The three emerged from the dark tunnel into another darkness—the surface was no true escape; leaving the depths of the earth was merely a transition from one prison to a deeper one. The air was thick, suffocating, smelling of dampness and decay, and the sky above was nothing more than a rocky ceiling, from which clusters of blue fungus hung, emitting a faint glow like the pale moan of life.
The chief still held the torch in his hand, its flame wavering against the endless gloom. He walked with apparent steadiness despite the wound on his arm and the blood slowly drying on his armor. Evelia gripped Tavin's hand, her breaths coming in short, trembling gasps, each step sounding as if it were the last barrier between them and death.
Moments passed before they heard light footsteps echoing around them. The chief stopped abruptly, raised the torch, and saw shadows moving between the rocks. Before he could react, a group of armed men emerged from the darkness, their faces masked, eyes glinting under the blue fungus like those of wolves.
One shouted,"Drop your sword, stranger! There's no place for you here!"
The chief raised his sword, anger clear in his voice:"We're not looking for a fight, we just want to pass!"
But one of the armed men grabbed Evelia from behind, pressing a dagger to her neck, his tone icy and lethal:"You'll do as we say… or her blood will water this ground."
Tavin yelled, trying to step forward, but the chief raised his hand to stop him. His eyes studied the blade at her throat, then he slowly dropped his sword to the ground, as if each second devoured a piece of his pride.
"Fine," the chief said calmly, though anger simmered beneath his voice, "just leave her."
The man holding Evelia smiled cruelly, but before he could speak, another stepped up behind the chief and struck him hard on the back of the head with the hilt of a sword.
The chief collapsed silently. The torch fell to the rock, rolling until it went out. Only the faint blue glow of the fungus remained, illuminating the cold scene: Tavin frozen, Evelia screaming, and the armed men surrounding them.
The chief awoke to sharp pain flowing through his body like cold venom. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see the wooden ceiling above shrouded in smoke, shadows dancing from the flickering flame. He was tied with a thick rope to a large rock, his skin screaming from the pressure, his arms raw from the bindings. Beside him, Tavin and Evelia lay weak and pale, mouths closed as if sleep had stolen their last breaths.
Around them, four men sat, faces grimy and sinfully content, eating fried meat over a small fire and laughing as though sharing jokes at a feast. One, named Kalwa, lifted a piece of meat to his mouth, eyes gleaming with hunger, and said mockingly,"If we had handed them over to the tribe, we wouldn't have had meat this good."
The others laughed wickedly. Another asked while chewing,"What lie shall we tell?"Kalwa replied, revealing a cruel intent,"We'll say we found it missing a leg from the start. It will be easy to craft a story that fools anyone who asks."
The chief felt a wave of nausea. He tried to move his leg, but the pain was brutal: one had been severed, evidence lying nearby—a piece of flesh that burned with anger and shame. He barely held himself together as he saw the horror these men had wrought.
A ruminating sound arose, followed by the cruel laugh of a woman, mocking:"The cripple is awake!"
With difficulty, the chief rose, eyes narrowing, his voice sharp as a sword:"Listen… there is something awake in the heart of this earth. What we've seen is no mere curse—it's a temptation that will consume you if you remain. We must escape."
Kalwa sneered,"Monsters? Ha. A tale to scare cowards?" He added mockingly, "Your escape trick works only on fools."
The chief raised his hand, revealing a black mark beneath his skin—a bite or scratch, black as ink from the shadows of death."She bit one of them. I don't know the consequences, but after you ate its flesh… I think you're like me now."
Before he could finish, one of the men coughed violently, blood pouring from his mouth in a crimson torrent. A faint smear of fear crossed his face, then a tremor ran through his body and he went weak. Terror spread among the others, and death brushed them with its hidden fingers.
The chief gathered his remaining strength, violently freeing himself from the ropes. He shoved the rock away, tearing the binding, and stood upright as if his bones were being realigned. He lunged at Kalwa, grabbing his neck with a rope wound around his hand, pulling tight in a single motion. Hands trembled, screams erupted from the killers' mouths, but death did not hesitate; Kalwa fell like a heavy stone, lifeless.
Panic surged among the others. The shadows that had been chewing meat now quivered, and coughing spread through them one by one. The chief seized the moment: he swung his sword, severing the heads of three with brutal precision. Not recklessness, but a purge of threat, a merciful execution for those who might rise again.
Suddenly, a heavy corpse attacked from behind—Kalwa in the dead ember. The chief responded with another head flying from its neck, blood painting arcs in the air.
Minutes later, the ground was littered with the bodies of their killers, some frail, others twisted in inhuman agony. The chief, hands and armor soaked in blood, exhaled slowly. He began undoing the bindings from Tavin and Evelia.
They lifted their eyes to witness an unforgettable scene: blood, severed faces, and the chief himself, lean and feral, closer to a monster than the man who had saved them. Evelia's eyes brimmed with fear, then she watched as the bloodied hand approached her, hearing his whisper:"Cut my head off, Tavin. Now."
The words struck like lightning, confusion flooding him. The chief stared coldly, adding,"If you do not, I will change. I will kill you or others. This is the only mercy."
Tavin's mind flashed with images: the chief—once their savior—twisted and monstrous, his transformation imminent. He shook his head but found a strength he did not expect. Gathering his courage, hands trembling, he grasped the sword the chief had placed in his hands, and struck in one decisive motion.
Silence followed, deeper than any scream before. The head fell, rolling across the dirt, and stillness enveloped the place as if the earth itself had severed the world's breath from its whisper. Evelia wept, the sound sharp and barely contained, her tears dripping like splitting stone.
The chief's death was not the end of the carnage; it was a wave followed by necessity. Tavin raised his head, took his sister's trembling hand, shook the remaining blood from his clothes, and they moved toward the neighboring villages. They passed bloodied roads, burned houses, and fleeing people, yet on the horizon, another sound arose—not a scream, but the clash of swords and the beat of advancing armies.
They did not yet understand what was happening, only that war was no longer distant, and that those who survived the pit of death were now called to a greater task: to warn the villages, to inform the leaders, or to walk amid the ruins of this buried world until history swallowed them.
With every step, the earth beneath their feet seemed heavier; each breath reminded them that freedom was measured not by survival alone, but by the will that drives you to challenge the darkness itself.