Chapter 03 — Tick Tock

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Rain hammered the world in sheets—cold, relentless. It drummed across the shattered pavement, ran down cracked walls, and poured into every open wound the city had left. The storm should have numbed him. But all Cassian could feel was the barrel. The hard, unyielding press of cold metal against his temple.

Carl’s eyes glowed red through the storm. They were dark and swirling, like two endless orbs. The dark stars within them spun slowly, pulling at the edges of Cassian’s mind like whispers of a void that would consume him.

Carl—no, Arwyn—leaned in. Rain dripped from his chin, slicking the grim line of his mouth.

“It’s time,” he whispered, voice disturbingly soft. Calm. Measured. The kind of voice you’d expect from someone laying flowers on a grave—not holding a gun to a friend’s skull.

Cassian’s breath came in sharp, panicked gasps. He thrashed beneath the pressure, but his limbs betrayed him—numb, useless. Fear had turned his blood to cement. The sound of the storm blurred as his senses narrowed, honed to the weight pressing into his chest, the cold metal against his skin, and the hand trembling around it.

Carl's hand.

Tears carved paths down Carl’s face, mingling with the rain. His jaw clenched, muscles twitching as though biting back a scream. “P-please…” he choked out. The word was guttural, raw, like it had been torn from a throat not meant to speak it.

But Arwyn’s laugh slithered free, smooth. “Commendable, this officer’s will." The safety clicked off, deliberate, taunting. " Regardless, a puppet who still believes he has strings to cut, it’s more fun this way ”

Carl’s finger spasmed against the trigger, his entire arm shaking—a war waged in the quiver of muscle, the grit of teeth. Cassian’s pulse roared.

He’s in there. Fighting.

Cassian’s heart slammed against his ribs. I can’t lose my will too. Not now.

For one fleeting moment, their eyes met—Carl’s and Cassian’s. Rage met regret. Fury met guilt. Arwyn's grip hadn't yet snuffed out the last of the man he once called friend.

But it didn’t last.

A dark pressure surged behind Carl’s gaze, and just like that… Carl was gone.

The barrel steadied.

Bang!

The crack of the gunshot was louder than the rain, louder than the storm. Cassian's body jerked violently as searing heat tore through the side of his neck. Blood sprayed out in a hot arc, painting the pavement in deep crimson. The metallic tang of his own blood filled his mouth. His vision swam.

‘Carl’ pulled the trigger.

Before the realization could even settle, a snarl tore through the night.

A shadow broke from the alley, barreling toward them with the weight of a wrecking ball. The figure slammed into Carl—no, Arwyn’s puppet—with force. The two crashed to the ground, the pistol skittering away into the shadows.

“Stay down, you lunatic!” the newcomer barked, voice gravelly and furious. He pinned Carl’s arms with a brutal knee to the spine, wresting control as Carl bucked and twisted like an animal.

The bullet had only grazed his neck, but it hurt like hell. His hands were still clamped around his neck, warmth spilling through his fingers. He could barely breathe. Each inhale was a ragged, choking drag through blood.

His strength was ebbing fast.

Then rough hands grabbed his shoulders, jerking him upright.

“Look at me, kid! Look at me!”

The world blurred. Then slowly, through the stinging haze, a face came into view.

A man—late 40s, maybe 50. Weathered skin. Hood soaked from the rain, beard peppered with gray. He glanced at the wound. “Christ. It just grazed you. You're lucky.”

Lucky? The word twisted in Cassian’s mind like a joke.

He tried to reply, but blood bubbled up from his throat, spilling down his chin. The man didn’t flinch. He tore off his hoodie, bunching the fabric, and pressed it to Cassian’s neck with both hands.

“Hold this. Pressure. Got it?”

Cassian coughed again, a rattling noise in the back of his throat.

“You know Carl? I do. Worked the beat with him for a year. Good guy. Didn’t know he was capable of that kind. Shit. Must be drugs. PCP? Meth? Some hybrid thing? Doesn’t matter.”

“When the officers arrive, you say this was Carl’s freakout, yeah? Say I helped. Say I tried. I don’t need them thinking I—”

The sentence died.

Snap.

Cassian felt the noise before he heard it. A sickening crunch of shifting bone, like someone twisting the head of a chicken.

The man’s head tilted. Unnaturally. Sideways. Hanging like a broken marionette.

No.

Cassian’s stomach dropped into his boots. “No… no, no, no,”

The calm urgency drained from his features like a mask peeling away. His eyes rolled back—then rolled forward again, now bleeding at the corners. Crimson irises locked onto Cassian with cold recognition. At the center of each eye: a single dark star, swirling slow and steady.

Then came the whistle. That whistle.

Arwyn.

“No! Not again!”

The man’s lips curled, the whistle still dancing between his teeth. With the last of his strength, he threw himself forward and slammed both hands into the man's chest. The possessed stranger stumbled, just for a moment, the whistle faltering.

Cassian staggered through the storm, each step a jagged symphony of pain. Rain lashed his face, blurring the empty street into a watery hellscape. His breath came in ragged gulps, ribs screaming, but he forced himself onward— survive, survive, survive .

Headlights cut through the curtain of rain ahead, harsh and sudden. A car rolled to a slow crawl alongside him, its tires hissing over the soaked asphalt.

“Help,” Cassian gasped, his voice barely more than a breath against the relentless downpour.

A window rolled down.

“Hey! Kid, are you okay?” the driver called out.

Cassian’s heart leaped with a fragile, desperate hope. He turned, legs buckling beneath him, barely holding him upright as he staggered toward the car. But before he could speak, the driver’s head tilted.

He stumbled back, eyes wide as the driver’s mouth puckered and blew the same eerie tune. Then the passengers followed—three of them, mimicking the same whistling melody in perfect sync, their heads twitching in rhythmic spasms.

Crimson tears trickled from their eyes. And within—those spinning voids again.

“No!”

Cassian turned on instinct, sheer panic overriding every injury. He bolted, half-running, half-limping down the street. The world tilted with every step. His limbs were heavy. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Thud!

His foot caught on a jagged slab of broken pavement. His body twisted mid-fall, and he hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.

“Help…” he croaked again, barely audible over the storm.

But no one came.

The ground was cold and slick beneath him, but Cassian couldn’t move. He tried to scream, but his voice failed him. Rain poured down, plastering his hair to his face. He dragged himself backward, but his bloodied hands slipped on the wet ground. His back hit a brick wall, and he slumped against it, his chest heaving.

The pendant around his neck pulsed faintly, a weak warmth that felt like a distant memory. Cassian clutched it tightly, his fingers trembling as tears streamed down his face.

“Mom… please,” he whispered. “Help me.”

The whistling grew louder and closer.

Cassian’s wide eyes darted around the alley, searching for the source of the sound. The shadows seemed to move, shifting and twisting as the rain blurred the edges of his vision.

“Tick-tock.”

The faint sound of humming laced through the rain, intertwining with the dying echoes of whistling. Cassian’s breath hitched as a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the narrow alleyway.

At the far end, a figure stood motionless.

Arwyn.

His white fur coat gleamed pristine—untouched by rain, untouched by the world. Crimson eyes burned through the storm, the dark stars in their depths spinning with slow, menacing purpose.

Cassian gasped as Arwyn stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. The whistling stopped, replaced by a soft, melodic hum.

“ Tick-tock ,” Arwyn hummed the ticking of clocks, his voice low and smooth, almost gentle.

“Your time is slipping.

“Wounded like a lamb,

“And I’m the one who’s come to claim you."

Cassian trembled violently, his body frozen as Arwyn drew closer. The melody wrapped around him like a cold wind, chilling him to his core.

“Tick-tock,

“The clock keeps spinning.

“Every step you take

“Is just another step to nowhere"

The rain softened, as though the storm itself were holding its breath. Arwyn stopped just in front of Cassian, kneeling slowly so their eyes met. His gentle smile was wrong; the tenderness in it was a twisted mockery. Cassian tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Arwyn reached forward, his fingers brushing against Cassian’s tear-streaked cheek. His touch was cold, almost comforting, and utterly horrifying.

“I told you,” Arwyn whispered, voice as soft as silk. “Running is futile. If only Irina had accepted the truth all those years ago… this day might never have come. But alas…”

He exhaled, almost wistful, his gaze studying Cassian’s tear-streaked face with unsettling fondness.

“It is the Lord’s will… and it must be done.”

Cassian’s body was frozen, his mind screaming at him to move, to fight, to do anything. But he was powerless. Arwyn’s hand moved to Cassian’s chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. The faint glow of the pendant beneath it pulsed weakly, as though trying to fight back. With a fluid motion, he plunged his hand into Cassian’s chest.

Cassian’s body arched, his eyes widening as searing, intense pain consumed him. His mouth opened in a soundless scream. His fingers clutched feebly at Arwyn’s wrist, but there was no strength left to resist. Arwyn’s fingers curled around something inside him—something vital. With a sickening pull, he wrenched it free.

Cassian’s vision blurred, the edges of the world fading into darkness. The last thing he saw was Arwyn’s serene smile, his crimson eyes glowing in the void.

If I survive…

If I get a second chance…

I’ll burn this world if it means you burn with it.

And then everything went still. Cassian’s body crumpled to the wet concrete, unmoving.

Arwyn stood slowly, Cassian’s heart cradled in his blood-slick hand, its final beats fading to silence. He stared down at the boy’s lifeless form. No gloating. No joy.

Only silence.

“You were destined for this,” Arwyn murmured, his voice quiet, almost regretful. He looked at the still body, and something flickered across his face—emotionless, unreadable.

He crouched beside the corpse and placed a hand atop Cassian’s chest with reverent finality.

“Rest well, my son,” he whispered, his voice barely louder than the rain. “I’ll find you soon.”

And with that, Arwyn rose, the heart still in hand, as the storm swallowed the alley in darkness once more.

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