Deviant: No Longer Human

Tremble... Tremble...

The earth itself quaked, shaking the very bones of those who stood upon it.

Even the Skinwalkers, ugly as they were, halted in their tracks.

A chill of dread rippled through the air, their distorted forms shivering despite their unnatural nature. It wasn't fear—it was instinct.

Something far greater than them was coming.

Above, the sky began to darken. What had once been a clear day was swallowed by a sudden nightfall, and the sun—so strong just moments ago—vanished behind an ominous eclipse.

The light was extinguished in an instant.

The entire sky seemed to bow under the weight of the darkness, not just over Hollow Earth but across the world.

The eclipse spanned both worlds, signaling the unholy connection between the surface and the Hollow Earth.

The sun shared by Hollow Earth and the surface was being devoured.

"Look there..." someone inside the jet whispered, voice trembling.

They pointed outside, where Wang Xiao's figure floated above the battlefield, his silhouette barely visible against the shifting, unnatural sky.

He was moving slowly, deliberately, toward the same forest the Skinwalkers were heading for.

His gaze was locked ahead, as if he and the creatures were hunting the same prey.

The jet had descended just in time to block the Skinwalkers' path, unintentionally making itself the target of their next attack.

Yet Wang Xiao didn't flinch, his mind focused on something far greater.

He had already noticed that both his destination and the Skinwalkers' were the same.

They were chasing the same thing—a single target deep within the dense forest.

"These pests... they've mutated," Wang Xiao muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched their twisting forms.

Their bodies were regenerating faster than normal, the pieces of their limbs knitting together with unnatural speed.

They had absorbed the bodies of the Dryads, creatures tied to the very essence of nature.

The regenerative ability came from them.

Wang Xiao's gaze darkened, the faintest flicker of rage rising within him. :These abominations... If they use the sun to regenerate, then I will take away the sun.'

Far beyond the confines of Earth's atmosphere, in the void of space, something stirred.

A presence so vast, so incomprehensibly massive, it dwarfed even the planets themselves. It was a skeleton—a hulking, white colossus, its ancient bones glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Its size was beyond the imagination of any living being—this thing floated silently in the dark of space, stretching tens of times larger than Earth.

The curve of its spine seemed to arc through the cosmos like the spine of a dead god.

Its empty eye sockets, vast enough to swallow entire cities, stared down at the world below with a cold, eternal indifference.

The sheer size of the skeleton was enough to drive a mortal mind mad.

Its ribcage, spanning what could only be measured in miles, curved like jagged peaks of some long-forgotten mountain range.

The bones themselves glowed faintly in the darkness, illuminated by the distant light of stars.

Its skull, cracked and weathered with age, seemed to be the source of the suffocating pressure felt on Earth.

And then... it moved.

The giant skeleton, with hands so large they could cradle planets, raised one of its bony arms slowly—deliberately.

Each motion was as if time itself struggled to keep up with the ancient being.

Its fingers, long and ghostly white, stretched outward, blocking the sun's rays with a single motion.

The effect was immediate.

The eclipse on Earth was not just some passing phenomenon—this was a cosmic event.

The skeleton's enormous hand covered the sun completely, casting Earth, Hollow Earth, and the entire sky into darkness.

The palm of the creature stretched over the sky like the hand of death itself, fingers splayed across the heavens.

Every inch of the planet was now in shadow.

From below, looking up at this thing was akin to staring into oblivion itself.

Its form blotted out the sky, and for those rare few with the spiritual senses sharp enough to feel its presence, it was as though time itself had stopped.

Even the dead, if they could still feel, would tremble at the sight of this ancient terror.

Its hand didn't simply block the sun—it commanded the very light of the world, bending it to its will.

The daylight that had once bathed the Earth was swallowed in an instant, plunging everything into cold, suffocating darkness.

The creatures below—the Skinwalkers, the humans—everyone felt the weight of its presence, like a primal fear awakening deep within their bones.

And then the sky responded.

SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

Massive spikes, black as the void, began to rain down from the skeleton's hand like spears from the heavens.

Each one was longer than ten meters, cutting through the atmosphere with the sound of a thousand swords being unsheathed.

They descended like the wrath of a forgotten god, piercing the Earth's surface with terrifying force.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The spikes impaled everything they touched—trees, rock, flesh. Skinwalkers that stood beneath them were obliterated in an instant, their bodies torn apart as the massive black rods drove into the ground.

"Ssss...."

The creatures didn't even have time to scream as their limbs were severed, heads crushed, and torsos split open by the sheer force of the impact.

SPLURT! SPLURT! SPLURT!

Blood sprayed across the battlefield, black and thick, as the spikes skewered dozens of Skinwalkers at once. Limbs and body parts flew through the air, painting the landscape in a bloody spectacle.

Some creatures were split clean in half, their innards spilling out in an ugly heap, while others were reduced to nothing more than twitching mounds of flesh.

The spikes kept coming, forming a terrifying, isolating barrier around the jet.

The ground beneath them shook with each impact, the weight of the skeleton's judgment pressing down upon them like the hammer of an executioner.

From inside the jet, the crew could only stare in horrified silence.

They couldn't see the skeleton, but they felt it—the crushing pressure, the suffocating darkness, and the rain of death that poured from the sky.

Outside, the Skinwalkers—those who had not yet been impaled—stopped their assault.

They seemed to hesitate, their ugly forms shifting uneasily as if sensing the presence of something far more terrifying than themselves.

Slowly, like cockroaches scattering from the light, they diverted from the jet, retreating toward their original target deep within the forest.

In the sky, the skeleton's hand remained, blotting out the sun like an omen of doom.

It held the light hostage, forcing the creatures below to grovel in the darkness it commanded.

Its presence was no mere illusion—this was the force that could manipulate entire worlds, and it had deemed this moment worthy of its intervention.

Then, as if the judgment had been passed, the massive skeletal hand withdrew.

Slowly, agonizingly, it pulled back, releasing its grip on the sun.

Light began to return, but it was weak, pale compared to the brilliance it had once held.

The crew, still frozen inside the jet, barely noticed.

They were too focused on the small figure of Wang Xiao outside, moving steadily away, his form growing smaller as he disappeared into the distance.

He moved like a shadow, swift and silent, his hands clasped behind him, as though the devastation around him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"How did you sneak into this world...?" Wang Xiao muttered to himself, his voice barely audible as he glanced down at the abominations crawling beneath him.

His tone was indifferent, but there was a faint edge of rage boiling beneath his calm exterior.

These creatures... Deserves to die.

He should have eradicated their kind long ago.

This time, there would be no mercy.