Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The impact cracked the plain itself. Shards of glass ground erupted upward, suspended in the storm of ash and ember that burst from their collision. Mira's body shuddered as if struck by herself from the inside out—every nerve rang like a broken bell.

The hollow-body pressed against her, its hands gripping hers in perfect symmetry. Every move she tried to make, it mirrored with equal strength, as though she wrestled her reflection in a pane of living glass.

The shards orbiting them screamed, colliding midair, splintering into smaller blades that still spun, caught in the gravity of the storm.

"You cannot kill me," the hollow whispered, though its mouth did not move. The words reverberated directly through her chest, the spiral in her heart straining against the one in its. "I am the part you always wanted to set free."

Mira gritted her teeth, pressing harder, their foreheads almost touching. "No—you're the part that wants to erase me."

The hollow's ember-eyes burned brighter. Its voice swelled, multiplied, drowning her own: "You carry too much. You break everyone who follows you. Your brother, the hunters, Elena—you will destroy her too. Why not let me hold the ruin instead?"

The words cut sharper than any shard. Mira faltered, and in that instant, the hollow slammed her back into the ground. Glass splinters drove into her spine. The hollow's shards whirled downward, forming a crown above its fractured skull—the crown that had haunted her since the vessels' rise.

Elena crawled closer, her body dim, her glow barely a thread. "Mira!" she shouted through ash-filled lungs. "Don't wrestle its weight—redirect it!"

Mira's vision blurred, her reflection looming over her, ready to descend like judgment. Redirect… not resist.

Her eyes flicked to the storm. The shards spinning wild. The ember ash spiraling like a hurricane.

She let go.

Not of herself—but of the fight to match it blow for blow. She opened her grip, and instead of clashing against the hollow's spiral, she bent hers sideways, twisting the rhythm. Her shards unraveled from their rigid orbit and bent into new patterns—curves, spirals, jagged arcs.

The storm listened.

The fragments of broken glass, the ember dust, even the shrieking ash responded, reshaping their flow. The hollow staggered as its borrowed control weakened. Its crown tilted, its orbit flickered, shards veering from its command.

Mira rose, blood streaming from her back, her voice shaking but fierce. "You're not my release—you're my residue. And I won't be ruled by what I've already survived."

The storm convulsed. Shards bent toward her spiral, leaving the hollow's orbit. They cut through its porcelain-skin, splitting it open. Ember leaked like molten marrow.

The hollow screamed—not with words, but with her own memories, flung against her like knives. Her brother's dying gasp. Elena's frailty. Every moment of doubt.

But this time, Mira didn't flinch. She pulled the storm tighter, weaving the fragments into a net of light and glass.

The hollow thrashed, cracking apart, its body splintering beneath the weight of its own collapse. Yet as it shattered, the crown above its head didn't fall—it grew brighter, harder, condensing from shards into a solid blaze.

Elena's voice wavered through the storm. "Mira—it's not gone. It's condensing into the final shape."

Mira's heart hammered as the crown flared like a sun.

The storm wasn't over. It was about to peak.