Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The last maw loomed, quaking with the fury of a collapsing world. Its pull tore at everything—stone, flesh, fire—seeking to swallow the final defiance of the living. Yet where hunger drew in, light pushed back. The battlefield was a crucible, balanced on the edge of annihilation.

Kael stood at its heart, his body more molten fissure than man, each breath fire dragging itself through shattered lungs. "This ends with me," he rasped, eyes locked on the void. His scars blazed, veins of earth's fury feeding upward.

Elara clutched her son tighter, her tears streaking through soot. "Not with you alone. We've carried this together."

The boy lifted his head, glow unwavering now, brighter than any flame. "Mother's right. She said chains only break if we stop pulling. So we pull—all of us." His voice rang like a vow, and his glow spread outward, lacing through Kael's fire, through the scarred woman's sparks, through the farmer's drumbeat.

The scarred woman staggered to Kael's side, her ruined arm blazing like a torch. "If you're going, molten man, then I'll burn beside you." Her grin was skeletal, yet defiant. She pressed her sparking hand to his molten scars, and their fires roared together.

The farmer raised his drum, though his hands bled. Each beat was ragged, desperate, but it struck through the void, tethering them to the earth. "Widow, last time. Guide us home." His rhythm aligned with the fissures, with the widow's buried echo, until the ground itself thudded like a vast heartbeat.

The maw shrieked, its stolen hands thrashing, clawing, trying to drag the living in. But with every pull, the chains of fire, vow, and glow tightened around it.

The boy's voice broke through the storm, radiant and unyielding:

"You are not hollow. You are not ours. You are nothing. And nothing ends here."

The light surged—Kael's molten fire, the scarred woman's sparks, the farmer's rhythm, Elara's love, the widow's vow, and the child's glow. Together they flared into a single pillar, not striking the maw, but filling it, flooding the void with everything it could never hold.

The maw convulsed, choking on the weight of what it had stolen. The stolen hands writhed, then dissolved into ash-light, freed at last. The void split, edges tearing like fragile glass.

With a sound like the last breath of the world, the maw shattered.

Ash rained down, soft and luminous. Where it touched, it did not burn but soothed—scars cooling, wounds softening, the ground knitting closed.

Kael collapsed, his molten fire dimming. The scarred woman knelt beside him, her hand still sparking faintly. "Guess… it choked after all," she whispered with a broken smile.

Elara cradled her son, his glow fading to a gentle warmth. "It's done," she murmured. "The hollow is gone."

The farmer lay back, his drum silent at last. He looked to the sky, now clearing, where the first pale threads of dawn stretched across the ash.

For the first time, silence was not hunger. It was peace.

And so ended the storm.