Chương 69: Chapter 69
The storm came without warning.
People saw the clouds gather, dark as ink, spinning faster than they should. The sky churned, cracked open, and the wind began to howl. But it wasn't the wind they feared. It was what followed it.
A tornado, but not just any tornado. It carried something. The first reports came from the small town of Faisalabad. Sheeps, thousands of them, twisted up in the cyclone. They fell from the sky. At first, people laughed—how ridiculous. But when one sheep hit the ground with a thud and started running towards the nearest person, those laughs died.
The man who had laughed the hardest, a shopkeeper named Asim, had turned pale. He'd seen the terror in the eyes of the man sprinting for his life, but it was too late. The sheep was upon him in seconds. No one ever found Asim. There was nothing left but blood-soaked earth and a broken cart.
By the time the storm moved across the country, it wasn't just animals. It wasn't just sheeps. The tornado had done something—twisted something. Whatever was thrown out of it came out hungry. Those sheeps, now no longer just sheeps, were flesh-eating monsters. They had teeth like jagged knives, and they hunted like predators.
When Jamal first saw one, it was already too close. He had been in his small shack in the Punjab region, trying to ride out the storm, but the gusts pulled his door off its hinges. He hadn't seen it at first—just a flash of white against the dark sky, but then, there it was.
It wasn't the sheep he remembered from his childhood. This one, a thing that once could've been a sheep, was bigger. Teeth, sharp and long, flashed beneath its wool. Its eyes—empty, black pits—stared directly at him as it approached.
It moved unnaturally fast, its limbs jerking like they were broken, its body twisted. When it ran toward him, its speed shocked him—too fast for something that size. Jamal barely had time to react. He grabbed his knife, but the sheep was already on him. He stumbled backward, slamming into his table. The beast was on him, tearing into his flesh before he could even scream.
His screams were lost in the wind.
Jamal didn't know how long he fought. The pain came in waves, but it wasn't enough to distract him from the madness of it all. A sheep—a fucking sheep—ripping into his body like a wild animal. The world outside was on fire. There were fires burning, houses collapsed, and all Jamal could hear was the crunch of his bones under the creature's jaws.
Then the thing let go, but not because it was done. No, it was because it heard something worse. Jamal, bleeding on the floor, tried to look up. Another sheep, bigger and uglier, climbed in through the broken door. This one had claws. Claws that ripped through wood. The air smelled like blood and rot.
Jamal, in his last moments, crawled. He had no idea where he thought he was going. He couldn't feel his legs anymore. His arms were shaking, useless. But still, he dragged himself across the floor. He heard the sound of something else—feet, running, more creatures. The sheeps weren't alone anymore.
As he reached the back door, he saw what was left of the sky. It was an angry swirl of black, the tornado still raging, sending sheep after sheep down like hell from above. There were bodies in the street. There were men, women, children—devoured, torn apart by the very thing that once grazed the fields in peace.
Jamal couldn't get the door open. His hands—bloody, shaking, broken—gripped the handle, but it wouldn't budge.
The door splintered. Teeth gnawed at the edges, then tore it apart.
The sheep entered the house, as relentless as the storm outside. The last thing Jamal saw was its teeth, closer than ever, and then the rest of them.
The sound of tearing flesh echoed across the ruins of the village.
Outside, in the streets of Pakistan, the storm raged on. Sheep fell from the sky, their bloodlust never satisfied. And the world seemed to watch as it all went to hell, one bite at a time.
The storm had no mercy. Neither did the sheep.
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