Path of the Extra

January 19th, 23:51, 2149. One of the main military bases in southern Spain: Fortaleza del Sol.

The base had devolved into a brutal symphony of chaos. Sirens screeched in manic rhythm, burrowing into the skull, their shrill wails entangled with the pounding, animalistic thunder of boots slamming down the corridors. The hallways, once sterile and controlled, now reeked of terror—a pungent blend of sweat, gun oil, and cold metal.

"Stay away from the entrance!"

"Get to the underground bunker, now!"

"This is Fortaleza del Sol! Requesting immediate backup—no, to hell with it, we need rescue! I repeat, we need rescue! An unknown type of void creature has infiltrated and massacred everyone who tried to stop it!"

In the command center, a soldier clutched the comms, his voice a mix of desperation and horror as he scanned the surveillance monitors, watching soldiers flee toward the bunker. Troops in various uniforms sprinted past: soldiers of the Dusk Clan in grey, the government's forces in black, the Frost Clan in light blue, the Nebula Clan in dark purple, and the Crimson Clan in their namesake red. All were here—yet none dared to confront whatever was lurking beyond the walls.

It was chaos, absolute and consuming.

Soldiers staggered and shoved through the halls, faces contorted with terror, eyes wide as they searched for an escape. Orders died in the air, swallowed by the cacophony. The radio frequencies were saturated with frantic voices, begging for reinforcements, only to dissolve into static and screams. Weapons clattered to the floor as soldiers fumbled, huddling together in desperate clusters, each body trying to shield itself behind another.

In the command center, a lone soldier in a black uniform slumped in his chair, watching the screens with hollow eyes. He let out a dark, bitter laugh.

"I should have just listened to my wife and stayed home."

He made no move to flee. From the security feed, he'd seen the impossible: dozens of corpses, all headless, strewn across the outer walls and ground. There was no escape. No hope.

The vehicles had been destroyed, and his calls for help went unanswered, swallowed by the abyss beyond Spain's borders. The creature—whatever it was—held complete control outside the base. No one knew what it was.

With trembling fingers, he retrieved a voice recorder from the desk drawer, pressing the button. His voice came out surprisingly steady.

"This is Major Borris. I am recording this message here at Fortaleza del Sol in the hope that someone may find it when this base is investigated… after we are all gone. The highest ranks here included twelve masters and fifteen experts. I am one of the masters; two others and five experts remain. All others have withdrawn to the bunker with the lower-ranked soldiers. Maybe… maybe someone will make it through this."

Major Borris's face grew darker as he watched the cameras, still catching glimpses of soldiers scattering, trying to prepare for what was coming.

"The other masters and experts fought the void creature outside… but they all died. Somehow, the cameras couldn't capture how. All we could tell was that it removes its victims' heads. And… the sound it makes…"

He shuddered, recalling the audio.

"The creature sounds like… a little girl crying."

A chill ran up his spine, and the alarms that had been wailing in his head began to fade, replaced by the pounding of his heart as he scanned the camera feeds. Soldiers still struggled to reach the bunker, their faces twisted in fear. Borris swallowed, fighting the urge to run himself.

"It seems… the creature has made its way inside. There's a fog… it's spreading across the floor, rising slowly. If anyone ever finds this recording, please… tell my wife—"

A whisper drifted past his ear, so soft it felt like the brush of cold fingertips.

"Don't go…"

Eyes wide, Borris froze. The voice, a young girl's, lingered in the air. He felt paralyzed, every instinct he'd honed as a master now useless against the chilling sensation pooling in his bones. His breathing shallowed, and he realized, horrifyingly, that he wasn't the only one who had heard it.

Every soldier, scattered throughout the base, stopped in their tracks, their eyes frozen in terror.

It could talk. Whatever it was… it could talk.

'It can't be a skinwalker…'

Borris thought, his mind scrambling for any explanation, any reason that might make this nightmare real. But something in him, some primal instinct, told him it was far worse.

"Please… don't go,"

the voice echoed, tremulous, carrying an agony that was almost unbearable.

"Please, I don't want to be alone… not again."

"Don't... leave."

"I am… sorry…"

"Don't… run…"

"Don't... GO!"

The base trembled as a distorted scream erupted, louder than anything the sirens could produce, slamming into their minds with an intensity that left them breathless. The fog continued to rise, consuming the hallways, devouring vision. Even the soldiers in the bunker felt its eerie chill settle over them.

"DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Borris's teeth clenched as the unholy screech tore into his ears, a sound so wretched it felt like it was splitting his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified of what he might see if he opened them, feeling as if even glancing at it would seal his fate.

The voice wailed again, now a pathetic whimper that carried a sense of loss so profound it stilled even the bravest heart.

"Please… open your eyes."

An urge, overwhelming and unnatural, rose within him. It was a compulsion to look, to face the source of the voice. He resisted, fingers digging into his palms, fighting back the dark allure.

Some of the others weren't as strong. Here and there, eyes flickered open—and instantly, anguished screams tore through the silence, piercing the base like knives. Those who didn't open their eyes clenched them shut even tighter, choking back sobs.

"Please… look at me… please…"

The base seemed to throb with the voice, each echo more desperate, more fractured.

"Open your eyes… open your eyes… open… your… eyes."

Borris's hands clutched his ears as the voice intensified, a demonic chant that seemed to crawl into his mind. Blood trickled from his ears, his entire body quivering with the compulsion to look.

"OPEN THEM! OPEN THEM! OPEN THEM!"

The sound that followed was like nothing Borris had ever heard, a twisted, monstrous scream beyond any living creature's capacity. It wasn't alive—no, it couldn't be.

No one dared open their eyes. No one dared to move.

Then… silence.

The sirens stopped. The radio chatter fell away. The entire base seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a void of utter, suffocating stillness.

A shudder passed through them all as they felt it—a cold, icy breath against their ears.

"Don't go…"

Many swallowed, their dry throats convulsing, as they heard her voice, fragile and pleading. A terrible, unnameable sadness washed over them, as if they'd abandoned someone they should have protected.

"Please… open your eyes."

The urge was back, stronger now, gnawing at their will. Some faltered, giving in to the compulsion.

And then…

A scream—a howl of unfiltered agony, as if the very soul were being torn apart—ripped through the air, shattering the fragile silence. One scream was joined by another, and then another, each one more tortured than the last. Soldiers who had kept their eyes closed trembled, pressing their hands against their ears, trying to drown out the sounds.

Borris could feel the voice burrowing deeper, whispering relentlessly.

"Please… look at me… please…"

"Open your eyes… open… your… eyes…"

He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to resist as his mind wavered, on the edge of surrender. Blood pooled in his ears, his muscles locking in terror.

"OPEN THEM! OPEN THEM! OPEN THEM!"

But no one opened their eyes. Not anymore.

And then, they felt it—the voice slipping away, its anguish fading into the distance, like a lingering, tortured memory, leaving only silence in its wake.

And with that silence, they knew.

Whatever it was, it had not left them.

It was waiting.

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