The corridor smelled like death.
Blood caked the walls. Screams lingered in the air like ghosts. And in the middle of it all—Elliot stood, frozen.
His eyes locked onto the pile of broken bodies—the red-haired woman twisted against the wall, her face pale and mouth ajar in a silent, eternal scream.
He had arrived too late.
And in that moment, staring into the chaos, Elliot knew—
This was hopeless.
His heart pounded in his ears. He turned around, every instinct screaming to run, to flee, to find Ava and—
THAMP.
Before he could take a full step, the Warden moved.
Fast.
It was a blur of black leather, chains, and malice. And then—CRACK—the metal handle of the axe slammed into Elliot's gut.
"GUHH—AAH!" Elliot gasped, eyes wide, body jerking forward.
The handle wasn't just blunt—it was sharp at the end, and pierced through the front of his abdomen.
Not fully. Just deep enough. Slowly. Sadistically.
The Warden had no rush.
Elliot's back arched as a howl of pain escaped him. His fingers clawed at the Warden's arms, trying to push back, but the monster didn't move. His knees buckled, his vision blurred.
A drop of blood slid from the corner of his mouth.
He could taste the iron.
His breath was shallow. Every nerve in his body screamed. The pain wasn't just physical—it was personal.
This wasn't just an attack.
This was a message.
He gritted his teeth, eyes shaking as he looked up into that leather mask.
The Warden didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't speak.
It just watched as Elliot's body convulsed, impaled and helpless—like it wanted him to feel every ounce of pain before the end.
THUMP.
The Warden raised the axe, the leather around its hands tightening, the blood-soaked blade gleaming in the dim corridor light.
Elliot's heart dropped.
The axe came down.
But Elliot moved—fast.
His foot slipped slightly over the mangled corpse beneath him, and that accidental shift saved his life. The axe SLAMMED into the floor just inches from his chest, cleaving straight through the limp arm of a nearby corpse. The dismembered limb flew across the hallway, slapping against the stone wall with a wet crunch.
"SHIT—!" Elliot gasped, adrenaline firing off like gunshots in his veins.
He pushed off the ground and scrambled to run, the sound of steel and fury erupting behind him. His palms scraped against the cold concrete, his breaths sharp and panicked.
But then—
CLINK.
His leg jerked backward violently.
His eyes widened.
He looked down.
The chain.
It was already wrapped around his ankle—tight, heavy, unrelenting.
"NO, NO—!" he shouted, thrashing, trying to shake it off. "FUCK—GET OFF ME!"
The Warden didn't rush. It didn't have to. It just began to reel him back in like a fisherman pulling a dying catch. The metal scraped and tightened, dragging Elliot slowly across the floor, his nails clawing at the stone.
His back scraped along blood-slicked ground, red smearing across his shirt. The body of the man whose arm had been severed lay beside him, wide-eyed and lifeless—as if watching him get pulled into the same fate.
The corridor ahead felt so far.
The screams behind him… so close.
Elliot's fingers dug deep into the cracks of the stone floor.
He gritted his teeth, fighting it.
Not yet.
Not fucking yet.
Meanwhile, Ava—
She had heard it.
Elliot's scream.
It ripped through the prison like a siren of doom, sharp and panicked, echoing off the cold stone and blood-slicked walls.
Ava froze where she stood. Her hands trembled violently by her sides, the tips of her fingers twitching with anxiety. Her legs had gone numb. Her heart? It wasn't beating. It was hammering.
She took one step forward… and stopped.
The silence that followed the scream was louder than the scream itself.
"No... No, please... not Elliot."
Her voice came out cracked and dry—barely more than a whisper, like the sound of a soul unraveling.
She looked down the corridor, but darkness pooled there. The flickering lights cast long, twisted shadows, and in every shifting shape she saw death. She saw blood. She saw the thing—the monster—that had torn through the others like they were made of paper.
Her breath hitched.
She covered her mouth, tears forming in her eyes. Her body wanted to collapse. Her instincts screamed to run, to hide, to pretend she never heard that voice.
But—
It was Elliot.
The boy who had made her laugh when everything was crumbling.
The boy who told her she was smart, not just pretty.
The boy who made this hell feel just a little less hellish.
And so… she stepped forward.
Her feet moved slowly, hesitantly, as if the floor itself might collapse beneath her. Every step she took was against her own survival instinct.
Drip.
Her eye caught something.
A blood trail. Fresh. Red.
Her lips quivered as she covered her mouth again. She was shaking all over now, every joint stiff, her bones frozen in dread.
A sob escaped her throat.
And so—she ran.
The fear finally overtook her.
It wasn't weakness.
It was survival.
It was human.
Her breath hitched as she sprinted down the side of the corridor, the walls warping around her in her panicked vision. She couldn't see where she was going—only that she had to get away from that sound, that scream, that monster.
Her knees buckled as she slipped into a narrow side passage—a cracked segment of the hallway where the walls didn't quite align, just wide enough to hide her body. She pressed her back to the cold stone, hands over her mouth, eyes wide, tears now streaking silently down her cheeks.
She crouched low, trying not to make a sound.
Her breaths came out in shaky, broken rhythms—half gasps, half sobs she was too terrified to let escape fully.
She peeked.
Just barely.
Through the jagged slit in the wall… she saw him.
Elliot.
Blood dripping down his chin.
Chains around his ankle.
The Warden standing over him like a demon given flesh.
Ava's hand shot over her heart. She wanted to scream—but her voice betrayed her.
She wanted to run to him—but her legs had betrayed her, too.
All she could do was watch.
Frozen.
Terrified.
"Please don't die..." she whispered, as if her words could cast a shield over him.
And in that moment, the corridor didn't feel like stone anymore.
It felt like a coffin.
Elliot's body skidded across the floor, chains clinking and dragging behind him, until suddenly—
CRACK.
The Warden swung him like a ragdoll, slamming him into the limp form of the red-haired girl. The impact was devastating. Her eyes widened, her body jerked violently, and the sickening sound of ribs snapping echoed through the corridor like gunfire. Blood splattered the wall as her skull collided with the concrete—her body falling still in an instant.
Elliot tumbled down beside her, his breathing ragged, desperate. He tried to push himself up, but his arms shook, buckled—and he collapsed again. Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
His neck—he couldn't move it.
It lolled uncontrollably to one side. A burning pain ran down his spine like electricity, and the edges of his vision began to blur. He felt the weight of his own head like it didn't belong to him anymore.
His mind screamed, Get up. Get up! But his body betrayed him.
His gaze shifted sideways, barely able to focus on the blood pooling beside him. The red-haired girl lay unmoving—her face frozen in pain, her eyes still open, staring into nothing.
The realization hit him.
He had survived. She hadn't.
He was broken, crushed… and still breathing.
Elliot could feel it—the sickening looseness in his neck.
It wasn't just pain now. It was wrong.
Every time he tried to lift his head, it just flopped to the side like it didn't belong to him anymore. His spine pulsed with a heat so sharp it felt cold. Fractured. He knew it. His body wasn't obeying him anymore.
And then it got worse.
The Warden gripped the chain around his ankle and began to swing.
Once.
Twice.
Violently. Mercilessly.
Elliot's broken form whipped through the air like a ragdoll, bones grinding against torn muscle fiber, nerves screaming in agony until—
SNAP.
Something inside gave out. His shoulder. His back. His neck—again.
He couldn't even tell anymore. His body was screaming but his voice couldn't catch up.
Ava stood frozen behind the corridor wall, her eyes wide and trembling. She saw it—him.Her boyfriend. The boy who told her to stay hidden. The boy who promised to protect her.
Now he was being flung like meat.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to move.
But all she could do was watch in horror as the Warden swung Elliot again, until the sound of something tearing echoed louder than her thoughts.
Elliot's body finally collapsed to the ground in a sickening slump—his limbs twitching, his neck still bent wrong, still alive but barely.
And Ava's knees gave out. She collapsed behind the wall, her breath stuttering, silent tears falling down her cheeks.
"Please... no..."
She didn't even realize she'd whispered it.
The Warden's footsteps echoed into the silence, chains clinking like distant thunder. Blood already soaked into the cracked floor, and the air was heavy with the scent of iron and despair. Elliot's fractured body lay slumped against the cold concrete wall, his neck twisted unnaturally to the side—head bobbing, limp, as if detached from his will.
His breath was shallow, labored. He couldn't lift his head. His eyes fluttered—barely conscious—but he was still alive.
The Warden didn't even look at him. Like a butcher done prepping the meat, it moved on.
There were still survivors. A boy, no older than twenty, crawled with trembling arms—his stomach bruised from the earlier kick, body barely responding. He whispered something under his breath—maybe a prayer, maybe a name. The Warden stood above him, raising its weapon in one slow, deliberate motion. The axe didn't come down in a clean slice—it dragged, hacked, tore. The boy's scream was cut short by the sound of his body hitting the floor, neck severed, head falling a few feet away as if trying to roll back to safety.
Another—a younger man with wide, terrified eyes—tried to crawl backwards, but his leg was shattered. He lifted a trembling arm in protest.
"Please… leave me alone.. I beg you, please, I don't wanna die.. I have a newborn daughter, I need to see he-"
It was the last thing he said.
The Warden didn't kill him quickly. It disassembled him—like a child breaking apart a toy to see what's inside. One arm, then another. Each motion echoed with bone snaps and flesh tearing. The limbs were tossed to different corners of the corridor like discarded trash.
A girl screamed. She turned, trying to run—anything to get away—but slipped in the blood. She didn't even make it five steps.
The Warden reached her, pulled her by the collar like a disobedient dog, and drove the edge of its blade down—not once, but again and again—until her body fell in two, and what spilled from her painted the walls behind her like some grotesque mural.
And all the while, Ava watched.
Frozen behind the corner, her hand covering her mouth, she stared at Elliot's broken body and the monster that had just dismantled half their group. Her heart pounded in her ears. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Her legs wanted to run—but her soul was locked in place.
She couldn't save him.
And she couldn't look away.
And now that it had killed everyone…
The prison lay silent, stained red and soaked in despair. Lifeless bodies littered the cold floor, a grim canvas of carnage. The only sound was the slow, deliberate steps of the Warden.
It turned.
And began walking toward Elliot.
His body was crumpled near the cracked wall, barely conscious—his breathing shallow, his eyes fluttering. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his neck hung at an unnatural angle, pain coursing through every nerve. He couldn't lift his arms. He couldn't scream. But he was aware—aware of what was coming.
Ava watched from behind the corner, trembling uncontrollably. Her hand gripped her mouth to keep herself from making a sound, tears cascading down her face. Her eyes met Elliot's from across the corridor—both filled with fear, sorrow, and that unspoken goodbye.
Elliot's thoughts raced.
"So this is it…"
"I tried. I really tried."
"I couldn't save them… I couldn't even save her."
The Warden's shadow loomed over him now.
Its chest rose and fell with unnatural calm, as if it were breathing in the fear that poisoned the air. It tilted its head slowly to one side, almost curiously, like it was savoring the last look in Elliot's eyes before extinguishing the flame.
Elliot blinked, one final tear rolling down.
Ava, watching in silent horror, whispered under her breath, "Please… no…"
And then the Warden lifted its axe—slowly, deliberately, like a cruel executioner savoring the moment before the fall.
And then—
The Warden raised its weapon.
A sharp whoosh through the thick air.
Elliot's body jolted violently as the blade connected—not like a clean cut, but a butcher's hack, brutal and deliberate. The sound was sickening—wet, heavy, final.
His mouth opened wide in agony, but no scream came out. Just a guttural, broken gasp.
Ava's heart stopped.
From her hiding spot, she saw it. The way his torso twisted unnaturally. The way his body convulsed and slumped—like a puppet with its strings ripped out. Blood soaked the floor beneath him, pooling fast, too fast. His intestines became visible for just a moment before his body collapsed in two halves—disconnected, lifeless.
Her hand covered her mouth again as a sharp cry slipped through. She was shaking uncontrollably now, knees buckling, mind unable to process what her eyes had just witnessed.
Elliot was gone.
The Warden stood silently over what remained—motionless, as if admiring its work. It didn't even breathe hard. For it, this was nothing but routine.
And Ava… had never felt more alone.
Elliot blinked—his vision blurry, the world spinning. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't feel anything. Just a cold emptiness spreading through his chest, down to the tips of his fingers.
He looked down…
And there it was.
His insides.
Spilled across the floor like ropes of ruin, glistening in the dim, flickering prison light. Steam rose from the warmth of it. His blood painted the concrete beneath him.
For a moment, he didn't even believe it was real.
Then he looked up.
The Warden stood tall, silent, towering over him like death incarnate. Its mask glinting faintly, head tilted slightly to the side—like it was curious, watching the final moments of its prey with detached amusement.
Elliot let out a small, broken laugh—a single exhale of irony.
He smiled, bitterly.
"Guess… we really were fucked," he whispered, eyes still locked on the monster that ended him.
And then his head slowly dropped forward… and everything faded to black.
Elliot couldn't scream anymore.
His throat was dry. Torn. Blood had long coated his lips. The only thing he could do now was watch.
The Warden crouched in front of him like a child with a new toy.
Its thick, gloved hands reached down to the spilling mess of Elliot's intestines… and began to tug.
Slowly. Methodically.
And every time it did—
Elliot's body jerked.
Not by choice—just a raw, reflexive reaction. His nerves still alive, still wired into the pain. His spine arched involuntarily. His fractured neck wobbled, useless and limp. His fingers twitched as if begging for the agony to stop.
Then it twisted the intestine slightly, like testing tension in a wire.
Elliot's body spasmed again—more violently this time. A rattling cough escaped his lips.
The Warden paused. Tilted its head. Then tried another pull, this time faster—watching with almost analytical curiosity as Elliot convulsed.
Like it was learning.
Like it enjoyed this.
Tears welled in Elliot's bloodshot eyes—not from fear anymore.
Just from pain.
Unfiltered, never-ending, blinding pain.
His last thoughts weren't words.
Just numbness… and the horror of being alive enough to feel it.
Ava watched in frozen horror as Elliot's eyes—once bright with life—went suddenly, terribly blank.
The Warden loomed over him, its massive, blood-slicked fingers twitching with grotesque anticipation. Then—
Squelsh.
Its thumb plunged into Elliot's eye socket with a sickening pop, tendons snapping as it wrenched the eyeball free.
Ava's breath hitched. Her stomach lurched.
The Warden held the glistening orb between its fingers, studying it for a moment before slowly slipping it Elliot's mouth.
The sound was wet. Deliberate.
Ava's knees buckled.
Elliot's remaining eye rolled wildly in its socket, his mouth gaping in a soundless scream as the
Warden's other hand dug in for the second.
Riiip—
This time, Elliot shrieked, his body convulsing as the Warden tossed the second eye into Elliot's mouth.
Ava couldn't move.
Couldn't scream.
Could only watch as the Warden licked its fingers clean, its hollow, sunken gaze sliding toward her next.
And as soon as the Warden realized—
Elliot was gone. Just meat now.
It grunted.
Then, without hesitation, it grabbed the lower half of his corpse—the legs, the mangled waist—and with a swift, brutal motion, hurled it down the corridor like it weighed nothing.
THWACK.
The wet sound echoed through the prison as the limbs slammed against the stone, splattering blood across the walls and floor. One of the legs bent unnaturally. The other dragged, leaving a smeared trail behind it.
The Warden tilted its head at the mess it had made, almost admiring the chaos.
And then—
It just turned around.
No final word. No roar of victory. No need.
It had done what it came for.
And it walked away, heavy boots echoing in the blood-soaked silence of the corridor, leaving behind only carnage... and Ava.
When the last echo of the Warden's footsteps faded into the void, silence fell like a heavy curtain.
Ava's breath trembled. Her heart pounded so loud, it was all she could hear.
He was gone.
It was over.
She stepped out from her hiding spot, her legs barely obeying her. The air was thick—metallic and warm, reeking of death. And blood. So much blood.
Her foot landed on something slick.
SLIP—
She crashed to the ground, her face smacking the floor. A sharp sting lit up her nose, and she felt the warmth of her own blood trickling down her lip. She coughed, pushing herself up on trembling hands, dazed.
But then she saw him.
Elliot.
What was left of him.
She crawled toward him slowly, knees scraping over broken glass and bits of flesh. Her breath hitched, her mouth open, but no sound came. Her eyes locked onto his—the face she had memorized in laughter, in kisses, in quiet moments.
Now... gone.
Those eyes she adored—missing.
Just hollow sockets, red and raw, staring at nothing.
She sat before him, knees folding beneath her, body trembling.
Her hands hovered over his face, not sure if she wanted to touch or couldn't bear to.
A sob escaped. Then another.
The boy she loved was barely recognizable. Torn. Broken. Violated.
But she still saw him. Somewhere in there, beneath the horror.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I'm so sorry… I should've stopped you… I should've done something…"
But it was too late.
And she just sat there—knees in blood, face bruised, nose bleeding—cradling what was left of her world, lost in grief as the prison groaned around her like it, too, was mourning.
Five minutes passed.
Or maybe it was longer.
Time had blurred—bled into the pools around her, twisted with the grief clutching her chest like a vice. Ava hadn't moved. Her fingers still hovered near Elliot's shattered frame, her lips trembling, her mind numb.
The silence was unbearable.
Until—
Click.
A faint sound.
Metal. A shift. Footsteps.
She blinked slowly, dazed, her swollen eyes turning toward the corridor on her right.
And then—
A beam of light.
Flickering. Cutting through the dark like a crack in the night.
She squinted.
A silhouette stepped forward. Cautious. Holding a flashlight.
And then the figure raised their face just enough for the light to catch it.
Samuel.
His expression froze when he saw her—covered in blood, surrounded by corpses, sitting beside what used to be Elliot.
His mouth opened, words caught in his throat.
Ava didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
She just looked at him, eyes empty, her voice long gone.
The flashlight trembled in Samuel's hand.
And that was the end.