Chapter 217

The sun was a dim bruise on the horizon as Francesca trudged up the worn cobblestone streets of the abandoned village. It was a quiet, crumbling place in the middle of nowhere, perched on the edge of the Italian countryside, forgotten by time. The buildings had been left to rot, their ancient stone walls festooned with moss and ivy. Most of the windows were shattered, doors sagged on broken hinges, and the air smelled like dust and decay. Yet, there was something almost serene about the silence. The kind of silence that hinted at death.

She didn't mind it. The quiet helped drown out the thoughts in her head. The death of her brother, Marco. The nightmare that haunted her every step. He had been taken by the Stone Man. And now, Francesca was hunting him.

She pulled her coat tighter around her body, feeling the cold seep into her bones. The locals had warned her not to come here. They said there were things in these hills that shouldn't be disturbed. "Stone Man," they called him. A name that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who'd heard the legend. He was an old man who had somehow mastered the ancient art of turning his skin to stone, becoming nearly invincible. No one had ever survived an encounter with him.

But Francesca didn't care about the legends. She couldn't afford to. Marco's body had been found in a clearing just outside this village, shattered beyond recognition. The villagers said the Stone Man did it. They said he was always hungry, always thirsty, and once he tasted blood, he didn't stop until there was nothing left. Marco's eyes had been wide open, his face frozen in terror. The thing that bothered her most was how still he looked—how unnatural it was, like he'd been turned to stone just before he died.

Francesca had a mission, one that had burned a hole in her chest for the last two years. She didn't know if she would succeed. She didn't care if she did. All that mattered was finding him. And if she died in the process, at least she would die knowing she had come for him.

She rounded a bend in the road and found herself at the base of a mountain. The village was just behind her now, and the forest ahead looked like a black ocean of trees, waiting to swallow her whole. It was colder here, the trees thick and dense, blocking out what little light was left. The only sounds were her boots scraping across the gravel, the rhythmic beating of her heart, and the distant cry of some unseen bird.

As she ventured deeper into the woods, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone. It was the kind of sensation you get when you're being watched. Her skin prickled, her eyes darting back and forth between the shadows. She wasn't scared—she had faced worse than fear in the last two years—but the air seemed to thicken around her, and she couldn't ignore the tightness in her chest.

Hours passed as she climbed, her legs aching, her breath sharp and ragged. The sun had long since vanished, leaving the world bathed in moonlight. The eerie, milky glow from above seemed to make everything more unreal, like she was walking through some kind of dream.

Then, in the distance, she saw it.

A figure, standing tall against the night sky. The outline was blurry at first, like a trick of the moonlight, but as she drew closer, it became clearer. A man. Tall. Gaunt. His face, shadowed by the hood of his cloak, was twisted with age, and his body seemed to shift in ways that shouldn't have been possible.

Stone.

Francesca's heart dropped into her stomach. This was him. The Stone Man.

She didn't stop. She kept moving forward, every step heavier than the last. The cold began to press in on her, making her joints stiff. The Stone Man didn't move. He simply stood there, as if waiting for her, watching her.

Francesca stopped just a few feet from him. She could see the way his skin glinted under the moonlight, like marble or ancient stone. His eyes, black pits in his face, locked onto hers. She couldn't tell if they were alive or if he was just some kind of grotesque statue.

"You're him," Francesca said, her voice hoarse, filled with years of pain.

The Stone Man didn't answer. He didn't have to. He simply raised one hand and extended it towards her. It was like a slow, deliberate motion, a gesture that wasn't meant to be a threat, but somehow felt more terrifying than any violent action.

Francesca's chest tightened. The hand came closer. She reached for the knife strapped to her waist, but before she could make a move, she felt something shift in the air. The ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble, and her body screamed at her to run.

But it was too late.

With a thunderous crack, the Stone Man's hand slammed into her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, the air knocked out of her lungs. She stumbled backward, trying to catch her balance, but her legs buckled under the sudden force.

She hit the ground hard. Her vision swam. The Stone Man loomed above her, the jagged edges of his skin catching the light, his face as cold and unmoving as the stone he had become. His eyes were still locked on hers, deep and unblinking.

Francesca gasped for air, her lungs on fire. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She couldn't move. Her arms felt heavy, her fingers numb. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, suffocating her in ways that didn't make sense.

"Why…" she whispered, barely able to form the words. "Why did you…?"

The Stone Man didn't answer. Instead, he took a slow step back. Francesca tried to lift herself from the ground, but it was like her body had turned to stone itself. Her arms wouldn't obey her, her legs locked in place. She couldn't feel anything except the cold and the growing sense of hopelessness that crept into her bones.

The world around her seemed to slow, her thoughts swimming in a haze. The Stone Man stood there, his hand still extended, his presence suffocating.

And then it happened.

With a single, horrifying movement, he reached down and grabbed her by the throat. His fingers felt like the sharpest of rocks, digging into her flesh, cutting through the skin and bone. Her body spasmed, her eyes bulging with the shock of it. She couldn't scream, couldn't make a sound as he pulled her closer.

It wasn't pain that struck her first. It was the realization. The cruel, terrible truth that she had walked into his trap. He was immortal, untouchable. She was nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience to him, a temporary annoyance.

His grip tightened. She couldn't breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, faster and faster, like it was trying to escape. The air in her lungs was gone, replaced by the feeling of his fingers pressing deeper, holding her in place like a puppet.

And then, with a final, brutal twist, he snapped her neck.

The world went still.

Francesca's body went limp in his hands, and the last thing she saw was the Stone Man's face, a twisted, cold smile flickering on his lips.

He let her fall to the ground, her body crumpling like a ragdoll.

He stood over her, the moonlight casting long shadows across the abandoned mountain. And he did what he always did. He waited.

For the next one to come.