Chapter 410

The world had been quiet for so long that people had forgotten how quickly it could break. News stories in the weeks before had barely mentioned the strange behavior of animals.

There had been a few isolated incidents—a dog attacking its owner, a bear mauling a hiker—but they had passed without much fanfare. People assumed it was just nature being unpredictable. They were wrong. The true horror didn't come in gradual waves. It came all at once.

It started in small towns. It started with the birds.

At first, no one could figure out what was happening. Crows, pigeons, seagulls—flocks of them, dozens, hundreds at a time—attacked without warning. People barely had time to react as they dove from the sky, their sharp beaks piercing flesh. It wasn't just the birds. Pets, too, began to turn.

Dogs, cats, even rabbits, suddenly vicious. A family in Illinois had watched in horror as their golden retriever turned on them, biting and snapping like something out of a nightmare. Then there were the rats, which began to swarm, overwhelming neighborhoods and tearing apart whatever they could find. It was only the beginning.

Across the world, the once-silent forests and plains became battlegrounds. Wolves, lions, bears—animals that had once been majestic and terrifying in their own right—were now mindless killers. They no longer stalked their prey; they charged through cities, their teeth bared, their eyes filled with madness.

The stories were everywhere. A lion pride in Africa attacked tourists, killing five before retreating into the savannah. Bison herds trampled entire villages. And in the Arctic, polar bears descended from the ice and tore through research stations like they were nothing more than paper.

But it wasn't just the predators. The peaceful, quiet creatures—the ones people had once admired for their grace and gentleness—were no better. Deer, once symbols of beauty and tranquility, ran wild through suburban streets, their hooves crushing anything in their way.

Birds—birds that had once sung and flown freely—now screeched and clawed, tearing at flesh. Even the smallest creatures, like squirrels and rabbits, attacked with a savagery no one had ever seen.

Matt, alone in his small home on the outskirts of Oregon, had watched the reports from his bedroom window. He couldn't bring himself to leave. It was safer this way, wasn't it? The rest of the world was descending into chaos, and his little corner of it seemed like the last place untouched.

But the signs were clear. The panic was spreading. There were fewer cars on the roads. Fewer people out in the open. No more mail deliveries, no more grocery trucks. The sky itself felt heavy. The silence of the world around him was crushing.

He tried to ignore it. The noise outside, the screams, the crackling fires, the chaos building with every passing hour. He didn't want to hear it. He wanted to sleep, but sleep never came. Every night, he lay awake in his bed, eyes darting between the window and the door, waiting for something to happen. Something was coming. He could feel it. It wasn't just the animals anymore. Something else was at work.

And then, one evening, there was a knock at the door.

Matt hadn't heard a car, hadn't seen anyone for days, so the sudden noise startled him. It was slow at first—one knock, then two. But the third knocked something loose in him. Something primal, something that told him to keep the door shut and never open it.

But he did.

He cracked it open just enough to see the woman standing there. She was disheveled, her hair tangled in knots, her eyes wide with panic. She held a small, worn bag in her hands, clutching it tightly. The street behind her was empty, save for the faint sound of something moving in the shadows.

"I need to get inside," she said, her voice a strained whisper. "Please. They're coming."

Matt froze. The words hit him like a slap. They? Who? He didn't care. She was human. That much was obvious. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

He stepped aside, allowing her entry. She didn't hesitate, didn't look back, only hurried into the small living room, where she stood, breathing hard, staring at the door like she expected it to burst open any second.

"What's happening?" Matt asked, though his voice came out barely above a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

"They're not just animals," she said, her voice shaky but desperate. "There's something more to it. I don't know what it is, but it's controlling them. I've seen it. They—" She cut herself off, looking over her shoulder, her eyes flicking to the window. "I can hear them out there. They're not just hunting anymore. They're being driven."

Matt's stomach twisted. He didn't know what to think. He wanted to believe it was just another crazy story, just another fear-mongering tale spun by someone desperate to make sense of the impossible. But there was something about her, something in her eyes that made him hesitate.

The window rattled. A thump. The unmistakable sound of something heavy moving just outside.

"Are you… are you sure they're—" Matt began, but the words died in his throat.

"They're all like that," she said, turning away. "All of them. They've been changing, becoming something else. I thought… I thought I could get away, but I don't know if I can."

Matt couldn't breathe. His chest tightened, his thoughts tangled. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. The silence in the house was broken only by the soft rasp of their breathing.

Another knock came from the door, this time louder, more forceful.

Matt's heart stopped. He froze, his eyes wide. His feet seemed rooted to the floor. The woman beside him didn't even flinch. She just stared at the door, her face pale.

"I don't know if they're just animals anymore," she said quietly. "They've changed. They've become something else. They won't stop until they've wiped everything out."

The door exploded inward.

There was no time to think. No time to react. A flood of animals rushed through the opening, too many to count, their eyes gleaming with madness. A raccoon first, then a dog, a cat, a bird—all of them lunging toward the woman.

Matt reached for her, but it was too late. She screamed, but it was drowned out by the deafening rush of bodies. Fangs and claws, fur and feathers, all tangled together, ripping her apart in seconds.

Matt couldn't move. His mind was locked in place. He didn't even scream. He just watched, paralyzed by the horror of what was happening. The woman was gone, her body torn to pieces by the very creatures she had warned him about. The animals surged around him, knocking him to the ground, their weight too much. Their jaws snapped at his face, their claws raked across his chest.

But he didn't die. Not right away. He was still breathing, still conscious. He felt the pain, felt his body being crushed under the weight of them, felt his skin tearing as their claws found new targets. But through it all, he could only think of one thing:

It wasn't just the animals. They were driven. They were controlled.

He didn't know who or what was controlling them. But as the last bit of consciousness slipped away from him, he realized it didn't matter. There was no one left to save him, no one left to fight back. The world had already been swallowed whole.

The animals didn't stop. And neither did the madness.