Night had fallen.
Or… maybe it never really was day.
The van had long since stopped. The road had disappeared behind them, and no GPS — digital or supernatural — had helped since noon. Alex's system flickered, sputtered, and eventually just blinked out.
Now?
They sat in the middle of nowhere.A clearing surrounded by trees that didn't sway.Didn't rustle.Didn't breathe.
Only the fire moved — a modest campfire flickering in a circle of hastily placed stones. They were all gathered around it, like kids trying not to admit they were scared.
No one had said much for hours.
Frenchie stirred the fire with a stick. Kimiko sat quietly beside him. Butcher stared into the flames with his arms crossed, face unreadable.
Alex stared at his system, willing it to light back up.
And Deadpool?
Deadpool was lying on his back, mask rolled halfway up, hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the stars.
"…Okay, real talk," he finally said, voice quiet but sharp, "Hey, Author?"
He turned his head toward the imaginary camera. Straight into the fourth wall.
"I know we joke. I know we roast. I know I insult you on a daily basis and compare your writing style to rejected creepypasta."
He sat up slowly.
"But this right here? This? Is art."
He raised both hands like he was praising the moon.
"A broken road, a cursed forest, existential dread, AND trauma bonding with a knife-happy Brit and a semi-sentient RPG main character? This is cinema."
He stood dramatically.
"And by cinema, I mean I'm going to poop my suit."
Butcher grunted. "Will you shut it?"
Deadpool turned to him. "Sorry, sorry. Just trying to keep the vibes alive while the trees plan our murder."
Hughie, bundled in his jacket near the edge of the group, looked around. "It's not just me, right? The air feels... wrong. Like the shadows are watching."
They were.
They all felt it now.
That pressure.
Like something was just out of sight.Behind the trees.Behind their thoughts.
Alex finally spoke, voice low.
"It's not the shadows."
Butcher looked over. "Go on then. What is it?"
Alex hesitated. He couldn't explain it.Not clearly. Not yet.
But something inside him whispered: He's close.
"I think it's… him," Alex said. "The thing. The entity. The one who's watching."
Frenchie looked around. "Watching from where?"
Deadpool whispered. "Everywhere."
The wind blew — not loud, but heavy.Leaves rustled.And for a moment, it sounded like… breathing.
Kimiko's head snapped toward the trees.
But nothing was there.
Not yet.
Butcher stood, rubbing the back of his neck, voice gravel. "I don't scare easy. But somethin' about this place makes my f***in' skin crawl."
Deadpool finally sat down again, pulling his knees to his chest, unusually quiet for once.
"…I miss the dragon."
Hughie scooted closer to the fire.
The darkness beyond the flames looked like it was getting darker.
As if the night itself was leaning in.
Alex looked up at the trees.
"We shouldn't be here after midnight."
But they already were.
And somewhere in the woods, far beyond the firelight, two faint white eyes blinked open.
Still. Watching.
Unblinking.