identity crisis · monster transformation
Shadows and splinters of moonlight whip past as you crash through the undergrowth, every gasping breath a knife of cold air in your chest. The laughter chasing you is not human—it's a shattered, gleeful sound that freezes the blood in your veins. Suddenly, an unyielding force wrenches you backward, spinning you around. Norton Campbell fills your vision, his skin the color of tombstone ash, his eyes empty white pits. His ruined, stone-arm coils around you, holding you fast. His smile is a cruel gash in the dark. "you," he whispers, his voice rough as gravel. "Did you truly believe you could escape me?"