At the edge of Greenfield Community, the air was as thick as congealed grease, and an invisible "hunger" spread through it.
The rust on the abandoned vehicles stood out starkly in the dim light.
Wu Heng stood in a wreckage-strewn clearing. Across from him slumped a figure in a twisted wheelchair, its body shriveled and emaciated, barely clinging to life. No one would have doubted that if it failed to draw its next breath, it would die on the spot.
A hoarse rasping sound came from the weakened Famine Knight's throat, like a broken bellows being worked.
Dean knelt on one knee, sweat dripping from his temples into the dust.
His arms felt heavy, and even raising his gun took effort.
Sam leaned against a broken concrete pillar, his chest heaving violently. The black patterns in his eyes had not yet fully faded, spiderwebbing across the whites.
Castiel stood a little farther away. The hem of his trench coat was spattered with mud, and his face was paler than usual. He kept vomiting, bringing up nothing but food remnants.
Earlier, the Puppet Wraith's attack had broken the Famine Knight's trap, instantly turning the situation around.
The weakened Famine Knight spread the last of its strength outward like invisible ripples, trying to drain the final scraps of energy from Dean and the other two.
Wu Heng moved.
In the shadow behind him, the shadowy tentacles that had just emerged continued to materialize, solidifying into the Puppet Wraith's enormous form.
Two mutated tentacles shot out like monstrous snakes lunging from ambush.
One flowed with a dark crimson sheen, like cooled lava, carrying the scent of gunpowder and rust. The other shimmered with irregular rainbow-colored halos that made anyone dizzy if they stared too long.
The dark crimson tentacle drove straight forward.
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