The wind whipped through the trees, wild and cold, as Emmie trekked deeper into the woods. Underfoot, his boots dived with every step he took into the damp earth. He had walked hours in a heavy chill that didn't really lift out of the air, but he didn't dare stop. Not when the darkness was so near, closing in from all directions. He felt it at the back of his neck, something watching him, waiting.
It was silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves, which the wind intermittently stirred. No birds. No animals. The heavy silence pressed on his chest like a real thing. Emmie's heart raced as his breathing quickened, hastened. He reached for the sword at his side, the hilt cold beneath his fingers. It didn't help. Not against the shadows creeping through his thoughts, the memories he couldn't escape.
He'd tried to forget, tried to move on, live a life not haunted by ghosts of the past. But they found him, didn't they? The curse, the darkness-it had all just been waiting for him to slip up, to falter.
But now he couldn't falter. Not now.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself on, forcing himself to ignore the rising dread. Whispers started, soft at first, like wind rustling through trees, then louder. "Emmie.
He straightened, his heart racing with speed. That voice. It wasn't real. He'd just imagined it. The only explanation was that he was tired. His exhaustion was finally getting to his senses. He whirled around, the forest deepening around him, but no one was there.
"Emmie, you can't outrun it. It's coming for you," the voice reverberated once more, louder this time, as if the air shook from a tremor.
Emmie gritted his teeth and gripped the sword tighter, trying to steady his breath. It's nothing. It's just the darkness messing with me. I've faced it before.
But it was getting harder to hold on to that belief. The voice was too familiar, too real. It wrapped itself around him like a serpent, sinking deeper into his skin, his soul.
Another step, then another, each one slower, more cautious. His mind screamed at him to keep moving, to keep fighting. But the fear gnawed at him, gnawing at his resolve.
And then, through the thick mist ahead, he saw it.
A figure, draped in shadow, stood immobile at the edge of his path. Its presence was almost smotheringly cold, ancient. Emmie's breath caught, and his heart skipped a beat. The air seemed to thin, the earth beneath his feet unstable as the figure slowly turned to face him.
It had no face. Just a shadow that seemed to twist and shift, its form constantly moving, morphing. The only constant was the pair of glowing eyes that bored into him like twin daggers.
"Emmie." the figure whispered, the voice an unnatural hiss that made his skin crawl. "You've come too far to turn back now."
His bones filled with cold as the figure moved, slinking closer like a predator closing in on its prey. The light from his sword flickered and sputtered, it was almost even afraid.
"I'm not afraid of you," Emmie spat, his voice shaking more than he cared to admit. He'd been through worse. He had to face this-whatever it was. "I'm not going to let you win."
The figure paused, the darkness swirling around it, like smoke. It cocked its head to one side, as if considering him. "Win? Oh, no. You misunderstand. It is not me you need to worry about, Emmie. It's yourself."
The words cut through him, deeper than the figure's presence ever could. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into his mind. What if this is true? What if I'm already lost?
But then he thought of them-his friends: Mira, Amara, Cory. They were the ones who believed in him, fought beside him through the worst of it, and now, more than ever, he couldn't afford to let them down.
He swallowed hard, forcing his shoulders to square and his grip to tighten. "I will never be what you want me to be," he growled, voice stronger now. "I will fight until I can't anymore."
The figure's laughter echoed through the woods, cold and mirthless. "Then fight. But let me remind you of this, Emmie-you're not fighting just me; you're fighting what's already inside you."
It reached out a hand—blackened, as though made from the very darkness it emanated. Emmie stepped back instinctively, his breath shallow as his body screamed to flee. But he wouldn't. Not yet.
"Do your worst," Emmie said, his voice steady now despite the fear rising in his chest. "I'll face it, just like everything else."
The figure's laughter died, and a low growl replaced it as the darkness started to move. Tendrils of shadow reached out toward him, coiling like snakes ready to strike. He raised his sword, calling upon all the will he had left, but his hands shook.
The darkness closed in upon him.
The tendrils lashed out. Emmie barely had time to move before they struck, the force of the attack sending him stumbling back. His sword cut through one of the shadows, and it dissipated like smoke, but more replaced it, curling and writhing as though alive.
"You're quick," the figure hissed, its voice a sharp contrast to the eerie quiet of the forest. "But not quick enough."
A shadowed limb shot out faster than the rest really. Emmie tried to dodge, but it snagged his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the breath forced from his lungs. The cold seeped through his clothes, biting into his skin as the tendril dragged him closer to the figure.
"Let me go!" Emmie shouted, his sword slashing at the shadow. His blade cut through, and the tendril released him, but he didn't have time to catch his breath as the surrounding darkness swirled and churned, closing in.
It loomed over him, its glowing eyes narrowing. "You think your light will save you? It's weak, Emmie. Just like you."
Emmie scrambled to his feet, raising his sword with shaking hands. He could feel the veracity in its words, a seed of doubt buried deep inside himself. His light was weak.