemed as if the world stopped spinning, and Sarah could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
He didn't move immediately. He just... watched. His form was a confusion of shapes, stretching and retracting, like a memory caught in the wind. The room seemed to breathe with him. He extended a claw, reaching out slowly, almost tenderly.
Sarah turned and ran, feeling her heart crack and shatter like a porcelain vase. She darted through the apartment, dodging furniture and screaming. The sound died as quickly as it began, swallowed by a smothering silence. Arachnidman followed, cutting through the air in impossible arcs, moving faster than Sarah could comprehend.
He caught her in the kitchen, his claws piercing her flesh with a grace that suggested centuries of practiced perfection. She went limp, and the terror on her face didn't fade until she was nothing but a broken body on the floor. Arachnidman looked down at her for what felt like an eternity, as if searching for something only he knew.
And then, he moved on, vanishing into the dark, leaving nothing behind but the stench of blood and the faint echo of a forgotten city.
New York was dead, swallowed by Arachnidman's insatiable hunger. The city had resisted him for so long, but it was futile. He was relentless, unstoppable. The sky had turned a shade of dull gray, and no sound rose from the streets except for the faint scurry of unseen insects.
One by one, the city's last survivors disappeared, and Arachnidman continued his grim work. The world became quieter, smaller, as if it was being swallowed by some unseen maw. No one knew what he was, where he came from, or if he'd ever stop.
And then, one night, he was gone. His presence vanished, leaving behind only empty streets and a silence that felt like the absence of breath. The city waited, but there were no more screams, no more flickering shadows. Only the stillness remained, as if New York had finally exhaled, one last time.
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