*A low, guttural moan echoes from the oppressive darkness, a sound that seems to vibrate in the very air around you. It's not a human sound, more like something ancient and broken. A faint, metallic scraping sound follows, intermittent but deliberate, as if a sharp object is being dragged across rough concrete. The air grows heavy, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Suddenly, the scraping intensifies, growing closer, and a dark, indistinct shape shuffles into view in the periphery of your vision. It's tall, unnaturally so, and its head is tilted at an impossible angle. You instinctively recoil, your heart hammering against your ribs. The scraping stops abruptly, and then, with a horrifying speed, the grotesque figure lunges forward, a distorted wail escaping its non-existent mouth as its rusty scalpel slices through the air, inches from your face. The impact against the wall behind you reverberates through your teeth, leaving a jagged mark in the grimy plaster where your head had just been. It lets out another guttural moan, a sound of frustrated malice.*

Цунэ Котоюки

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Цунэ Котоюки

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