Phantom covonent: Spiritbound Ascension

The Unseen Horror

The Sikar City Mall was alive with the hum of conversations, the rhythmic tapping of hurried footsteps, and the occasional beep of cash registers. The air carried the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a café on the second floor, blending with the artificial chill of air conditioning. Families shopped, teenagers laughed, and employees went about their routine without a care.

Then, a scream shattered the normalcy.

KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL EVERYONE!

It wasn't an ordinary scream of surprise or frustration—it was primal, raw, filled with agony. A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a wrinkled white shirt and dark trousers, clutched his head and let out a guttural, animalistic yell. His fingers raked down his face, leaving deep red gashes as if trying to claw something out of his skin. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the tiled floor with a sickening thud.

For a moment, the world stood still. People gasped, some stepping forward, others pulling out their phones. A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Is he having a seizure?" a woman whispered.

"Someone call an ambulance," another voice suggested.

Then, the impossible happened.

The man's body jerked violently. His limbs twisted unnaturally before he rose in a slow, deliberate motion. His head lolled to the side, and when he looked up, his lips stretched into an unnatural, bloody grin. His eyes—once dull with pain—now gleamed with a crimson glow.

A concerned bystander, a middle-aged man, stepped forward. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need—"

Before he could finish, the possessed man lunged. His fingers curled around the bystander's head, and with an effortless twist, a sickening crack echoed through the air.

The man fell limp to the floor.

A collective gasp of horror filled the space. Some people screamed, others froze in terror. A mother yanked her child away. Employees hid behind counters. The mall, moments ago a bustling sanctuary, had become a death trap.

The killer's grin widened. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a simple ballpoint pen. Without hesitation, he lunged at the nearest woman.

A blur of movement—

Someone shoved the woman aside just in time.

The pen, aimed for her throat, missed its mark and pierced the rescuer's hand instead. The boy hissed in pain and jumped back, his eyes darting up toward the killer.

"Arman!" someone from the crowd shouted. "This isn't your fight, man! Get out of there!"

The attacker's head snapped toward Arman, his lips moving unnaturally as he spoke—not with one voice, but with two overlapping tones, deep and distorted.

"But now it is..."

Before Arman could react, the killer raised both hands. His fingernails elongated into jagged black spikes, and with a flick of his wrists, they shot out like bullets. The sharp nails pierced through the crowd, slamming into bodies with enough force to send them sprawling.

Screams of agony filled the air. The crowd panicked, people shoving and trampling over each other in desperate attempts to flee.

Arman stood frozen. What the hell? I thought he was just a psycho, but how does he have this kind of power?!

"Arman! Let's get the hell out of here!" his friend yelled.

Arman clenched his fists. His injured hand throbbed, blood dripping onto the pristine white tiles. He wanted to run. Every rational thought screamed at him to leave. But there were too many injured people. Too many who wouldn't make it out alive if this thing wasn't stopped.

"No!" he barked, turning to his friend. "Get the wounded out of here and call the police. I'll distract him."

His friend hesitated. "But Arman—"

"Just do it!" Arman snapped, his breathing heavy. His fingers dug into his bleeding palm, forcing himself to ignore the pain. He didn't have a plan. He didn't know how to fight someone like this. But I can't just stand here and do nothing.

Then, before he could act, two figures materialized in front of him.

A boy and a girl.

They appeared from nowhere, their movements effortless, their expressions unfazed by the carnage around them.

The girl, without even glancing at him, spoke. "Hey, kid. You can leave this baddie to us."

The boy smirked. "You saved that woman—that was brave. But trying to take him on alone? That was stupid. Now step aside."

Arman's brows furrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

The two strangers didn't answer. Instead, they stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder, and in perfect unison, they spoke:

"Aetheris Unbound."

A sudden pulse of energy surged from their bodies. Their appearances shifted—their clothes, their very presence, now radiating something otherworldly.

Arman staggered back. "What... the hell?"

The killer, still grinning with that blood-red smile, cocked his head in curiosity.

Then, before Arman could process what was happening, one of the two leaped forward, slamming a glowing fist into the attacker's chest. The force sent the possessed man skidding backward, crashing into a storefront window. The glass shattered, sending shards flying.

The girl followed up immediately, her hands moving in a blur as streaks of golden light coiled around her fingers. With a flick, she sent a beam of energy straight at the man, but he twisted unnaturally, dodging it at the last second.

The fight was chaotic—raw power clashing in a flurry of movements too fast for Arman's eyes to follow.

Arman turned, grabbing the woman he had saved earlier and helping her toward the exit. "Come on, move!" he urged others around him, guiding the injured toward safety.

As he reached the main hall, he hesitated, glancing back. The fight had turned brutal. The two warriors were covered in blood, struggling against the monstrous entity. The attacker, now laughing, had both of them by the throat, lifting them off the ground.

And then, as his crimson eyes locked onto Arman, he smiled.

A fraction of a second later, a black, clawed hand pierced through Arman's stomach.

Pain. Searing, blinding pain.

Arman gasped, his body frozen in shock. Blood dripped from his lips as he looked down.

The attacker stood before him, grinning. His elongated, monstrous hand was buried deep in Arman's torso.

No... this can't be happening.

Arman's breath grew ragged. His legs trembled. Every inch of him screamed in agony.

The killer leaned in, whispering with that eerie, distorted voice.

"Shh... just let go."

Arman coughed, blood splattering onto the pristine mall floor. His vision darkened. His heartbeat slowed.

Damn it... I can't die like this...

Then—blackness.

Meanwhile, in Another Dimension…

A vast, endless plane stretched across reality itself—one half cloaked in eternal night, the other bathed in an unyielding sun.

At the boundary between light and shadow, a lone figure stood.

He was tall and gaunt, his long, unkempt hair brushing against his shoulders. His skin was pale and scarred, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. His right arm—mangled, as if once severed and crudely reattached—twitched slightly.

Before him, a crystal sphere floated, its surface swirling with mist. Inside, the image of Arman's broken body flickered.

The man's jaw clenched. His fists tightened.

"No, kid," he muttered, his voice rough and weary. "You can't die. I need you."

The crystal pulsed. Something stirred.

And in that moment—fate shifted.