His blood ran ice cold, His lungs locked up, his breath caught in his throat.
Because behind him…
Something powerful stood.
Something that shouldn't be there.
Something that knew he was afraid.
His prayer for safety had been answered with a nightmare.
And now— It was right behind him.
Samuel didn't move. Couldn't.
His body screamed at him to run. But his mind— His mind knew.
It wouldn't matter.
If he ran—he would die.
Because he could feel it.
The presence towering over him.
The slow, heavy breaths, close enough to graze his shoulder.
Cold. Too cold. Not human.
It wasn't touching him.
But it could.
The Warden.
Was standing right behind him.
"Oh god"
Samuel muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper.
His heart slammed against his ribs. His hands turned clammy, his breath shuddered out of his lips.
The girl— she wasn't moving.
She sat there, trembling, her wide, hollow eyes locked onto the horror behind Samuel.
And then there was the boy.
Dead.
His body sat limp, his flesh carved apart like a butcher's prize.
The blood pooling beneath him was still fresh.
Samuel's stomach twisted.
The girl knew.
She saw it happen.
She knew exactly what stood behind him.
The Warden.
A monster draped in shadow and death.
A towering executioner.
It didn't just kill.
It enjoyed it.
It wasn't just a monster.
It was a butcher of the damned, It didn't kill because it had to.
It killed because it wanted to. Because it loved it.
The Warden was the executioner, the tormentor, and the nightmare of this prison, It didn't rush to kill. It took its time.
It let its victims breathe, let them believe—just for a moment—that they had a chance, And then— it shattered them.
It thrived off agony.
The more pain its victims felt, the stronger it became, The more fear they showed, the faster it moved.
Terror was its fuel.
It didn't just kill prisoners.
It played with them.
Tearing flesh apart slowly, Letting them crawl, letting them beg, letting them reach for a hope that never existed. And then— it would bring the axe down.
Not in one clean swing.
But in pieces.
Limb by limb.
Organ by organ.
It would listen to the screams, watch the life drain from their eyes, and then—when there was nothing left but a mutilated corpse— It would move on to the next.
It never spoke.
It never made a sound.
Except for its breath.
A deep, hollow breath.
Like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
And right now—
Samuel could hear it.
Right behind him.
Breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
Like it was waiting.
Waiting to see if he would break.
And right now, Samuel knew—
He was afraid.
The girl—she barely breathed. Her lips quivered.
Then, in a shaking whisper, she spoke.
"You'll die."
Samuel's stomach dropped.
She didn't stop.
"You'll die."
His breath hitched.
"You'll die."
His fists clenched.
"You'll die."
His entire body screamed at him to move—
But he couldn't.
Because if he did—
The Warden would strike.
Then—
He lunged.
Every ounce of strength. Every last bit of survival instinct.
His body launched forward.
And the axe—
It swung.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
The cold metal missed him by mere inches—
But the force—
The sheer power behind the swing—
It didn't stop.
The massive blade collided into the wall.
BOOM!
The entire structure shook.
The impact was so violent that the wall shattered on contact—stone and debris exploded outward, cracks splintering like veins across the prison corridor.
Samuel barely had time to process it—his breath ragged, his heart hammering in his chest—before—
A second gust of wind blasted past him.
A backlash.
The force of the axe—so powerful, so unrelenting—created a shockwave as it rebounded.
Samuel stumbled. His feet nearly lifted off the ground from the sheer pressure of the displaced air.
Behind him—
The Warden.
It stood there, unfazed.
Its massive frame looming in the darkness.
And with a slow, methodical movement—
It reloaded.
The axe was wrenched from the broken wall.
One-handed.
As if the destruction meant nothing.
And then—
It swung the axe back into a neutral stance.
A single, clean motion.
So fluid. So precise.
Like it had done this a thousand times before.
And as the weapon settled back into place, the very air trembled—a final gust of wind rushing outward, like the aftershock of something unstoppable.
Samuel didn't stop.
Didn't dare stop.
His heart slammed against his ribs. His breath was sharp, frantic, desperate.
"RUN WITH ME!"
He grabbed the girl's wrist and yanked her forward.
She barely reacted—her body jerked like a ragdoll, her gaze still locked on the boy's mangled corpse.
But she moved.
Samuel didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
He could feel it.
The Warden was behind them.
Not running.
Just walking.
Calm. Steady. Certain.
Like a hunter letting its prey struggle—
Because the chase meant nothing.
Because it already knew they wouldn't escape.
Samuel ran faster.
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—"
His mind was spiraling, racing with regret, with desperation, with a thousand thoughts all screaming at once—
"I NEED TO FIND THE OTHERS—"
"WE NEED TO GET OUT—"
"FUCK VICTOR—"
"FUCK THIS FUCKING PLACE—"
But no matter how fast he ran, no matter how hard he tried—
The Warden was still there.
Still walking.
Still closing in.
Jace moved alone.
His footsteps echoed against the cold stone floor as he ventured deeper into the prison's endless corridors.
The air was thick—like it was pressing down on him, suffocating him with the weight of something unseen.
He kept his grip firm on his weapon. His knuckles were white.
Every hallway looked the same.
Stone. Metal bars. Flickering lights. Endless emptiness.
And yet, something felt off.
Like he wasn't alone.
Like something was watching.
Waiting.
Jace exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. He wasn't like the others.
He didn't panic easily.
Didn't let his fear control him.
But this place…
It wasn't normal.
And he was beginning to understand exactly why.
Jace kept walking, his sharp eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, every flickering light.
The prison was changing.
When they were together, the paths looked different. Now that he was alone… everything felt distorted.
He muttered under his breath, his voice deep and steady:
"This is very different."
There was a hint of nervousness in his tone, just barely. But it was there. Of course, it was.
No one could be in a place like this and feel nothing.
A memory of The Warden flashed in his mind. The sheer size. The brutality. The weight of its presence.
He clenched his jaw, shaking it off.
Fear made you weak. Fear made you hesitate.
He wasn't going to let that happen.
"No fear. Keep moving."
His hand tightened around his weapon.
"It's just another enemy. That's all it is."
A deep breath. Another step.
"I've fought worse."
Maybe that was a lie. Maybe he hadn't. But it didn't matter.
What mattered was that he believed it.
As Jace adjusted his flashlight, the beam flickered over movement ahead.
Three figures. Walking.
His instincts sharpened immediately. His stance shifted, muscles tensing, prepared for anything.
But these figures weren't rushing toward him. They were moving away.
Not hostile. Not yet.
Jace picked up his pace. He needed to catch up.
"Hey."
His deep voice cut through the silence.
The three figures stopped. Slowly, they turned around.
All three were young men. Their expressions were a mix of fear and caution—trying, but failing, to mask it.
Jace kept his steps steady, deliberate. He didn't raise his weapon, but his posture made it clear—if they tried anything, he'd be ready.
"Are you survivors?"
His voice was strong.
Unwavering.
Commanding.
The boys kept their guard up. They exchanged glances before one of them, a taller guy with a wary look, finally responded.
"Yeah… Who are you?"
The tall guy spoke, his voice firm—too firm. A forced attempt to match Jace's presence. But Jace caught on instantly. It was a facade, a desperate attempt to hide fear.
Jace didn't call him out on it. Instead, he remained calm, unwavering.
"My name is Jace. I'm also one of the survivors."
He let the words settle for a second.
"I'm with my team, but we've split up… because we've figured out how to escape this place."
The three boys exchanged glances.
Jace watched them carefully, his mind already working.
"The more people there are… the better chances of surviving."
"I should convince them to join us."
It wasn't a matter of trust—it was a matter of numbers. Strength. If they had numbers, they could last longer.
Finally, the same tall guy spoke.
"Jace. My name is Lawren."
Jace studied him.
Forgettable.
Black hair. Black eyes. Average build. A jawline that might've stood out if not for how ordinary the rest of him was. No striking features. Nothing memorable.
But that didn't mean he was useless.
The guy beside Lawren finally spoke up.
"You said… you figured out a way to escape this thing?" Jace turned his gaze to him. Studied him.
Innocent-looking.
Unharming.
Brownish eyes.
But the red hair…? Dyed. It wasn't natural.
He was shorter than the other two, smaller in frame. But what stood out the most? His expression. The second Jace mentioned escape, his curiosity spiked.
Jace responded, his voice steady.
"Yeah. One of my teammates—Victor—said he knows how to escape this phase."
The redhead's brows furrowed slightly. His curiosity deepened.
Jace could see it.
Hope.
He was thinking about it. Considering it.
That was good. That was what Jace needed.
Jace didn't hesitate. His voice was steady, convincing, carrying a quiet strength that demanded attention.
"So, it's better if you guys follow me. It's better if everyone sticks together."
He took a small step forward, his eyes sharp as he glanced between the three of them.
"In my team, there are four of us, including me. If you guys join, that makes seven. Seven people who can watch each other's backs. Seven people who won't have to wander these damn halls alone."
Jace let that sink in for a second before continuing.
"We're stronger together. If you've survived this long, you already know what kind of hell this place is. You've seen what happens to people who are alone. They disappear. They die. Sticking with a group? That's your best shot at making it out."
He let his words linger, watching them carefully, reading their expressions. He could tell they were considering it. Hope. Hesitation. Fear. They were weighing their options.
Then, the third guy finally spoke. The one who had been silent until now. He was standing beside the shorter redhead, his posture tense.
"Wait."
His voice carried a note of skepticism, doubt thick in his tone.
"Why should we trust you?"
Jace expected that.
He turned his full attention to the guy. Tall. Lean. Sharper features than the other two. Darker hair. Cautious eyes. He was the type to analyze, to second-guess. The one who needed proof.
Jace crossed his arms and met his gaze head-on.
"You don't have to trust me."
A pause.
"But what's your alternative? Keep wandering around here, waiting to run into whatever killed those people back there?"
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"I don't need you to believe me. I need you to decide whether you'd rather take a chance with us, or take a chance with whatever's lurking in these halls."
His words carried weight. Reality.
And now, Jace watched. Would they bite? Or would they let their fear keep them stuck?
And then… they heard it.
A sickening, bone-chilling sound echoed through the hall—the crackling of bones snapping, the eerie scraping of skeletal limbs dragging across the ground. It was the unmistakable sound of something inhuman.
Jace's blood ran cold.
His grip on his flashlight tightened as he instinctively took a step forward, placing himself slightly ahead of the three men.
The Crawlers.
Five? Seven? More? He couldn't tell. Their grotesque, contorted bodies skittered across the prison floor—twitching, twisting, malformed remains of the dead, yet somehow still moving. Some crawled on all fours, their backs arched at unnatural angles. Others dragged themselves with broken limbs, empty eye sockets locked onto the group as if they could still see.
The other three men immediately stiffened, their breaths shaky, their hands hovering near their weapons.
"What the hell are those?" Lawren muttered, barely above a whisper.
Jace didn't respond. His mind was already calculating their options.
They had nowhere to go.
The hall was too narrow. The cells were locked. If they turned back, they risked getting lost. If they ran, the Crawlers would chase.
Fighting them was an option—but not a good one.
Jace exhaled slowly. His heart was racing, but his face remained blank, his voice low and controlled.
"We don't engage unless we have to."
He started walking forward, his movements steady, controlled.
"Move with me. Don't act afraid. Don't give them a reason to lunge."
The other three hesitated for a second.
Then, reluctantly, they followed.
Jace could feel their unease behind him, but he kept his focus ahead. The Crawlers twitched, their jagged bones grinding together as they turned their hollow skulls toward the group. They were waiting—sensing.
Do they attack? Or do they let them pass?
Jace didn't break stride.
Every step he took felt like a gamble.