tap

  A faint noise echoed through the void—quiet but distinct.

  tap tap

  Again. Closer this time. Sharp and steady. A sound that didn't belong in the thick silence.

  tap

  "What is that…? Where am I…? Who am I…?" The thoughts bubbled to the surface of his mind, unbidden and panicked. "Why can’t I see anything?"

  His brain pulsed with confusion, so many questions roaring at once that his skull felt like it might split open. Panic flooded in like water breaching a cracked dam.

  He opened his eyes, but nothing changed.

  Bck. Complete and utter bck.

  The cold seeped into his bones. Beneath him was a floor—rocky, uneven, biting into his shoulder bdes. He gasped, heart thundering in his chest. His muscles tensed, body locked in a position of survival he didn’t understand.

  One thought surfaced, cutting through the rest like a bde through mist—find something, anything, get moving.

  Gritting his teeth, he shifted. His hands reached out into the unknown, sweeping slowly, carefully. He stayed hunched as he moved, unwilling to stand to full height and risk smashing his head against a ceiling he couldn’t see.

  His fingers scraped stone. Cold and jagged. The wall.

  tap

  The sound came again, this time right beside him. That was no coincidence.

  "Let’s follow that sound."

  His hand remained on the wall as he crept forward. Every step was measured. Each breath shallow. The tapping continued at intervals, echoing deeper into whatever cave or tunnel he’d found himself in.

  Then—plip—a drop nded on his head.

  He winced. Reached up. Another drop, caught in his palm. Cool, thin.

  "Water?"

  He brought it to his nose, sniffing. No stench. He ran it across his lips, then hesitated. His throat ached, his lips cracked and dry. Spit clung thick and useless to the roof of his mouth.

  "No choice…"

  He drank.

  The fluid passed his tongue—tasteless, clean, but strange in a way he couldn’t pce. He drank more, both hands cupping from where the drops fell.

  Huaah… The relief was instant. His chest loosened. His head felt clearer. Muscles that had been screaming began to settle, if only a little.

  And something else—vision. A faint shimmer danced at the edges of darkness. Silhouettes. Shapes.

  "Was it the water…? No, probably just my eyes adjusting…"

  But it was enough to see now. Enough to move. And enough to realize something else—he was starving.

  His stomach groaned like a beast. Sharp pangs twisted inside him, each one reminding him just how long it had been since food had passed his lips. His legs felt unsteady, bones light and fragile, like they might snap under his weight. But he moved forward anyway, driven by the primal pull of hunger—and the memory of that sound.

  Then, from the distant dark, came something else. A strange, alien noise. Not the steady tapping from before—but a distorted sound, like cws on stone. Scraping. Shuffling. Accompanied by a flicker of light.

  He froze.

  "What now…?"

  Far ahead in the tunnel, a soft glow emerged. It wasn’t warm like firelight. It was colder, more sterile, with a faint blue hue. The light bounced gently off crystal-like formations along the walls—crystals he hadn’t even noticed before. They gleamed now like distant stars.

  "Where in the hell am I? A tunnel…? But who the hell is that?"

  As the light drew nearer, dread coiled in his gut. Instinct screamed at him. Hide.

  His eyes darted around the chamber. His hands scrambled along the floor and walls until they met a formation—an uneven pile of… something. Big. Lumpy. Tangled.

  He ducked behind it, heart hammering, breath held. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight like a spring, ready to snap.

  The light moved closer. The glow intensified. And suddenly—he saw.

  The tunnel exploded with color. Blue crystals shimmered like frost under moonlight. The chamber bloomed with reflected brilliance. Even distant alcoves twinkled to life. For a fleeting moment, it was… beautiful.

  But beauty twisted to horror in an instant.

  He looked down at what he was hiding behind—and nearly screamed.

  "G-God… no…"

  He spped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide with horror. The pile he’d crouched behind wasn’t rocks. Not sacks. Not anything natural.

  Bodies.

  Dozens of them.

  Not human.

  Twisted, grotesque things—flesh like dried leather, bloated stomachs split open with slick organs spilling out. Limbs bent the wrong way. Jaws frozen in silent screams. The stench hit him like a wave: blood, rot, and something acidic, something unnatural.

  He stumbled back slightly—but stopped.

  The light was now just behind him.

  He turned, slowly, trembling.

  And saw it.

  A creature stepped into view, tall enough to hunch beneath the cavern ceiling. Its skin—or what should’ve been skin—was missing. Instead, the texture of its body looked like raw muscle, glistening and veiny, stretched tight over a monstrous frame. Its arms were long and thick, ending in cwed fingers that flexed and scraped against the cavern floor.

  On its forehead was a rounded, glowing crystal that pulsed faintly—the source of the light.

  Its eyes were pools of blood. No pupils, just glowing red voids.

  Its mouth… always open. Always grinning. Hundreds of tiny needle-like teeth filled it, twitching and chattering without sound. A grotesque vibration shuddered from it like it was trying to taste the air.

  But the worst part… was the hole.

  In the center of its torso gaped a perfectly circur cavity. No organs, no flesh. Just empty space. Bone rimmed the void like a jagged crown.

  "A foe… definitely a foe…"

  He crouched low, shaking. The thing moved slowly, with deliberate steps. Its glowing forehead cast beams across the chamber as it neared one of the crystal formations.

  A gold one—bright and smooth, dripping with the same liquid he had tasted.

  The creature paused, leaned forward… and drank.

  Its mouth stretched impossibly wide, wrapping around the golden crystal. The fluid disappeared into its gullet with sickening slurps.

  Then, without turning, it walked away.

  The light faded with it. The blue shimmer of the crystals slowly dimmed as darkness recimed the tunnel.

  He remained frozen. His whole body ached from tension, lungs burning from held breath. Even after the glow vanished, he didn’t move.

  "Oh god… what the fuck was that thing?!"

  Tears welled in his eyes. His chest heaved.

  "I could’ve died… If I hadn’t hidden… I would’ve been torn apart."

  He colpsed to the ground, arms wrapped around himself. Trembling. Terrified.

  "Why…? Why is this happening to me…? Who did this to me…?"

  He didn’t know how long he sat there. Minutes. Maybe longer. But eventually, the shaking stopped. Not because the fear was gone—but because the survival instinct kicked back in.

  He looked toward the tunnel where the creature had gone. Then turned the other way—and began walking.

  Slowly. Carefully.

  One hand on the wall. The other brushing his side for bance. Each step was agony. Each drop of liquid from the ceiling, each whisper of falling rocks or distant shriek, sent new chills down his spine.

  But he didn’t stop.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  How long had he been walking?

  Time had lost all meaning. It could have been hours. Days. Weeks. His body had become a machine—broken and barely functional, running purely on the stubborn refusal to stop.

  His legs trembled with every step, muscles torn between colpse and forward motion. His feet dragged across the ground, bones grinding in their sockets. Hunger had twisted his gut into a knot of nausea and fatigue. His lips were cracked worse than before, his mouth coated with a thick dryness that felt like ash.

  And yet he kept moving.

  Through the dark.

  Through the cold.

  Through the screams.

  Because the sounds came. Always came.

  Echoes of something behind him—distant howls, heavy thuds, the rattling groans of the cave groaning under its own weight. Sometimes a drop of liquid hit his cheek or forehead. Sometimes something skittered across his foot, fast and unseen.

  He never looked back.

  "Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just move."

  His thoughts narrowed to a single, ceaseless question: "Do I die here?"

  He didn't know the answer. But he kept walking anyway.

  Until… he couldn’t.

  His legs gave out.

  Not a stumble—a colpse. His body just dropped. Knees buckled. Chest hit the floor with a thud. The stone scraped his forearms, tore his skin, left streaks of blood as he struggled to push himself back up.

  He didn’t make it far.

  He y there panting, sweat mixing with blood on his brow, vision swimming from exhaustion.

  Then—

  AAAWUUUUUUUUU!!

  The sound pierced his bones.

  A howl.

  Not human.

  Not animal.

  It came from behind. Closer than before.

  His entire body spasmed in terror.

  "I-it's t-that creature!" The same howl. The same presence. The same thing that had drunk from the golden crystal.

  It had found him.

  A surge of raw survival panic jolted through his limbs. He dragged himself forward—fingers cwing at the ground, pulling his weight inch by inch. His skin ripped open on the sharp stone, arms trembling under his own body weight.

  "I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!" His voice cracked, torn from his throat in sobbing screams. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. The light behind him… it was growing. Getting closer. The very air seemed to pulse with it. Warped and unnatural.

  Then—ahead. A light.

  A different light.

  Soft. White. Distant, but real.

  Hope.

  His instincts screamed, not in panic this time—but in crity.

  Run. Crawl. Cw your way forward. That is life. That is escape.

  Pain tore at him like wolves biting into his limbs. His legs were useless now. His arms dragged his full weight. His fingernails bent and cracked as he gripped stone after stone. But still he moved.

  The light behind him was closer. Warmer. Wrong.

  It was hunting him.

  But the one ahead? That one called to him.

  He cwed. He bled. He screamed. But he never looked back.

  The tunnel narrowed and curved and then—

  Light spilled across his face. Not torchlight. Not crystal glow. Daylight.

  He pulled himself into the opening—into a hole carved out of the mountainside. The sudden exposure nearly blinded him, but he didn’t care. He was outside.

  Air.

  Wind.

  Green.

  Trees.

  The forest stretched beyond the cliffs. Thick with vegetation. Water sparkled from a river nearby. Grass. Sunlight. Life.

  He gasped, mouth open, body trembling with relief.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks. Pure, unfiltered emotion poured out of him.

  But then—he remembered.

  He turned.

  And there it was.

  The creature.

  Standing in the mouth of the cave. Its red eyes locked on him. Silent. Still. Watching.

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe.

  The thing didn’t speak, but its eyes burned a message straight into his soul.

  "You won’t get away next time."

  It stepped forward, crossing the threshold between darkness and light—

  And screamed.

  Where the light touched it, its flesh melted. Smoke hissed from its limbs. The creature recoiled, twitching and writhing, but still it stared at him. Not with rage. With intent.

  One step back into the dark. Then another. It vanished with a final, echoing growl of agony.

  And he was left alone.

  But not safe.

  He dropped to the grass, back against the stone, and looked up toward the sky.

  What he saw twisted the knife in his gut.

  "No… no, no, no…"

  The sky was light blue, sure—but there was no sun. No clear source of warmth. No bzing orb in the sky.

  Just endless, dim radiance.

  "What is this pce…?"

  His brief joy bled from his face. That moment of triumph? Gone. His soul felt like it had been ripped out of him.

  Maybe he had escaped the cave.

  But he hadn’t escaped hell.

  His body finally gave in again.

  His legs folded without warning, sending him crashing onto the mossy earth. He groaned, eyes barely able to stay open as the trembling subsided into a dull, bone-deep ache. Every inch of him throbbed. Cuts from jagged rocks still oozed. Muscles screamed in protest.

  But the forest—god, the forest was real.

  The breeze tickled his skin like a phantom. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. Leaves rustled overhead, their canopies shifting to some silent rhythm far removed from pain and panic.

  And ahead—he heard it. The soft gurgle of flowing water.

  He turned his head.

  A river.

  He could’ve wept again just seeing it.

  With every st bit of strength, he crawled. Fingers dug into dirt and grass. Stones pressed into his raw palms. His vision blurred, then sharpened again, driven by need.

  He reached the river’s edge and colpsed beside it, panting heavily.

  The water shimmered in soft blues and silvers. Cool, clear. Untouched.

  He dipped his hand in, let the current wash over his skin.

  And then… he saw it.

  His reflection.

  He froze.

  The person staring back at him… wasn’t who he imagined.

  Dark brown hair fell in tangled waves across a thin, angur face. Skin pale, almost sickly from ck of sun. Eyes—rge, heavy-lidded—looked almost bck in the dim light, though they shimmered faintly with warm brown underneath.

  There was something soft in that gaze. Something… feminine.

  Not fragile, but delicate. Tired. Like the eyes of someone who had spent too long watching the world burn.

  His jaw was narrow, his cheekbones sharp, almost haunting. His lips were dry and split. His frame—tall, easily over six feet—but lean. Almost skeletal. His arms were thin. His chest ft. Not a trace of muscle anywhere.

  Like he’d been starving for weeks.

  "No wonder I could barely walk…"

  He reached up and touched his own face, brushing a smear of blood from his cheek. The fingers that did so trembled.

  "I didn’t even know what I looked like… until now."

  The water cooled his wounds, soothed his skin, grounded his thoughts.

  After a while, he sat up straighter and looked around.

  Fish swam zily through the riverbed. Small silver bodies, darting between rocks and reeds.

  His stomach twisted violently.

  "I need to eat… now."

  He scanned the forest for tools. Nearby, he found a thick stick, jagged at one end. A few stones scattered along the ground. He began gathering—wood, leaves, and any dry material he could spot.

  It was crude, but survival wasn’t about elegance.

  He washed a handful of broad leaves and pressed them gently to the cuts on his arms and legs. Not ideal, but it was something. Then he sharpened the stick using a ft stone—over and over, grinding it until it held a crude point.

  The sunless light above never changed, but he could feel time passing.

  Eventually, he crouched at the riverbank, spear in hand. He waited. Watched. Every muscle coiled, every breath held.

  A fish darted close.

  He struck.

  Water spshed. Resistance met wood.

  Success.

  One fish. Then another.

  His hands were shaking again, but this time… from anticipation.

  He returned to a small clearing he had found—dry ground, close to the water, with room to work. Using two rocks, he sparked a fire after several failed attempts, coaxing embers to life with dried leaves and soft breath.

  Yes! Yes! The fire came alive, and so did his hope.

  He spiked the fish on another stick and held it above the fmes, eyes wide with focus, mouth watering.

  The scent of cooked meat was almost too much to bear.

  When it was done, he barely gave it time to cool.

  Finally… He devoured the fish like an animal, hands shaking, lips burning, tears in his eyes. Each bite lit his brain with euphoria. Warmth filled his stomach. His mind quieted. His body… began to remember what it meant to live.

  But survival always comes at a price.

  A rustle.

  From the trees.

  He turned, every muscle tensing.

  A bush shifted.

  His instincts screamed again—something’s coming.

  He reached for the spear, now slick with sweat and fish oil. He stood, steadying his weight, raising the weapon in both hands.

  The bush moved again.

  He lowered his stance.

  Another rustle.

  And then—it leapt.

  The bush exploded.

  A blur of gray muscle and snarling teeth surged from the undergrowth. Before he could even process the movement, the wolf was airborne—leaping with terrifying speed, jaws wide, yellowed fangs aimed at his throat.

  He twisted instinctively, stumbling sideways as the beast crashed past him. It nded hard, cws skidding across stone. Snarling. Saliva sprayed from its jaws.

  The thing was huge. Taller than a normal wolf. Its fur was matted and uneven, its frame gaunt yet powerful. Bones jutted from its ribs like the creature itself had starved—but it was no less deadly. Its eyes burned with a kind of mad hunger. Not just for food. For him.

  He raised his spear.

  His arms trembled.

  His body ached.

  His grip was wrong—slippery with sweat and blood. His stance was clumsy, barely banced. He had no technique. No training. Just fear.

  And a stick.

  The wolf charged again.

  He thrust the spear forward—

  Too te.

  The wolf dodged sideways with shocking agility and smmed into him. The force knocked him back hard, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The spear slipped from his hands, rolling away.

  His back hit a rock. Pain exploded through his ribs.

  He gasped. Rolled.

  The wolf was on him in seconds, teeth snapping, cws raking toward his gut.

  He kicked wildly, catching it in the chest—but it barely staggered.

  Get off me! Get off! He grabbed a nearby rock and smashed it against the wolf’s shoulder. It yelped, recoiling just enough for him to scramble back onto all fours.

  Blood ran down his side.

  His breaths came in gasps—shallow, uneven, burning his lungs.

  "I can’t… I can’t…!"

  But he moved anyway.

  Because if he didn’t, he would die.

  The wolf came again, slower now, circling. Cautious. It could smell his weakness. Taste his blood. It was savoring the kill.

  He spotted the spear—just a few feet away.

  Too far to run. Too close to ignore.

  He feinted left, then lunged right, diving toward it.

  The wolf pounced.

  His fingers closed around the shaft of the spear just as the beast nded on his back.

  Teeth tore into his shoulder. He screamed—white-hot pain ncing down his arm. He rolled, stabbing blindly with the spear behind him.

  A lucky hit.

  The wooden point sank into the wolf’s leg.

  It howled, jerking away.

  He turned and thrust again, this time catching the beast along its side. Not deep. Not fatal. But it was enough to drive it back.

  He staggered to his feet.

  Face bloody.

  Arms shaking.

  Legs barely able to hold him.

  The wolf limped, snarling, foam dripping from its jaw. Its eyes burned with hate.

  And then—it lunged, one final time.

  He didn’t think.

  Didn’t pn.

  He simply braced himself and held the spear out, as firm as he could.

  The wolf impaled itself.

  The force knocked him backward again, but the beast was skewered clean through the throat. Its momentum drove it into him—and past him.

  They hit the ground together.

  He gasped, pinned beneath the heavy body.

  It convulsed. Shuddered. Twitched.

  Then stilled.

  Silence.

  For a moment, all he could do was lie there. His ears rang. His shoulder throbbed. His heart felt like it was trying to rip through his chest.

  I… I killed it…? He pushed the corpse off with both arms, grunting from the weight.

  The spear was snapped in two. Blood soaked into the earth beneath the body. His entire side was sticky with gore—his and the wolf’s.

  He crawled back, panting.

  I… actually did it… It wasn’t skill. It wasn’t strength.

  It was luck.

  Pure, chaotic, messy luck.

  But it didn’t matter.

  He was alive.