Chapter 293

The first time anyone saw the Yethen, it was like a jolt to the very idea of what humanity was. They appeared suddenly—so suddenly, no one knew what to make of them. They didn't have any grand entrance. They didn't land from the sky or emerge from the ground like some ancient terror. They just were, one day, standing among us like they had always been.

Nobody knows where they came from. No one knows why they chose Earth. The government tried to cover it up, tried to shut down the stories. But the Yethen didn't care. They didn't need us to believe in them. They didn't need us at all.

Rebecca's first encounter with them happened in the middle of the street. She had just gotten off work, feeling numb from her long shift at the hospital. The street was cold, and the moon hung low, casting a pale light over the city. The cars, mostly empty at this hour, rolled by like ghosts in the dark.

She was walking, lost in her thoughts, when she saw the figure standing at the edge of the sidewalk. She thought it was a person at first, some late-night jogger or homeless soul standing in the shadows. But something about the way it stood, rigid and unnatural, made her stop in her tracks.

It didn't move. Not at first. It just stood there, its body unnaturally still, its face hidden by a hood. There was something wrong about it—something beyond the chill that crept up Rebecca's spine.

A car drove by, its headlights catching the figure, and that's when she saw its eyes. They weren't like any human eyes. They were darker, empty, like pools of ink. Rebecca's breath caught, and for a split second, she thought she saw something else flicker in them. Something ancient, something knowing.

She froze. Her feet felt heavy, like they were rooted to the ground. It wasn't fear—it was something deeper, something that gnawed at her insides and made her bones ache.

The figure didn't move, but then something changed. The air itself seemed to shift. The faintest scent of rot filled the street, overpowering the cold night air. The figure tilted its head, just enough to be disturbing. Its movements were precise but wrong, unnatural.

Then, it spoke.

It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense. It didn't come from its mouth, not directly. It didn't even have words. It was like the sound of a thousand things speaking at once, like the collective murmur of an entire city. Rebecca could hear its thoughts—clear, sharp, brutal. "You are not meant to be here. You do not belong."

Rebecca took a step back, but it was too late. The creature's presence filled the space, suffocating her. She could hear the sound of something twisting in the air, like the very fabric of reality was bending around it. The Yethen didn't need to move; they didn't need to speak in a language anyone understood. They communicated in a way that bypassed everything humanity knew.

It was as if her mind was being torn apart, its threads pulled in every direction at once. Her thoughts, her emotions, her fears—they were exposed to the Yethen like an open wound.

But then it was gone. It didn't vanish; it just… wasn't there anymore.

Rebecca stumbled backward, her body shaking. She couldn't remember how she got home. She only knew that when she woke up the next morning, the world was different. Everything was the same, but it wasn't. The news was filled with strange reports, fragmented pieces of a larger story: people claiming to have seen them in the streets, others disappearing entirely.

Over the next few weeks, the Yethen made their presence known to the world. No one knew how many there were, but it didn't matter. They had no need for numbers. They simply showed up, always in places where they could be seen but not understood.

Their figures stood in the background of daily life, staring without ever really looking, their cold eyes scanning the world like they were cataloging every human being as if they were objects, not lives.

At first, there were protests. People gathered, demanding answers, but the Yethen didn't give them any. They didn't need to. Governments tried to stop them, but nothing worked. They didn't fight back. They didn't do anything. They just… waited. And the longer they waited, the more the world bent to their presence.

Rebecca couldn't escape them. They were everywhere. Every day, she saw them watching from the corners of buildings, standing by bus stops, blending into crowds. But they weren't part of the world anymore. They were separate, looking in, as though nothing we did mattered.

The worst part was how they didn't change. They didn't adapt to human life. They didn't need to. Everything about them—every movement, every gaze—was alien, even though they looked like us.

They were better, smarter, more advanced in ways we couldn't even comprehend. It wasn't just physical superiority. It was their intelligence, their ability to manipulate the very essence of reality around them. They could read your thoughts, hear your fears. They knew how to break you.

Rebecca learned this firsthand. One night, while walking home from the grocery store, she saw one standing at the end of the street. It was the same one she had seen that first time. It had its hood down now, and she could see its face in full.

Its skin was pale, like bone, but it wasn't human. Its features were sharp, exaggerated, but still somehow... familiar. It didn't look monstrous, but it wasn't beautiful, either. It was just wrong.

She stopped in her tracks. It hadn't seen her yet. She could run. She could hide. But she didn't. Something in her couldn't leave, couldn't look away. She stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

It turned toward her, and again, those eyes, blacker than night, locked onto hers. The pressure in her chest returned. The weight, the suffocating feeling, started again. This time, though, it wasn't just her mind that felt it. Her body felt heavy, as if gravity itself had doubled. Every step she took was a struggle.

"You know what you are," it said, not in words, but in the emptiness between them.

Rebecca stopped. She didn't know what it meant, but she understood. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. The Yethen didn't need to ask. They didn't care about explanations. They simply knew.

"You are not worthy," the Yethen's thoughts echoed in her skull.

Rebecca tried to scream, but no sound came out. The world around her seemed to close in, the buildings growing taller, the streets narrowing until they became nothing more than a suffocating passage. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't obey. The creature—no, the Yethen—took a step forward.

Rebecca's chest tightened. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air that never came. She could feel the Yethen inside her, inside her head, tearing apart every piece of her. They didn't need to touch her. They didn't need to do anything.

Her mind, her thoughts, her very existence were being crushed beneath the weight of their presence. There was no escape, no way to fight it. She wasn't even a person to them anymore. She was just a thing. A thing to be broken.

With a final thought, the Yethen reached inside her, grasping her soul like it was an object to be examined, to be discarded. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. And as her body crumpled on the cold concrete, one thought echoed through her head: I never mattered.

The world continued. The Yethen didn't care. They were everywhere, and no one could stop them.