The flickering flames of the hearth cast long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the tavern. Safal, hunched over a bowl of lukewarm stew, picked at the meager vegetables. The absence of Ram was a gaping hole in the usual boisterous atmosphere. Ram, his brother-in-arms, had chosen a different path, drawn to the rigid order and sanctimonious ideals of the Peacekeeper Force, leaving Safal to navigate the murky depths of their former, shared life alone.
He finished his meal, the taste of loneliness as potent as the stale broth. Sleep came easily, a welcome escape from the gnawing emptiness. But it was a sleep that would soon be shattered.
A jolt, like a lightning strike, ripped through Safal's mind. A command, cold and absolute, echoed within his skull: "Survive 48 hours in Umbrothys: Shadow Realm and receive a reward." There was no plea, no negotiation, just the sudden, terrifying understanding that he was not in his bed any longer.
He found himself standing on a desolate, rocky plain. The air was thick with a chilling mist, and the sky above was a bruised purple, choked with storm clouds. A cacophony of guttural growls and shrieks rose from the gloom. Before him, a vast, shambling army of Shadow Lords and their grotesque minions. Safal, the nimble guy, known for his quick wit and even quicker feet, was rooted to the spot, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He ran. He ran as if the hounds of hell themselves were at his heels, his breath catching in his throat. But the viper dogs, their iridescent scales glinting in the dismal light, were relentless. The goblins, hunched and snarling, swarmed from every crevice. No matter where he turned, the tide of monstrous creatures followed him, until he found himself trapped between two warring factions of Shadow Lords, their immense, shadowy forms battling for supremacy over the desolate wastes.
"Oh, you want me to survive?" He ground his teeth, his voice a low growl. "Surrounded by a thousand monsters, each capable of shredding me to pieces?" He felt a surge of rage, a burning defiance that cut through the fear. He scanned for an escape route, but he was surrounded. Then, they appeared.
Phantom stalkers, their elongated limbs stretching like warped shadows, emerged from the mist. Their cloaks of darkness shifted and swirled, obscuring any features, and creating an aura of pure dread. He was paralyzed, a thousand needles piercing his skin, turning his blood to ice. The pain was unbearable, a wave of agony that finally claimed his consciousness.
He awoke with a gasp, his body throbbing. Blood stained the rough ground beneath him, but it was not as severe as he had imagined. He had managed to survive, somehow, and the wounds were already healing. He considered playing dead, waiting for the war to finish but the screams of agony echoed all around him. This place was a charnel house, a feast for the Monsters. He felt the cold, wet touch of countless feet stomping all over his still body. He begged for deliverance, for mercy from whatever gods or demons held sway over this hellish place. But none came.
He suffered for what seemed like an eternity, the unending torment turning his fear into a boiling cauldron of hatred. There was no pity, no kindness in this realm, only the grim struggle for survival. Just as despair threatened to engulf him, he felt himself being dragged. Not by the phantom stalkers, but by a viper dog, its scales shimmering like polished gemstones.
Hope flared within him, only to be extinguished as he was hauled towards a shadowy nook where another corpse lay half-devoured. The beast was securing its next meal, not saving him. He was to become the next course.
The thought, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, ignited something within him. He could die, or he could fight. He could let them consume him, or he could become the predator. He had been a thief, a survivor on the island, but he had never killed. Now, he had to. There, half-concealed beneath a bloodied goblin corpse, he spotted it – a small, crudely fashioned knife, chipped from stone and edged with malice.
He feigned death, his muscles tense, as the viper dog approached. It began tearing into the other corpse, growling and snapping. This was his chance. With a surge of adrenaline, Safal lunged, the stone knife aimed at the beast's heart. But the blow was clumsy, grazing its flank instead. The viper dog roared, its eyes blazing with fury, its jaws snapping inches from his face.
He dodged the attack, instincts honed by months of running. He let the dog bite into his left hand, the pain a searing reminder of the reality he was in. With his other hand, he unleashed a flurry of stabs, the stone knife stabing again and again. He struck with a ferocity born of desperation, burying the blade into the viper dog a hundred times, until it lay still, its iridescent scales now dull and lifeless.
A silent notification chimed in his mind: "Viper dog slain. +10 exp." He was covered in the viper dogs blood. He gasped for breath, his muscles screaming in protest. But there was no time to rest. A pack of viper dogs, drawn by the scent of blood, were approaching.
The time remaining, a chilling voice reminded him, was six hours. Six more hours in this nightmare realm. Yet, the hopelessness he felt began to harden into resolve, a cold, ruthless understanding that he had to kill or be killed.
He faced the approaching pack, his face tight, his eyes devoid of any emotion. He moved with a newfound speed and precision, the fear and hesitation gone. He killed the first three dogs with an economy of movement and ferocity that startled even himself. His training at The Hollow Den had given him strength and agility but he had always shied away from killing, from the darkness that resided within the human heart. Now, the darkness was unleashed, and it was terrifyingly effective.
A grim smile stretched across his blood-stained face. He tightened his facial muscles, and said," Bring it on, dead meat? I am gonna have dinner now".