Scuttle, scuttle, scuttle.
The unnerving sound of centipedes skittering across the jagged cave walls echoed through the suffocating passageways of the Abyss. It was constant—like skeletal fingers tapping just out of sight—keeping the hunters' nerves raw as they pressed deeper into the dark.
At the front of the group walked Balrock, a pink-haired man with storm-filled eyes and a heart weighed by both dread and duty. In one hand, he carried a flickering lantern that cast erratic shadows on the stone. In the other, his flintlock pistol, gripped tight, ready for whatever monstrosity might emerge from the dark.
Each step into the Abyss carried the weight of uncertainty, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the whisper of crawling things and the distant drip of unseen water.
Then—they saw it.
A black hellhound loomed ahead, barely visible in the gloom. Its gaunt face was a grotesque mask of stretched sinew, its fur matted and clinging like rot to the bone. Eyes like burning coals stared through the dark, pinning the hunters in place.
Panic struck.
They dove behind boulders, the rough stone digging into flesh as they held their breath. Hearts thudded like war drums. Even a whisper, they knew, might summon death.
The hellhound lifted its head and sniffed the air, its nose twitching. Then it moved—silent, deliberate—its charred paws searing the earth beneath, leaving scorched footprints in its wake. A low growl rumbled in its throat, like a fire threatening to escape.
Balrock raised his pistol, aiming for one of its glowing eyes. He knew better than to fight it head-on, but retreat wasn't an option—not when someone he loved was among them. Melody. He'd die before letting her fall.
He steadied his breath, ready to fire—
And froze.
The hellhound was gone.
"Where is it? It was right there…" he whispered, eyes scanning the dark. He turned back to the others. "Everyone, be ready for an atta—"
Crunch.
He spun around.
Melody—his fiancée, the group's healer—was clutched in the creature's jaws, blood blooming where the flesh had been torn away. Her scream was choked by pain, her wide eyes locking with his as the hellhound's flaming fangs cauterized her wounds with cruel precision.
"Save me," she whispered, her trembling hand reaching toward him before she collapsed.
The hellhound had moved like a shadow—silent, merciless, faster than thought.
"AHHHHHHH!"
Melody's scream tore through the cave, raw and jagged.
Balrock fired. Once, twice—shots that rang out like thunder—but the bullets bounced harmlessly from the beast's hide. Snarling, it lashed out.
Pain.
Balrock's arm was torn from his body in a blur of black claws and crimson spray. He hit the ground screaming, blood soaking his coat, the world spinning in agony.
The beast laughed—a low, gurgling sound that echoed like death itself—as it raised its claw for the killing blow.
"Hey, you ugly bastard!"
A voice rang out—young, defiant. Luke, a red-haired fighter and reckless soul who called Balrock "Uncle," stepped forward. In one motion, he jammed his rifle into the hound's mouth and pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet burst through the back of the creature's throat. Its body stiffened, limbs twitching. Then it collapsed.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then hope.
The group surged forward, desperate to reach Balrock and Melody. But even as they approached, Melody's fading voice whispered:
"You fool… he's not dead."
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Four heads hit the cave floor, rolling in blood. The survivors froze. Only Balrock, Luke, and one other remained standing.
"Run, you idiots!" Balrock roared. "Get out of here while you still can!"
They turned to flee—but the exit was gone, blocked by the beast's charred frame. With no other path, they fled deeper into the Abyss.
The hellhound lunged.
Balrock hurled himself at it, wrapping his remaining arm around its waist and dragging it to the ground in a final act of defiance.
It wasn't enough.
The hellhound twisted, baring its fangs, and sank them deep into Balrock's shoulder. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed. The cave swallowed his scream.
Luke and the last surviving hunter dashed deeper into the Abyss, their footsteps echoing through the winding stone corridors like war drums in a tomb. The lantern was gone—left behind in the chaos—so they ran by the faint blue glow of fungi clinging to the damp cave walls.
Luke's thoughts were aflame. His heart hammered, not with fear, but with a white-hot rage that burned behind his eyes and surged through his limbs.
That thing… that monstrous bastard. It took them. Took her. Took him. My family. They didn't deserve that. It should be the one rotting on the floor, not them.
Behind him, the other hunter—Jaden—struggled to keep up, his breaths sharp and panicked, blood seeping from a cut along his ribs. Through gasps, he murmured prayers into the dark.
"Luke—" he panted, "is it… is it still chasing us? Are we clear?"
Luke glanced back, scanning the black tunnel behind them. No sound of footsteps. No flicker of flame. No glowing eyes in the dark.
"I don't think so," he muttered. "That unholy beast is probably still chewing on my uncle's corpse…"
He didn't say it with despair. He said it with steel.
Jaden looked at him, face tight with pain and sorrow. "I'm sorry, Luke. Your uncle… he was a good man. Strong. He and Melody—they'll be together again. In heaven."
Luke's breath hitched. He looked down as a single tear traced the grime on his cheek. "Yeah… he believed that," he whispered. "Said he'd earned his place there. That after all the blood and darkness he'd seen in the name of protecting the innocent, I know the gates will be open when he got there."
He paused, voice thickening. "And I believe it too. I have to."
The cave narrowed, the walls pressing in like the jaws of some ancient creature. The path ahead dipped downward into a veil of shadow.
Jaden reached out to steady him. "You're not alone, Luke. I'm still here. We'll make it out."
Luke nodded slowly. The fire in his chest hadn't faded—it had changed. Hardened. His grief no longer screamed. It resolved into a promise.
"I'm going to kill that thing," he said, voice like stone. "Not for revenge. Not just for them. But no one else loses the people they love to the dark."
They pressed onward—two shadows, one wounded, one burning—heading deeper into the Abyss, into the cold unknown.
And far behind them, where silence lingered like smoke, the beast stirred.
And followed.
After what felt like an eternity of running, Luke and Jaden stumbled into a cavern unlike any they had seen before. The darkness gave way to an eerie, pale glow that pulsed from something in the center of the chamber.
A tree.
Or something like one.
Its trunk looked like a tangle of massive, bone-white vines twisted and coiled around one another, rising into a towering spire that scraped the ceiling. Branches jutted out in every direction like jagged spears, tipped with thorns long enough to impale a man. Its bark was smooth and pale, almost corpse-like, and pulsed faintly as if it breathed.
Luke slowed, his chest heaving. His heart thudded against his ribs—not just from exhaustion, but from dread.
"What the hell is that?" he breathed.
Jaden swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Looks like… a tree made of bone."
The two approached with caution, their boots crunching over gravel and dried husks of something that might've once been alive. A damp chill settled over the cavern like fog.
"You think it's a mimic?" Jaden asked, keeping his hand near his blade.
Luke studied the monstrous thing. "If it is, then we're already dead. Look at the size of it. If that thing moves, there's no outrunning it."
Jaden chuckled nervously, but his eyes never left the tree. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing we've seen in here."
They were just about to move closer when—
Splat.
A hot splash of blood hit Luke's face.
His body froze.
Slowly, he turned—only to see the hellhound behind them, standing over Jaden.
Its claws had punctured straight through Jaden's chest, its massive hand curled around his heart like a trophy.
Luke's mouth opened in a silent scream as Jaden's wide, pain-glazed eyes met his.
The dying man's lips moved, voice no more than a breath. "Run… survive, child. Carry on your uncle's legacy... and Godspeed, my friend. God speed…"
With one final push of its claws, the beast crushed Jaden's heart.
Luke's cry echoed through the chamber.
He turned and sprinted toward the tree—but the hellhound was too fast. A searing pain tore through his leg as the beast's claws raked through muscle and tendon.
Luke fell, his scream cut short by the force of the impact. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and began crawling. His fingers clawed at the earth, blood trailing behind him. Each movement was agony.
The hellhound didn't rush. It followed with a slow, deliberate gait—like a predator savoring the kill. Its eyes burned like coals, and its maw curled into something that might have been a grin.
Luke dragged himself closer to the tree, his blood staining its roots. He looked up in desperation, praying. Please… let this be a holy place. Let something answer.
The hellhound raised its claw to finish him—
THUNK.
A sound like bone splitting echoed through the chamber.
A pale, jagged root had burst from the ground and speared straight through the hellhound's abdomen. The beast twitched, spasmed, and let out a strangled snarl as its body convulsed, pinned like an insect to a needle.
Its glowing eyes dimmed. Then—finally—it stilled.
Luke looked up at the towering tree, mouth agape, blood dribbling down his chin. A wild grin spread across his face as he trembled on the ground.
"You bastard…" he whispered, laughter rising in his throat. "Oh, of course… you died. God is real. And bastards like you will rot in ...."
He choked on his breath, eyes widening.
SHLUNK.
Another root burst from the earth behind him—white, silent, merciless—and impaled him clean through the back.
His body jerked, his expression frozen between triumph and terror.
The world began to dim. His limbs went cold.
Uncle… Melody… I'm coming…
The last thing Luke saw was the twisted white trunk rising before him like a god of death before everything faded to black.