a gorgeous white by Heather_anare

288: Looming hands

The greenish fog seemed to grow thicker, looming particularly as the third group finally crossed the bridge. The dark plains before them were waiting to be trodden upon. For some reason, Moulin felt uneasy as he watched the last person of the third group hurriedly step away from the last plank of the bridge as if his feet were on fire.

"Ao!"

Snow's alarmed bark finally caught Moulin's attention. At the same time, Kier suddenly raised his head with sharp eyes. Moulin then knew something was wrong.

"Moulin?" Ghana turned to his friend, noticing the sudden tension. She was one of the people of the second group that crossed the bridge.

Jagra instantly raised his brows, "What is it?"

"Something's wrong," Moulin muttered as he took a few steps near the exit of the bridge. A concerned crease appeared between his eyebrows as he stared seriously at the cloud before him, like a wall that seemed to swallow anything that comes near it.

It was quiet. Not a sound could be heard.

Unable to wait any longer, Moulin decided to enter the fog and make sure Hadrian, his brother, and the others were alright. However, before he could even take a step forward, he heard the familiar sounds of boots stepping on creaking wood. It sounded as if the person was walking carefully slow.

Ghana and the others sighed in relief. If one had safely crossed, the others would be too.

However, Moulin didn't relax one bit. Alarm suddenly blared inside his head when he felt Hadrian's heartbeat slowly quicken!

Creak!

Moulin stopped when a figure emerged from the fogged entrance of the bridge.

"!!!"

Thud!

Knees heavily crashed on the ground. A man, whom Moulin recognized was the one who mocked him at the falls, had his face disfigured, bleeding endlessly as three black scratched deeply slashed across his face. However, it wasn't only his face that bled-torn gaps decorated every part of his once garbed limbs. Diagonal wounds bled within those torn holes. It was as if his flesh was melting within those wounds, stained by those black ooze. The pungent smell of burning flesh was horrible and strong.

Gasps of fear and shock noises throughout the air. Moulin stared in shock as he witnessed the scene.

Finally, the man fell forward, breathing his last. The moments his body fell to the ground. It shriveled up like a withered flower. The meat from underneath its skin has dissolved.

Jagra covered his mouth, suppressing the urge to empty his stomach.

"Ao!" Snow barked once again.

At the same time, an agonized scream sounded from within the fog.

Alarmed, Moulin wasted no time as he rushed into the bridge. He felt as if he was faster than before. He heard Jagra and Ghana call out for him from behind, but he had already entered the fog. It was too late now. Moulin felt his heart pounded as he balanced himself, stepping on one plank to the other as quickly as he could.

Whoosh!

Moulin stiffened, and he turned to face his side, vision blinded by the thick cloud of murky green. "..!"

A long blackish arm crept out from underneath him, bursting out from the wooden planks. The bridge wobbled, but Moulin was quick enough to leap forward and dodge it. Grasping the rails of ropes, he slowly regained his balance and took the opportunity to observe the attacker.

It was a wriggling arm, almost like that of a human limb, palm, fingers, and all. The only difference was that it had a black, worm-like gloss on its blackish skin and sharp claws for nails. The arm moved like a snake, reaching out, tapping on the wood like how a blind man was to search the floor for something he'd lost. It was creepy to look at. The black ooze from its skin was perhaps, the acidic liquid that melted the flesh of its victims.