Shop of the Dead: Shattered Souls

The air shifted. Cold. Wet. Almost alive.

The Ink stood before them—tall, stretching its black body against the creaking ceiling of the old house. Its form flickered like a shadow in water, moving without sound, its presence swallowing light.

Then it began to open. Not its eyes. Its mouth.

Right in the center of its chest, a slit tore open slowly, like flesh peeling away. Inside was a deep, glowing hole—a spiraling void of sickly pale light, stretching endlessly down into nothing. Teeth circled the hole. Countless sharp, jagged teeth layered over each other, clicking together as the hole widened and groaned.

It wasn't just a mouth—it was a gate.

Ephraein felt it in his chest first: the cold, heavy pressure of something looking at him from inside that light. Something vast. Something waiting.

Pierro screamed and grabbed Ephraein, pulling him into the corner of the room. "Don't move! Don't move!"

Masha's face was frozen in horror, her eyes locked on the mouth. Officer Toff stood still, gun drawn, trembling.

The room vibrated.

Then it happened.

The house groaned, and the explosion came from nowhere.

BOOM!

A violent force blasted through the upper floor as the mouth let out a silent scream, one that rattled bones and blood. The air rippled like it had been torn open.

They flew.

Splinters, glass, nails, and dust clouded the air as the structure collapsed from the attic down.

Masha was launched from the upper level and slammed into the neighbor's lawn with a sickening thud. She groaned, alive, barely—until a piece of wood, sharp and heavy, plummeted from above and struck her in the head.

Blood pooled beneath her.

Down the street, a man casually walking his dog didn't even have time to react. A nail-laden board flew like a spear and embedded itself in his skull. He dropped, instantly lifeless.

The nightmare didn't stop.

Pierro landed hard on a pile of rubble, impaled in the side by a sharp wooden plank. Blood soaked his shirt as he screamed in pain, writhing under the wreckage.

Ephraein rolled onto the grass, coughing, his ears ringing. Ink coated him and Officer Toff, a slick, black liquid that stank of metal and rot. It clung to their skin like oil but began to slide away, as if losing its grip.

The Ink—whatever it truly was—melted into the ground, retreating in thick tendrils of shadow. Its mouth sealed shut before dissolving completely.

Silence.

Smoke rose from the remains of the house. Somewhere inside the cracked walls, a faint flickering glowed.

And there, standing in the doorway shattered by the explosion, was the boy.

The same pale child Ephraein had seen since his earliest memories. He stood motionless, half-lit by the dying sun through the ash. His eyes were empty. Timeless. Watching.

He raised a hand. Pointed at Ephraein.

Then, slowly, opened his palm.

An invitation.

Ephraein stepped forward, as if in a trance, drawn to the child.

"No!" Officer Toff yelled, yanking Ephraein back at the last moment.

The child blinked—and vanished.

BOOM!

A second explosion shook the neighborhood. Flames curled around what remained of the structure. Ephraein landed hard, eyes wide.

Pierro screamed again, louder this time.

Blood gushed from his wound, his breath sharp and frantic.

Sirens echoed in the distance—closer every second.

Ephraein held Pierro's hand. "Hold on, okay? You're not dying here. You're not!"

Blue and red lights painted the wreckage.

Paramedics rushed through the debris. Firefighters dragged people from the surrounding buildings. Police officers cordoned off the area.

And then came him—General Aljher.

He was tall, shoulders squared with years of war and command. A scar lined his neck like a twisted necklace. His coat billowed as he stepped onto the ash-covered lawn.

He didn't ask twice. "Who survived?"

Officer Toff pointed toward the ambulance. "Two boys. One casualty. The girl."

Aljher followed him quickly. Inside the van, Pierro lay pale, his face twisted in agony, while Ephraein sat beside him, visibly shaking.

Aljher crouched in front of them.

"What did you see?"

Ephraein's voice was barely a whisper. "The mouth. In the ink. It opened."

Pierro shivered. "There was a kid. Pale. In the doorway. He pointed at us."

Aljher looked up at Officer Toff, whose face was pale.

"It happened again," Toff said. "Like in '91. The Gallagher's Street Fall."

Aljher's face hardened. "Contain the area. And move the boys under supervision."

Hours later, the hospital glowed under the night sky.

A girl ran through its white-lit halls, breath ragged, eyes wide.

Sasha.

She burst into Room 204, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Masha!" she screamed, collapsing beside the bed.

Masha lay unconscious, tubes in her arms, her head heavily bandaged. Machines beeped steadily, but she didn't move.

Sasha gripped her hand tightly and cried into the sheets.

"I told you not to go alone," she whispered again and again.

Behind her, Officer Toff and Aljher waited in silence.

Later, in the hospital family room, Sasha sat across from Ephraein and Pierro, both boys changed, both broken in different ways.

Pierro lay bandaged but awake. Ephraein stared at the walls, lost in thought.

"I keep seeing him," Ephraein said suddenly. "That boy. He's not angry. He just… stares. Like he's waiting for something."

Sasha wiped her eyes and nodded. "He's not alive anymore. That boy—he's a soul. A ghost bound to pain. And now, he's looking for a way back."

Ephraein frowned. "He follows me. Every time. What does he want?"

"He wants you," Sasha said. "He wants to live again. And he needs someone to give him that chance."

Pierro sat up slightly. "You mean like… possess him?"

"Exactly," Sasha said grimly. "But there's more."

She leaned closer.

"His name was Lukas Harrington. We shot him and died during the fall of Gallagher Street. That place was cursed long before anyone knew. He was innocent. But whatever happened to him twisted his spirit. Now he wants revenge."

Ephraein leaned back. "But why me?"

Sasha hesitated.

"Because you were born that same day. During the fall. In the chaos. You carry something with you from then. That's why he's drawn to you."

Officer Toff added, "And then there's the Ink."

Sasha turned to him. "The mouth. The hole. That thing—what is it?"

Toff exhaled. "It's ancient. Older than Ishama. Some say it comes from dreams. Others think it's alive. It appears in places where reality breaks."

"Like now?" Pierro asked, voice shaking.

Toff nodded. "Like now."

"The Ink doesn't just kill. It changes what's real. Makes you see what you fear most. It waits in cracks, under beds, behind your reflection."

Sasha looked out the window. "So we're fighting something that doesn't even fully exist."

"Exactly," Toff said. "And it's growing stronger."

Ephraein stood up slowly.

"Then we find a way to stop it."

Sasha looked at him, surprised. "How?"

Ephraein stared at the mirror. Behind his reflection, for just a second, Lukas Harrington stood again—silent, waiting.

"I don't know yet. But I'm not letting that thing win."