George's heart pounded in his chest as doubts gnawed at his resolve. The weight of past mistakes bore down on him, every step forward felt like a descent into a nightmare he couldn't wake from. But the need to redeem himself, to prove that he wasn't the weak link, kept him moving. Captain Barbrain, sensing the unease rippling through the team, didn't waste a moment.
"Officers!" Barbrain's voice sliced through the tension. "This is just another of the Architect's sick illusions. Gas masks or not, we've seen his tricks before. George, you're still our lead. No backing out now—we end this tonight."
Bolstered by Barbrain's confidence, George forced the fear down, swallowing hard as he resumed his position at the front. The team moved with a deliberate, cautious pace, each officer hyper-aware of the oppressive silence around them, broken only by the crunch of their boots on the gravel path.
Without warning, the eerie stillness was shattered by a deep, resonating howl. It reverberated through the darkness, freezing the team in their tracks. Torches swung wildly as they tried to locate the source, but the thick shadows seemed to close in, suffocating the light. George's pulse quickened, every nerve on edge.
Then, out of the shadows, a massive, grotesque figure burst forth—its three heads snapping and snarling, each maw dripping with saliva thick as sludge. It was a Cerberus, a beast of nightmare made flesh, its muscular frame rippling under a coat matted with blood and gore. Its eyes, a hellish red, gleamed with malevolent intelligence.
Before anyone could react, the Cerberus lunged at George. Its central head clamped down on his leg, the jaws crushing bone with a sickening crunch. George screamed—a sound of pure, unfiltered agony—as blood spurted from the wound in a grisly spray, painting the ground in a dark, wet sheen.
Barbrain, Rowl, and John were on it in an instant, their weapons blazing. The gunfire was deafening, but the bullets might as well have been pebbles. They struck the beast's hide and ricocheted off, leaving no more than sparks. The Cerberus didn't even flinch as it tore through George's leg, ripping flesh and sinew like paper. The air filled with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the beast's foul breath.
George's screams turned into gurgled cries as the Cerberus shook him like a rag doll, its other heads snapping at the air, eager to join in the feast. The squad was paralyzed, terror rooting them to the spot. They had faced human monsters before, but this—this was something else entirely. The line between reality and nightmare blurred until there was no difference.
Then, as suddenly as it had attacked, the Cerberus froze. A harsh, gravelly voice echoed from the darkness. "Vicky, enough!"
The creature obeyed instantly, dropping George like a discarded toy. He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his shredded leg, pooling beneath him. The Cerberus stepped back, its heads now turned towards the voice with a subservient demeanor, like a dog awaiting further orders.
An old man, stooped and ragged, emerged from the shadows. His face was lined with age, but his eyes gleamed with an unnatural vitality. As he approached, the cloud cover thickened, plunging the scene into an even deeper darkness. The team's torches flickered and died, leaving them blind and vulnerable.
Nancy and Marina, barely holding onto their sanity, saw this as their chance to escape. They bolted towards the gate, driven by pure, animalistic terror. But as they ran, something horrifying happened. The gate, their one hope of escape, seemed to recede into the distance. They pushed harder, but their feet seemed to sink into the ground, their movements sluggish and ineffective. It was as if the mansion itself was warping reality, trapping them in a never-ending nightmare. The gate, mocking their desperation, slammed shut with an ominous finality.
The old man, his presence unsettling and wrong, addressed the Cerberus with a cold chuckle. "Vicky, you've had your fun. The Boss said to let them in. These aren't just any intruders—they're tonight's special guests." He laughed, the sound grating and unnatural, sending fresh waves of dread through the squad.
The Cerberus retreated into the shadows, its red eyes fading from view. Barbrain, Rowl, and John rushed to George, whose face was ashen, eyes wide with shock. Dr. Terrance and Dr. Ansel worked frantically to stem the bleeding, but the damage was severe—too severe. George's life was slipping away with every drop of blood that soaked into the cold, hard ground.
Barbrain turned his gun on the old man, rage boiling beneath the surface. "Who are you? Where's the Architect? What the hell is that creature?"
The old man's smile widened, his expression almost bemused. "So many questions for an old man. Haven't your mothers taught you any manners? But if you must know, I'm Noel Fernandez. And you must be the elite LCIS squad I've heard so much about. How delightful."
Rowl, his gun shaking slightly in his grip, stepped forward. "Enough games, old man. Where's the Architect?"
Noel's eyes gleamed with mischief as he responded. "Oh, the Architect? My Master is expecting you. But he's not one to greet his guests at the door. You'll have to come inside, where he's prepared a special welcome just for you."
Barbrain wasn't having any of it. "Stop your nonsense. Bring him here. We don't have time for your sick games."
Noel's grin widened as he stepped closer, the clouds above parting slightly to let a sliver of moonlight reveal his face. The years had not been kind to him—his skin was mottled and rough, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets—but there was a sharpness in his gaze, a hint of something ancient and dangerous.
"Why would the Master trouble himself to come out here?" Noel asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "He instructed me to bring you inside. And from the looks of your friend there—George, is it?—he doesn't have much time left. Unless, of course, you'd rather stay out here and watch him die. But I must warn you, it's not safe outside these walls. Things far worse than Vicky roam the grounds at night."
Barbrain knew they were trapped. George needed immediate medical attention, and the only chance they had was inside that accursed mansion. His mind raced, but there was no alternative. Reluctantly, he gave the order. "Carry George. We're going inside."
The team moved as one, lifting George as gently as possible. He groaned in pain with every step, his blood leaving a trail behind them, a dark red path that led into the very heart of the beast's lair. The rain began to fall, cold and relentless, as if the heavens themselves were mourning what was to come.
Noel led them into the mansion, its doors creaking open to reveal a dark, rotting interior. The stench of decay was overpowering, and the walls seemed to close in around them, pressing the air from their lungs. Noel clapped his hands, and with a sudden whoosh, the mansion came to life. Old-fashioned lamps flickered on, casting eerie shadows, and a fire roared in the hearth, its flames dancing like sinister specters.
Barbrain, his senses on high alert, eyed Noel warily. "You said the Architect was here, but this place looks abandoned. Are you playing with us, old man?"
Noel chuckled, a sound that sent chills down the spines of even the bravest among them. "Oh, he's here. My Master prefers the darkness, Captain. He's been watching you since you arrived, and he's very eager to meet you. But don't worry—you'll see him soon enough."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and as Noel's laughter echoed through the hallways, the team realized that they had just walked into a trap—a trap set by a mind far more twisted than any they had ever encountered. The true horror of what awaited them was only beginning to unfold, and the line between life and death had never been so thin.