Alec jolted awake, chest heaving, eyes snapping open to shadows and the smell of damp stone. For a heartbeat, he thought he was still in the cave from his dream—Carter's party sprawled in blood, smoke and ash choking the air, laughter echoing like broken glass. His hands trembled. His hair stood on end.
The memory of that figure—the one playing with Carter's head—flared in his mind. Panic surged, and he remembered charging forward, red eyes flashing before darkness swallowed him.
Now, gasping, he realized it had been a dream. Relief was hollow. Sweat clung to his skin, his pulse hammering in his ears. He scanned the campsite. His friends lay asleep in their bedrolls, untouched.
Carter's voice cut the silence. "Bad dream?"
"Something like that," Alec admitted, trying to steady his breath. His gut still twisted with unease.
Carter took a slow sip from his flask. "It's normal. Dungeons warp perception, even in sleep. Spend too long inside, and your mind will turn against you."
Alec's frown deepened. "It's normal to dream about... seeing your friends die in the dungeon?"
Carter choked, eyes widening. Once he regained control, suspicion replaced shock. "Alec... how did you know that glyph would open the passage?"
"Huh? It was glowing—like a mage light," Alec replied, confused Carter hadn't noticed.
Carter's voice dropped. "Promise me you'll never tell anyone about what you see. Some would kill for it."
Alec nodded, struck by the sudden gravity. Carter forced a smile. "Try to rest. We've got a long day ahead."
Unseen, Zoe lay awake, pretending to sleep. Tears ran silently down her face. She whispered an apology to Ayla, Alec's mother, for letting danger come too close. Ayla had warned that Alec's gift would put him in constant peril if "they" ever found out. Who "they" were, Zoe still did not know.
Morning came slowly. Mist curled around the stones of the dungeon entrance, curling in ghostly ribbons that smelled faintly of iron and decay. Carter led the group down a winding path, their boots echoing against the damp stone. Children's laughter drifted faintly through the tunnels, sending a shiver down Alec's spine. Unease clung to him as they left the safety of the alcove.
Zoe looked exhausted, her dark eyes shadowed, her mood tight and unreadable. Alec hesitated to speak; her irritation, he sensed, could snap like a drawn bowstring.
The laughter returned, closer now, seeming to drift from the walls themselves. Alec's stomach knotted. A stone beneath his foot shifted, and he tripped, sprawling onto the cold floor.
Bringing a torch down, he discovered the cause: a pickaxe lying across the path, gripped by a severed hand. Horror clawed at his throat, and he stumbled back into Zoe, who froze, shock breaking through her irritation. Together, they stared, the torchlight flickering across the grotesque scene.
Blood, dry and dark, formed crude images along the cavern walls—a butterfly and a fox, shapes that seemed almost cheerful until one noticed the medium. Against the far wall rested a small, aged head, its expression frozen in terror, alongside a foul-smelling, moldy cheese wheel. The smell was a sickening combination of rot, iron, and mildew.
Zoe gagged, trying to suppress the urge to retch. "I—oh gods..." she choked, clutching her mouth. The stench alone was enough to make the party reconsider continuing, yet the tunnel stretched on, and curiosity—or duty—pushed them forward.
Anna's voice broke the silence, low and full of revulsion. "Whatever did this... had a sick sense of humor."
"Relax," Arden said, calm and almost clinical. "It's old. Preservation magic was likely used to scare anyone foolish enough to enter." He gestured toward the walls. The blood was crusted, cracked by age, yet it retained an uncanny liveliness.
Alec hesitated, about to ask more, when he noticed Gimmel staring at the scene in quiet contemplation. "Something wrong?" he asked softly.
The dwarf looked at him, and for a moment the mask of gruff indifference slipped. "You're the first human to ask that since I met these folks," he said quietly. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."
The small kindness caught Alec off guard. "So... it's like... an old god?" he asked.
"Yes," Gimmel replied. "Among the dwarves, there are tales. He is mad, unpredictable. He helps—or hinders—anyone unlucky enough to cross him."
Zoe clenched her fists. "Sounds like a nightmare."
"Not wrong," Gimmel muttered. "He is neither friendly nor stable. And he does not forgive."
Before anyone could respond, a screech cut through the tunnel, high-pitched and piercing, giving Alec a headache that made his stomach churn.
"What in the seven planes was that?!" he yelled, holding his head.
"No clue," Carter replied evenly, but his jaw was tight.
"Sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen," Anna muttered, arms crossed, her tone almost detached but threaded with irritation. She had been silent most of the morning, fading into the background, yet now her voice carried weight.
"Guards up," Carter said, shoulders tense. "We don't know what's ahead."
The tension broke briefly as Galla slipped on the slick stone floor. She cursed in elvish, sprawling on her back as blood or some unknown liquid smeared across her. Gimmel teased her, and Talla playfully jabbed her in the arm, drawing a grudging, sheepish response from the elf. For a moment, the dark mood lifted, if only slightly, like the brief pause between storms.
The path opened into a massive cavern. Red moss clung to the walls, trailing from stalactites and stone in long, damp threads. The river on one side ran thick and coppery, feeding into a lake that reflected the dim torchlight with an unnatural sheen. The smell of blood was suffocating, metallic and rot-tinged. Alec gagged, covering his nose as nausea crept up.
Suddenly, a force struck him from the side. Pain exploded through his ribs and legs as he slammed into a stalagmite, crumpling at its base. He tasted blood in his mouth. Bones ached as if shattered from the impact. The torch tumbled, scattering light in chaotic flashes across the cavern walls.
Above him, his friends were locked in battle. A demon, hulking and twisted, moved with unnatural speed and precision. Its claws tore through stone and flesh alike. Alec's mind reeled, memories of past horrors—smoke, ash, blood—flooding back. His mother's screams. The smell of fire and death. The image of Roderic's head hitting the ground. All the terror he had fought to bury surged up, suffocating him.
Panic took over. His limbs moved on their own, urged by a voice in his head he could not fully understand. He wanted to flee, to hide, but something—dread, fear, or perhaps instinct—kept him rooted to the spot. Blood ran down his arm from a shallow cut, but he barely noticed, lost in the chaos.
A sharp slap against his face brought him back. He stared at his own hand, bewildered. Had he struck himself? Confusion clawed at his mind, but the battle demanded his attention. Through the blur, he could see the demon ripping into his friends, each swing precise, calculating, killing without remorse.
Carter shouted commands, Anna wove intricate magic, Arden chanted in a low hum, Gimmel and Tahnro pressed the attack with feral intensity. Zoe moved with quiet grace, each motion deliberate, as if she too was haunted but determined. Alec tried to process it all. He felt helpless, yet part of him understood the rhythm of battle—the push and pull of magic and steel, the deadly precision required to survive.
His chest heaved, lungs burning, as adrenaline and fear tangled into something raw and violent. The torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The river's surface shimmered with the reflection of gore and firelight. Every movement in the cavern became distorted, nightmarish, almost alive.
Alec's heart hammered. Every step he took toward the fight made his stomach churn, yet he couldn't stop. His gift—the ability to see what others could not—pulled him forward, past the fear, past the nausea, into the storm of violence. The demon's eyes met his for a fleeting instant, and he knew the creature was aware of him. A shiver ran down his spine, but he forced himself to act, to move.
Blood and sweat mingled, the metallic scent overwhelming, yet he pressed on. Each heartbeat seemed louder than the last, echoing in his ears like a drum of impending doom. The cavern itself seemed to watch, alive with unseen eyes and whispered threats.
Alec could not tell how long he moved before reaching a vantage point. From here, he could see the full scale of the battle. His friends were bruised, bleeding, yet unbroken. The demon towered, grotesque, but it had been slowed by their combined effort. Hope, fragile but real, flickered within him.
But Alec knew it would not last. Darkness lingered beyond the torchlight. Every shadow held threat. Every sound, a warning. The cavern was a place of death, magic, and malice, and only the vigilant survived.
He took a deep breath, tasting copper and iron, bracing himself for what was to come. There would be no mercy here. Only survival, and the cost of it.