I woke covered in dried blood, my body aching as if I'd been trampled beneath a stampede. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint, flickering glow of dying runes. Across the chamber, the grinding stone had revealed an open doorway. Relief surged through me, but it was short-lived. The tunnel ahead was cloaked in darkness, silent and foreboding. The path home still lay beyond my reach.
My eyes drifted downward. On the bloodied floor lay my dagger or rather, what was left of it. The blade had shattered at some point during the endless battles, leaving only a jagged shard attached to the hilt. My chest tightened painfully at the sight. It had been the last gift my father gave me before he died, a memory of him etched in metal. Now it was broken, just like everything else.
Gingerly, I picked up the ruined blade, running a finger over the fragmented edge. With a heavy sigh, I slipped it back into its sheath, hidden beneath the torn remains of my jacket.
Slowly, painfully, I forced myself upright, muscles protesting every small movement. Wounds crisscrossed my skin, my torn clothes barely hanging on. But I didn't have the luxury of resting. One step after another, I dragged myself toward the waiting darkness.
I left the chamber of dread behind, refusing to look back at the horned statue, still holding its eternal, bleeding offering.
I stumbled through the darkness, each painful step echoing softly against cold stone walls. My only companion was my thoughts, which admittedly wasn't doing wonders for my mental state. Memories of Alex's final moments replayed relentlessly in my head, alongside visions of the other hunters who'd met gruesome ends inside this cursed place.
But I wouldn't break. Couldn't. I'd already come too far.
Still, the feeling of unseen eyes returned, prickling along the back of my neck, crawling over my skin. My hand drifted instinctively to the shattered dagger beneath my torn jacket.
Then, ahead of me, a faint sound echoed—a quiet scrape of footsteps.
My pulse spiked. I quickly pressed myself against the rough stone wall, breath caught painfully in my chest. Sweat trickled down my face, stinging the fresh cuts and scratches. My trembling fingers tightened around the broken hilt, heart pounding louder with each passing moment.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. My muscles coiled, body tensed like a spring. I held still, barely daring to breathe.
Then the figure stepped around the corner, cloaked in shadows. Instinct took over. With a cry, I lunged forward, driving the shattered blade toward whatever vulnerable spot I could find.
A hand shot out like lightning, seizing my wrist in an iron grip. Pain shot through my arm, muscles screaming. My weapon froze mere inches from a man's throat.
"Ethan?" came a familiar, gruff voice. "Is that you?"
My blood ran cold as recognition struck me. Slowly, the shadows shifted, revealing John's stern face, his eyes wide with shock. And in front of him stood Bert, his gaze locked nervously on the blade hovering near his neck.
I swallowed hard, adrenaline flooding away, leaving only shaking limbs and dizzy relief.
"John," I gasped, "Thank god."
John stared at me, eyes darkening. "What happened to you, boy? Where's Alex?"
I took a deep breath, my grip tightening on the broken dagger, knuckles whitening around the hilt. "He's…he's dead," I whispered, the words tasting bitter and unreal. Saying it made it true, and I wasn't ready to accept that yet.
John's jaw tightened, and he glanced away for a moment, gathering himself. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy. "We lost Till, too. The lurker got him—but Till went down fighting. Managed to injure it pretty badly before it retreated."
Bert shifted uneasily, glancing into the darkness as if expecting an attack at any moment.
John continued quietly, "Now it's just the three of us left. You, me, and Bert."
John's eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness ahead, his jaw tight with grim determination.
"I think the boss room is just ahead," he finally said, voice low and weary. "Clearing this dungeon is our only shot at getting out alive."
I glanced nervously back down the tunnel behind us. Memories of endless undead clawing their way toward me, Alex's final moments, and that damned lurker prowling the shadows all flashed vividly through my mind.
"I don't know," I muttered. "Maybe we'd have better odds going back. Digging through the stones, trying to escape the way we came."
John paused, expression faltering. He exhaled deeply, clearly weighing the thought. "You're probably right. Even if we reach the boss, it'll probably kill us all. Whatever rift this is, it's definitely not A Rank anymore. I've never been in anything like it."
Silence fell heavily, but Bert quickly stepped forward, shaking his head.
"No way, man," he said, "Everything we barely survived, the undead, that damn lurker, they're all still back there. If we turn around now, we'll definitely die. But going forward… at least there's still a chance."
John sighed again, his resolve visibly hardening as he looked up, shoulders squared.
"Bert's right. We've already lost too much to turn back now. Forward is the only way."
He strode forward with newfound determination, Bert quickly following. My chest tightened as I hesitated, but finally, I forced myself forward, legs aching with each step.
We walked in tense silence, nerves frayed and minds weary. The oppressive darkness pressed in from all sides, feeling somehow thicker, heavier than ever.
Finally, Bert moved beside me, his voice unusually gentle. "Hey, Ethan. I'm sorry about Alex. You two seemed close."
A lump formed in my throat. Talking about Alex hurt.
"Yeah, thanks man."
"How did you meet again? Going for the hunters license right?" He questioned.
"Yeah we met when we both got our hunter licenses," I began quietly. "Training partners, both barely scraping through the exams. Alex was a lot stronger than me but he never let that slow him down."
Bert smiled faintly, urging me to continue.
I exhaled slowly, lost in memory. "We'd been friends a few months when Alex invited me out to dinner. Said he wanted me to meet someone special." I chuckled bitterly, the memory still sharp. "Turns out, his girlfriend was actually my ex."
Bert raised his eyebrows, and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Damn, seriously?"
"Yeah," I sighed, a small, pained smile tugging at my lips. "Talk about awkward. But Alex just laughed it off, said the world was too small anyway. Somehow, we got past it. Stayed friends even after he ranked up to B and moved on to tougher jobs."
Bert glanced sideways, his voice lowering. "Sounds like a good guy."
"Yeah," I whispered, feeling the weight of loss all over again. "He was."
We finally stepped into the cavern ahead, tension coiling thickly through my body.
But the cavern was empty.
Stone walls curved around us, bare of runes or undead. Shadows stretched ominously, yet nothing stirred.
"Something's wrong," John muttered warily, eyes narrowed as he slowly scanned the empty chamber.
We fanned out cautiously, exploring each corner and crevice, finding nothing. Unease gnawed at my gut. Boss rooms were never empty.
Bert moved over toward John, a strange expression crossing his face. He placed a consoling arm on John's shoulder, leaning in slightly. "So…what now, boss? Maybe Ethan was right after all. Maybe we really should turn back."
John hesitated, conflicted. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. Looks like we—"
His voice cut off suddenly with a wet, choking gurgle.
My heart froze.
I spun around just in time to see blood erupt from John's throat, his eyes wide with shock. He stumbled, clutching desperately at his torn neck before crumpling to the cavern floor.
Bert stood over him, his smile a twisted mockery of the friendly grin he'd worn moments earlier. Crimson stained his fingers, dripping steadily down his hand as he stared at John's twitching body.
Slowly, Bert turned toward me, that horrible smile widening.
"Well, Ethan," he whispered darkly, stepping closer, "Looks like it's just us now."
His body began to shift. Bones cracked loudly, echoing through the empty cavern as his form twisted, limbs elongating unnaturally. His skin darkened, hardening like obsidian, as muscles rippled beneath, expanding impossibly. The smile widened, stretching grotesquely as his human features melted away.
Two dark, curved horns erupted violently from his skull, pushing outward with a sickening sound reminiscent of grinding stone. His eyes shifted, pupils thinning into vertical slits, cold and predatory, exactly like the statue from that cursed chamber.