The forest grew darker with every passing moment, the dense fog weaving through the gnarled trees like ghostly tendrils. Zughaib sprinted deeper into the woods, his boots crunching against the damp, leaf-strewn ground. His breath came in shallow gasps, the cold air biting at his lungs. He stopped at the base of a massive tree, leaning against the rough bark as he tried to catch his breath. The sound of gunshots echoed faintly in the distance, each crack of a firearm setting his nerves on edge. Bobbin was out there, blasting Zughaib's pistol till at a far distance behind before the ammo depleted.
Zughaib clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the knife he had taken from his belt. He glanced around, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The forest was gloomy, its eerie atmosphere thickened by the swirling fog and the haunting calls of unseen creatures. A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it strange, unnatural sounds—low growls, distant whispers, and the faint hum of something unidentifiable. Zughaib's body tensed. He was close to something, something dark and dangerous.
Pushing himself off the tree, Zughaib moved cautiously, his every step deliberate and silent. The ambience seemed to change as he walked, growing heavier, more oppressive. Soon, through the mist, he spotted it—a wooden manor, its structure weary and decrepit, the walls warped and rotting. The manor stood like a sentinel of decay in the heart of the forest, its windows shattered and its roof sagging. Surrounding the building, crooked figures with blood-red eyes prowled aimlessly, their movements erratic and twitchy.
Zughaib crouched low, observing the crookeds as they snarled and snapped at one another. One of them, smaller and hunched, moved toward the bushes where he was hiding. Zughaib tightened his grip on the knife, waiting until the creature was close enough. When it leaned in to investigate, he struck swiftly, plunging the blade into its throat. The crooked let out a gurgling hiss before collapsing, its body twitching spasmodically.
Another crooked turned toward the noise, its head cocking unnaturally. Zughaib didn't hesitate. He grabbed a nearby branch from the forest floor and hurled it at the creature, the sharp end piercing its chest. It stumbled back, its bloodshot eyes widening in surprise before it crumpled to the ground. Zughaib moved quickly, using the environment to his advantage—sharp rocks, fallen branches, and even the crookeds' own weapons became tools in his silent assault.
By the time he reached the manor, the ground outside was littered with their twisted, broken bodies. But the job was far from over.
---
Inside the manor, the stench of rot and decay was overwhelming. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, and the faint sound of growls echoed through the dimly lit hallways. Zughaib stepped cautiously over the warped wooden floor, his eyes scanning every corner for movement. The interior was as decrepit as the exterior, with sagging beams and walls covered in dark stains.
A crooked lunged at him from the shadows, its clawed hands swiping wildly. Zughaib ducked and countered with a sharp uppercut, sending the creature sprawling. He followed up with a quick stomp to its head, the sickening crunch confirming the kill. Two more crookeds emerged from an adjacent room, snarling as they charged. Zughaib grabbed a rusted pipe from the floor, swinging it with brutal precision. The first crooked went down immediately, its skull caving under the force of the blow. The second managed to claw at his arm before he drove the pipe into its chest, twisting until it fell limp.
Zughaib wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath heavy as he surveyed the carnage. But before he could move further, a larger crooked, its frame more monstrous than the others, tackled him to the ground. Its strength was overwhelming, and Zughaib struggled against its grip. Just as it opened its gaping mouth to bite, another crooked leaped onto its back, sinking its teeth into the larger one's neck.
Zughaib rolled out from under them as a civil fight broke out among the crookeds. They clawed and bit at each other, their snarls filling the air as their primal instincts took over. Zughaib used the chaos to his advantage, slipping past the fray and deeper into the manor.
---
As he moved through the twisting hallways, Zughaib heard the distinct sound of a shotgun blast, followed by the shouts of DARKCON operatives. He pressed himself against the wall, peeking around the corner to see a group of DARKCON soldiers in heavy tactical gear, firing into a horde of crookeds. The soldiers moved with precision, their shotguns tearing through the twisted bodies of their attackers.
One of the operatives spotted Zughaib and raised his weapon, barking a command. Zughaib acted quickly, grabbing a fallen plank and throwing it at the soldier's legs, knocking him off balance. As the soldier hit the ground, Zughaib lunged forward, grabbing the man's shotgun and firing a quick blast into the chest of a cultist who had appeared with a spear. The cultist crumpled, his weapon clattering to the floor.
The remaining DARKCON soldiers turned their attention to Zughaib, but before they could retaliate, a swarm of crookeds descended upon them. The operatives were overwhelmed, their screams echoing through the manor as they were pulled down one by one. Zughaib used the distraction to his advantage, moving further into the building with the shotgun in hand.
---
At the end of a long hallway, Zughaib found a locked door, its frame reinforced with heavy chains. He pressed his ear to the wood, hearing muffled voices and movement on the other side. Whatever was behind the door, it was important. He searched the room, finding a discarded assault rifle next to a fallen DARKCON operative. Zughaib picked up the weapon, checking the magazine before aiming it at the chains.
The AR burst echoed through the manor as he fired, the bullets tearing through the chains and breaking the lock. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dimly lit room filled with strange symbols and blood-stained altars. At the center of the room,
Zughaib stepped inside, the shotgun raised as he approached cautiously. The figure stopped chanting, their head lifting to reveal a face covered in intricate carvings, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"You shouldn't have come here," the figure said, their voice unnaturally deep and resonant; but familiar too. "This place is not for the living."
Zughaib's grip on the shotgun tightened, his finger hovering over the trigger.
The figure, tilted their head, a faint smile playing on their lips. "But you're different, aren't you? Silent, yet unyielding. Let's see how far your resolve will take you."
Before Zughaib could react, the figure raised their hand, and the room erupted in chaos. The walls seemed to pulse, the symbols glowing with an otherworldly light as the air grew thick with an oppressive force. Crookeds poured into the room from every direction, their snarls filling the air as they charged.
Zughaib fired the shotgun, each blast taking down a crooked as he fought to stay on his feet. The figure watched from the shadows, their smile never fading. Zughaib knew he was outnumbered, but he wouldn't back down. He had come too far to stop now.
As the battle raged on, Zughaib felt a strange sense of determination wash over him. He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. He was fighting for something bigger, something he couldn't yet fully understand.