The cave stank of damp earth and mulch. It clung to his skin and hair, and burrowed deep into his nose until it was all he could breathe. Not that he was complaining, much. The cave was at least safe. No monsters, no painful grueling death.
But it could be much better if he was being honest. The air was heavy, wet, like breathing through a cold sauna. The walls were slick with moisture, rough and cold beneath his fingers. Every breath felt like it dragged mold into his lungs. His makeshift shelter had been a bit amateurish, but this? This place was cramped, thick with humidity, suffocating.
He pressed himself close to a crack in the cavern wall, eyes narrowed as he peeked through. His muscles were tight as he pressed against the wall, rocks biting into his skin. Behind him, water dripped in a slow, rhythmic beat, like an aggravating clock ticking down. The sound echoed in the hollow space, irritating and constant, but he tuned it out, just for now to see the horrors outside.
Outside, the forest moved. Alive and restless, even in night. Where the only rays of light were from the crescent moon.
Hordes of sickly green figures lumbered through the underbrush, their skin blotched and slick with moss and mold. Fungi bloomed from open wounds, their groans low and guttural, seeping into the cave's walls. It was a noise coming from people that were a part of a bygone era. Or worse, recent corpses that have been a victim to the world. That second though gave no comfort to him.
But there were others. The ones with no skin left to rot. The ones that had only bones, dark and stained from years of decay. Marching on, slow and steady, the clatter of their steps sharp and purposeful. Unlike the sickly green zombies, these weren't mindless. No, there was more behind their movements. Something almost sapient. But more importantly, Strong.
His stomach twisted. He could recognize strength, it was the one thing, even now, that he was very well capable of doing. The way those things moved, it wasn't random. It was methodical, calculated. They weren't like the others, stumbling and stupid. No, these creatures were smarter. More dangerous.
Not to mention, well armed.
Rust-choked swords hung from their skeletal grips. Splintered axes, spears sharpened to jagged points. Some wore scraps of armor, tarnished and broken, metal plates strapped haphazardly to brittle limbs. Others wore animal pelts, dried and cracked with age. Tokens of some forgotten time.
It wasn't for show.
They held their weapons with such grace and confidence. One that a simple amateur could not fake. Yet amongst the horde of undead, there were still some that looked rather young.
The thought made his skin crawl.
He backed away from the crack, pressing his spine against the damp rock. The cave felt tighter now, more suffocating. His mind spun with questions he didn't want answers to. How long had they been out there? How long until they found him?
The hunger gnawed at his gut, but it was no where near as bad as before. That last death had taken the edge off, though his paranoia was worse than ever. The shadows in the cave twitched too much, the walls felt too close. He couldn't sleep, but even if he could, he would refuse to.
Not with that noise outside.
And not after what that tall, pale thing did to him. His neck ached just thinking about it.
He'd lay low. Just for tonight. Let the darkness pass. Let the things outside roam and hunt. So long as they stayed out there, he'd be fine.
Right?
The thought didn't comfort him, but it was not like he had many other options.
So he lay there, silent, still. Listening to the drip, drip, drip of water behind him. Watching the shadows stretch across the cave walls.
And then, a growl.
It was low, close....
Inside.
"Oh, fuck me," he groaned, slowly rising to his feet, his back scraping against the cold rock as he tried to make a quiet retreat.
But he never made it.
A chill swept across his spine-cold, sharp, wrong. He turned, slow and reluctant, and froze at the sight in front of him.
Three eyes blinked back at him from the darkness, hungry and glowing pale.
Below them stretched a massive Cheshire cat grin, too wide for any living thing, full of serrated teeth gleaming like shards of shattered crystals. The grin split the creature's face open, a maw that promised only pain.
Instinct screamed run, but his body locked. He could only stare.
And in that heartbeat of terror, that moment of hesitation, reality struck him like a sack of bricks as he tried to run.
He'd buried himself in the cave. Sealed the entrance.
Nothing could get in.
And nothing could get out.
"Shit, shit, shit!" His voice broke, raw and panicked. He spun toward the collapsed entrance, clawing at the loose stones with torn fingers. Dirt and rock bit under his nails, crumbling under his frantic hands.
But the shadow loomed behind him as the monster opened its mouth. The young man could only turn and watching in horror as it lunged towards him.
He screamed.
Teeth sank into his left arm, and white-hot pain exploded through him. Flesh tore, bone ground beneath the pressure, and his scream echoed sharp and ragged against stone.
He twisted, fighting instinct with desperation. "No! No! I am not going to die again!" The words were half-snarled, half-pleading. He swung wildly with his stick, rage blinding him. Yet the blow cracked against the creature's head with a sickening crunch. It reeled, its shriek the sound of grinding like stone on stone, and released him, but not before ripping a chunk of flesh free.
He cried out to the sky, cursing and holding back tears as his mangled arm fell limp to his side. The pain was white, blistering. It lanced up his arm, threatening to tear through his skull. His vision pulsed red at the edges.
He staggered, clutching his mutilated limb, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. His body screamed to collapse, the lack of blood slowly taking its toll on him, but rage drove him forward.
"Fuck off!" he roared, forcing strength into his only functioning arm. He swung again, this time a clean, heavy, vicious strike born of pure survival instincts. The stick cracked hard against the thing's side when it tried to lung again, the sound of stick slapping meat and the gust of air created by the still powerful swing sent the creature backward. It slammed into the cave wall, letting out another pained wail, before it dissolve into mist and vanish.
Gone.
But the lack of silence ensured it was still there.
Familiar voices whispered to him.
"Did you have to go so far?"
The words were his mother's, soft and accusing. Morey flinched, clutching his head, nails biting into his scalp.
"Did you have to go so far?"
"Shut up!" he snarled, shaking his head, his breath coming in sharp, desperate bursts swinging his stick around. A pool of inky darkness spilling towards the small bits of light around him, "You're not real!"
The creature lunged again, and Morey swung and purely by chance, the stick connected again. A shriek echoed, but another voice followed, crawling beneath his skin.
A child's cry echoed through the room. The sound of something too small, too fragile, choking on its last breath.
His breath faltered. His grip wavered as he remembered that day.
"Did you have to go so far?"
"Well, you're a coward!" The familiar voice of the Rat's voice slithered into his skull.
"Shut up! Shut up!" He roared, but the words tasted hollow. He swung again, but this time he simply hit air. His vision started to blur as more blood escaped his torn arteries.
The cave suddenly went still. The shadows thick and close around him. He couldn't see, he could barely think. He looked around frantically to find where the monster went. Still blindly swinging around and staggering with the grace of a drunken sailor. He fell to one knee, panting heavily as he bit down on the agony slowly turning to a dull numbing pain on his left arm.
Then the bite.
It came fast. Teeth sinking into the back of his neck, and tearing through him like a ravenous carnivore tearing through the delicate epidermis . He gave a garbled roar as hot agony lanced through him. His body locked, seizing beneath the pressure, and his knees buckled.
But he wasn't done.
With a snarl torn from his throat, he twisted his arm back as his fingers dug around trying to find flesh. At first the monster didn't care, instead seemingly relishing in its victory.
But then his fingers found the creature's cold, slick eyes. As soon as his fingers found something soft and vulnerable, and with one last guttural howl as he drove them in, shoving until he felt something tear, and black ichor gushed over his hand.
The creature shrieked, a higher, grinding scream that tore through the darkness as it finally released him, but the damage had already been done. Torn arteries pumped out his blood. The life juice pooling down onto the musty floor.
The young man collapsed, not too far from the writhing monster, it trying to find whats left of its eyes as it's own lifeblood mixed with the man responsible for its injured eyes.
He remembered his body hitting the stone floor hard, but he barely felt it through the haze of seething rage and catharsis.
"...Fuck you," he rasped, voice shredded as he lifted his neck to eye the monster. And with a wry grin, his head lolled, breath stuttering in his chest. The world tilted.
And then it went dark.