No one knew where the curse had come from —only that it had begun without warning. It had been over sixteen years since the first time the cursed rain fell —corrosive water that infected every living being, turning its victims into irrational, bloodthirsty creatures. Deformed beasts that killed anyone who crossed their path. Zombies? Demons? I don’t know.  

Over time, the uninfected —those who had avoided the rain and managed to survive— began to call them Rainbanes.

The transformation into these violent beings wasn’t instantaneous. It took time: a day, a month, even a decade. The mutation was long and painful. Those Rainbanes who still held fragments of their past avoided the rain as much as they could. In a way, they were only prolonging their suffering.

Humans who managed to avoid exposure to the rain faced their own difficulties. Due to the lack of safe water sources, the contaminated reservoirs were shut away or cut off from access. People couldn’t find water to drink without risking exposure, and so many of them died… or chose instead to surrender themselves, accepting the fate of becoming mutants.

I remember it as if it happened yesterday —just like I remember those two. That moment. That place. That rain, emerging from nothingness. 

A Rainbane, victim of the water that streamed down his massive body, and… a human —the only one still unaffected. They stood facing each other. What a magnificent scene. So unique. They still live in my memory, as if part of a wound that refuses to heal.

We were surrounded by fire. The flames danced like furious specters under the radioactive rain, which sizzled as it hit the ground. Thick, black smoke cloaked everything, and in the midst of that hell… they stood.  

The mutant was tall and imposing. Over two meters high. His silhouette rose like the god of death himself. His deformed arms extended grotesquely into flaming tentacles that charred everything they touched. A creature born of the very rain that now struck with fury the crumbling ruins of what had once been a single, flickering hope.

In front of him stood that human.  He must’ve been in his thirties, broad-shouldered, strong… but not strong enough to stop that thing. He wore a heavy coat, with a large hood that covered him completely to avoid exposure to the rain.  But what a fool!  Would that really be enough?  

He was nervous. He had a weapon hidden beneath his coat, ready for whatever was coming. To me, he wasn’t trembling just from fear —at least not from the terror that the Rainbane inspired. There was something deeper. Something rooted in their past.  

Maybe guilt… or desperation.

The mutant saw him. He turned violently, tentacles crackling with energy, ready to kill the human. He spread his massive wings with a dull thud. His face… mmm… was like a skull, stripped of flesh.  From his skull sprouted six twisted horns, and his eyes burned red like smoldering coals. A creature incapable of understanding who he was… or why he acted with such violence.

The man didn’t back away. His hand, clutching the weapon, shook violently. He knew it was his last defense. And yet, something inside him seemed to hold him back. As if he couldn’t pull the trigger. As if there were deeper reasons to do nothing and let fate run its course. The Rainbane lunged at him, tentacle-hands extended.

They both knew what was coming. The confrontation was inevitable. That mutant —yes, he was once human. He was once someone.  But now he had lost his humanity, his memories, and would attack anyone who dared to come near. Even that man.

And in the midst of hell, just before the clash, the man managed to draw his weapon from under his coat.  

But… would he shoot?  

Yes. I remember them well.  

Those two.  

One of them was going to die.  

It was something ethereal, sweet, violent, and…

Brutal.