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Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: First blood

Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he started. He didn't look back. He didn't need to.

His lungs burned from the effort, his ribs aching from inhaling too much air, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped even for a second, that would be the end of the road for him.

This was the first time he'd run this fast before, even during the sports race, he couldn't surpass the fattest kid in his grade.

The tomb walls blurred past him as he ran: cracked stones, ash-covered carvings, broken sconces still smoldering with icy fire.

Behind him, the hooves didn't stop galloping. The closer they got, the faster his heart pounded.

The Gravemare only patrolled the tomb's final corridor, which was below him. He couldn't grasp why it would be moving in his direction and at such an insane speed.

"Left… there should be a left turn around here…" he said, panic still evident in his voice.

He cut a corner hard and nearly tripped. The floor sloped downward, uneven and slick with something wet. Blood? Slime? He didn't care to check; Survival was his priority.

As he ran, his mind slowly started feeling dizzy from the exertion. Despite his state, he saw a light ahead. He ran toward it as fast as he could, and upon reaching it, he noticed it was a crack in the wall. He didn't waste any time, he dove straight for it.

He squeezed through the tight hole as much as his body could and finally fell through the other side, just as the Gravemare galloped past him. It didn't follow.

He was safe, at least for now.

He collapsed on a patch of dead grass, panting hard. His breaths came in jagged heaves.

"That was way too close," he muttered between gasps.

He glanced around the clearing, noticing every item present in-game. A weak light permeated the area, like a sunless day. The trees looked lifeless, hanging like bones draped in ash. The air smelled of rust and smoke.

"Is this real? Am I dreaming?" he asked. The game he'd just been playing minutes ago had pulled him in, and he still couldn't believe it.

"How is this physically possible?" he whispered. "This violates all the laws of physics and science."

He tried standing, but realized his ankle was sprained. "Damn it!"

He laid back, ripping his clothes to wrap around his ankle. "This should help with the healing process."

"I think I'll stay here for a while until I'm better," he muttered. But this world wasn't one without danger.

Just as he was getting comfortable, he heard a sound coming from the bushes.

His breath hitched, and he tried not to make a sound. He crawled toward a broken statue beside him and hid beneath it, peeking through a see-through hole in its side.

The sounds of snarls and chittering grew louder as the beasts emerged from hiding.

He froze as they came into view. "A demi-pack," he whispered.

They were small, hunched things with too many limbs, making them move unnaturally fast. They were scavengers, always looking for leftovers.

He noticed one looking in his direction, his heartbeat rising. "Please don't come here, please," he begged, a tear rolling down his face.

His ankle was already sprained, there was no running for him, and he couldn't fight an entire pack alone. From his knowledge of the game, these things always attacked in groups.

He reacted quickly, his mind racing for ways to save himself. Then he saw it: a dead body lying near the corner.

It was fresh. Something had chewed the corpse, tearing out its throat, but its grip still held a little rusted dagger. It wasn't a weapon, but a last resort in case things went badly.

"Think, think, think," he whispered to himself as he scanned the clearing.

He spotted a chain not far from where he crouched, rusted but strong. He crawled over and pulled it toward him, moving slowly so the demi-creatures wouldn't notice.

He set up a trap just in front of him, with himself as the bait. Gripping the dagger tightly, he waited for their reaction.

The first one to see him didn't hesitate or call for the others, it lunged at him with all six legs.

Its limbs got caught in the trap, and it tried calling for help, but he didn't waste a second. He lunged forward, fingers tightening around the dagger.

He stabbed it in the throat repeatedly until it collapsed, lifeless. The others scattered in fear, but his heartbeat remained erratic.

His breathing slowed, the panic subsiding. He sat on the ground, the demi-creature's corpse lying meters away. Its body released a foul smell, though the air didn't smell much better to begin with.

He pulled the dagger from its throat, wet and sticky with blood. This was his first actual kill, and it had only happened out of survival instinct.

He picked up the pouch near the dead body and slid the dagger inside, then fastened it around his waist.

"Staying here will only get me killed," he whispered to himself, still crouching near the statue.

"Well, it looks like I have to find my way out of here, even if it means reaching the end of the game," he muttered, standing up and staggering toward the open fields.

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