The first ghoul

Everyone was silent, their eyes fixed on the gasping man. Their faces were pale, their bodies frozen in place. The first to snap out of it was Dean. He rushed over to the man, cautious but determined. His voice was sharp—more a demand than a question:

'Is that your blood?' The man recoiled, curling his limbs toward his body, trembling, tears welling in his eyes. Still, Dean pressed on, same tone, harsher now: 'Is that your blood? I need to know!' (Sark: And he was beaten by someone? I can't imagine that!) The man already seemed perturbed but as Dean persisted he completely lost it.

'No, it's not my blood! damn it! I was walking with my wife and then suddenly the moon started turning red, and I was like, wow, cool. Fuck that! The next moment, that fucking monster came out of the ground (Larah: Monster?) and, and, and... Fuck! What is happening here?!' Dean turned away, ready to leave, but Larah called after him:

'Dean! Didn't you hear what he just said? Red moon! Monsters! What do you plan to do?'

Dean didn't reply. All eyes were on him, while the man—hands soaked in blood—was lost in his own horror. A closer look showed he had even wet himself. Dean grabbed the door handle. His pulse was high, erratic, pounding like a storm. But destiny made the choice for him. Suddenly, a man burst through the door, slamming into Dean. They both crashed to the floor. Larah shot to her feet and rushed over—then froze when she saw the creature standing in the doorway. The scientist had called such beings ghouls. The ghoul was at least two meters tall. Its glowing scarlet eyes bled tears of red. It entered with a gnarled, overlapping growl. Everyone instinctively retreated toward the bar, where Sark was rummaging for something.

Only Larah hesitated—torn between fleeing and fighting. Yes, her legs were trembling, barely holding her weight. She had sweated so much her body could no longer produce more. But she saw Dean—pinned under the man who had slammed into him. A heavy man. The wounds on his neck and his limp form confirmed he was already dead.

Larah slapped her own face, then grabbed a nearby chair. She shouted at the ghoul:

'Go the fuck back! I'll kill you!' For a moment, the ghoul froze. It tilted its head, a wicked grin spreading across its face – damn he was beyond ugly! Then it lunged. Larah hurled the chair, but with a swipe of its arm, the ghoul shattered it. She fell to her knees. And in that moment, Dean felt something he hadn't in a long time. The urge to act. To protect. To fight. For something. For someone. For Larah. Power surged through him like a flood. He shoved the corpse aside and leapt at the ghoul. The monster lunged, but Dean dodged, grabbed its arm, and using the momentum, twisted and slammed it to the ground.

He didn't waste a second. An elbow strike. Then a kick. A barrage of attacks—until Sark shouted:

'Dean, get away from that ugly bastard!' Sark had found it—his beloved shotgun.

'Fuck, Sark!' Dean yelled as he scooped up Larah. She blushed, but he didn't notice—too focused. He cleared the way. Sark vaulted over the bar, shotgun raised. The ghoul stood back up. And the moment it did—BOOM. Sark blew half its face off. Still, the creature didn't fall. Sark scrambled to reload. The people around him shouted:

'Faster!'

'Bro, you taking a whole vacation to load!' But Dean wasn't waiting. He broke a chair, grabbed the pointed piece, and charged. The earlier shot had wounded the ghoul—it was sluggish on its feet now. Dean leapt and drove the sharp wood into its head. Blood sprayed out. The ghoul dropped, dead at last. Dean didn't stop. He burst outside and damn; it was even worse than in the bar. Chaos reigned. The moon stood at its peak—completely crimson. And everywhere around him… people were fighting for their lives.