The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 150 - Monster outside

Nansich tried.

God, he really tried to get out of those arms.

He pushed. He squirmed. He twisted left and right, trying to pry the man’s arm off him like it was some oversized snake. But the guy’s grip didn’t budge. It was like trying to wrestle out of a tree trunk. His muscles were thick and heavy and warm, and they’d somehow locked him into place with terrifying efficiency.

"Let... me... go..." he grunted, straining his neck and shoulders, but nothing worked.

Minutes passed. Maybe even an hour. He lost track of time, exhausted and growing increasingly frustrated. He tried prying fingers off, but even unconscious, the man held on like his life depended on it.

Eventually, his body gave in.

With a heavy sigh, Nansich slumped against him, panting from the effort. The hay itched his arms, the man’s skin was way too warm, and the barn smelled like old wood and animals. But his eyelids... they just wouldn’t stay open.

"...Whatever," he mumbled to himself.

And then, he drifted off.

When he woke up again, it was dark.

Pitch black, save for the faint starlight trickling through the cracks in the barn walls.

Nansich blinked groggily and then jolted upright. "Shit!"

His head snapped toward the barn doors—wide open.

"Fuck! The animals are still out there!" he yelled, scrambling to sit up.

As he moved, the man’s arm that had been wrapped around him loosened and fell away, finally giving Nansich the freedom he’d been begging for hours ago.

But he didn’t have time to think about that now.

He jumped to his feet and dashed out of the barn barefoot, the cold earth shocking his skin with each step. His eyes scanned the surrounding yard. Moonlight gleamed over the grassy fields, and in the distance, he saw the cows calmly grazing under the stars.

"Damn it..."

He sprinted toward them, clapping his hands and yelling, "Come on, back to the barn! Let’s go!"

Miraculously, they listened. Probably because they were just lazy and tired.

One by one, he herded them back in, slapping their sides gently and coaxing them into the barn like he’d done dozens of times at his grandpa’s orchard. Familiar work—but under the weight of worry and panic.

Once they were all in, he turned to the chicken coop.

Most of the hens had returned on their own. Except, of course, for Hawk.

The troublemaking rooster stood proudly outside the coop like he owned the world. Chest puffed, feathers gleaming, beady eyes watching the grass with intensity—as if guarding his flock from invisible enemies.

"Hawk..." Nansich groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Come on, man. Don’t do this to me."

He took a few steps forward.

Hawk strutted further away.

"Oh come on! Do you even hear the news? There are aliens outside now, dude! Freaky alien things that eat people and blow stuff up!"

The rooster didn’t seem impressed.

Nansich chased him around the coop in circles, ducking and lunging and tripping over a bucket. Hawk dodged him like a professional fighter, flapping and squawking with every burst of energy.

"I swear, if you weren’t so loyal to your ladies, I’d turn you into soup!"

It took five more tries and a little loss of pride before Nansich finally tackled the damn bird.

In the scuffle, Hawk lost a few feathers and let out an indignant shriek, but Nansich didn’t let go until the coop door was shut behind him.

Panting, sweaty, and mildly scratched up, Nansich slumped against the wall of the coop.

"...Finally."

As he caught his breath, he looked toward the main house—and blinked in surprise.

Sitting on the back step of the porch was a small paper bag, carefully tied up.

He jogged over, curious, and untied it to find a piece of fresh bread and a small glass jar of jam.

A note scribbled on a torn piece of paper read: Stay safe. Eat well. -Lina

Nansich smiled softly, heart warming. "Sweet..."

Without hesitation, he bit into the bread, chewing as he turned back toward the barn.

Crunch....

Nansich froze mid-step.

The air caught in his throat. The half-eaten bread slipped from his lips and hit the dirt with a dull thud. Somewhere deep in the trees, something rustled again.

Crunch.

It was getting closer.

Every instinct in him screamed to run. He spun around, legs clumsy with terror, and bolted toward the barn’s open door. It was just a few feet away—just a little more—

Something cold and wet clamped around his ankle.

He didn’t even have time to scream properly. The sound that came out was a strangled, high-pitched whimper.

His leg was yanked backward with sudden, brutal force.

"Ahh—! No! Wait—!"

He slammed face-first into the ground. Dirt exploded into his mouth and nose. His chest hit hard, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain radiated across his ribs, but before he could even react, he was dragged. Hard.

His body scraped violently across the earth. Pebbles tore through his skin. Thorns scratched his arms. Grass and grit filled his mouth and eyes as he was hauled backward like a sack of meat. His nails clawed uselessly at the ground—snagging on roots, tearing at clumps of grass—but it didn’t slow him down. The creature dragging him didn’t care.

He was being taken.

"No—please—stop! Help!" he screamed, the word ripping from his throat in sheer panic. But there was no one out here.

The dragging stopped abruptly.

Nansich lay twisted and gasping, face half-buried in dirt, trembling all over. His ears rang. His heart thudded so violently it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t even lift his head.

Then he saw it.

The creature was massive. Its form loomed over him like a demon torn from nightmares—no clear edges, just rippling shadows and shine.

A slick, gelatinous sheen covered its surface, like it had crawled out of a swamp.

Long, writhing tentacles curled lazily in the air, twitching now and then with an eerie grace.

One of them hovered above his face, dripping something black and thick onto the ground beside his cheek.

His stomach turned.

He tried to back away. Just an inch.

But his limbs refused. His muscles had locked up, frozen by terror. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I’m gonna die.

I’m actually gonna die.

Right here. Right now. Alone.

Then the creature’s head tilted.

Its mouth opened.

A maw.

Circular. Lined with layers of tiny, rotating teeth that buzzed faintly like a grinder.

Nansich’s bladder almost gave out.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to cry.

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as the monster inched closer, its rotating teeth catching glints of moonlight, saliva dripping down over its spiraling maw. The noise of its breathing—slow and deep and wet—was the only sound in the world.