Dylan woke with a start, his eyelids heavy and glued shut. He struggled to open his eyes, only to find himself engulfed in darkness. As his consciousness returned in waves, he realized he was bound. Both his hands were raised above his head, held by a cold chain that bit into his skin. But what unsettled him most was the absence of solid ground beneath his feet.
He tried to move, but every motion ignited a searing pain throughout his battered body. Every nerve seemed to vibrate with electric agony, sharpening his awareness and banishing the fog of unconsciousness.
When he attempted to speak, only hoarse, guttural sounds escaped his throat. A burning, raw pain stopped him from forming even a single word. His throat felt crushed, as though it had endured a series of brutal blows.
Panic began to rise in his chest, tightening his lungs and knotting his stomach. One question pierced his fragmented thoughts, casting a shadow over his fragile composure.
"Is it the Russians who captured me?" he wondered, as his eyes adjusted to the oppressive darkness surrounding him.
Gradually, he made out the rough outlines of a cavern. Dampness reigned supreme, and the sound of water droplets splashing onto stone echoed in the suffocating silence: plink... plonk... His breathing quickened as he tried to turn his head back. A sharp, cramping pain twisted his neck, but he pressed on despite it.
And then, he saw them.
He wasn't alone.
Bodies hung like his, mutilated and shredded. Some bore bite marks; others had gaping wounds exposing muscle and bone. The chains holding them were rusted with dried blood, but Dylan quickly noticed one crucial difference: they were dead. He, however, was still alive.
For now.
His stomach growled from hunger, his throat screamed for water, and his mind wavered between agony and terror. The sight of the corpses didn't elicit a primal fear. He had seen worse horrors during the past three years. Since the outbreak of the Third World War, terror had become routine.
He still remembered his eighteenth birthday, three years ago. It was also the year he lost his parents, deployed to the front and never to return. Blinded by rage, Dylan enlisted in the army, rising through the ranks to become a lieutenant. But never, not even in his nightmares, had he imagined ending up like this—suspended like a sacrificial animal.
He tried to piece together his memories. The day before, he had been celebrating a victory with his unit. Alcohol flowed freely, women surrounded them, and the atmosphere was jubilant. As always, he kept an eye on the windows, a soldier's habit, knowing that anything could happen in a world at war. But he didn't recall an attack. How had he ended up in this dark, gruesome hole, surrounded by corpses worthy of a crime documentary?
The pain in his wrists, the pressure of the chains, and the stench of decomposing bodies grounded him in one chilling certainty: he had no idea what awaited him.
"The Russians don't resort to this kind of atrocity," he thought, desperately searching for an explanation. "It's like animals tore these bodies apart... But humans are capable of the worst; I know that too well."
Dylan closed his eyes briefly, struggling to suppress his panic. He needed to keep his mind clear. His body was broken, but his mind was still alive. If he wanted to survive, he had to figure out where he was and, more importantly, who—or what—was responsible for this scene of horror.
A massive, looming figure entered the room, casting an oppressive shadow across the uneven walls of the cavern. Dylan lowered his head, pretending to be unconscious, but his barely-open eyelids allowed him to follow the intruder's movements.
The figure moved with unnerving ease, brushing past the hanging bodies like one might run a hand along clothes in a wardrobe. A guttural, haunting melody rumbled in its throat as it meticulously inspected the corpses.
Dylan could only see its back—broad, hunched, and covered in a strange texture. Occasionally, a rough hand would enter his view as the figure stood on tiptoes to unhook a body hanging too high. Every movement was calculated, precise, almost ritualistic.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
The silhouette slowly turned its head in Dylan's direction. His heart skipped a beat. He held his breath and shut his eyes tightly, praying to become invisible in the dark.
The next moment, he felt hot, foul breath against his face. A nauseating, acrid stench invaded his nostrils, making him waver between retching and panic. The intruder sniffed him loudly, its calloused fingers brushing against his battered chest. Then, a rough tongue licked his face, leaving a cold, slimy trail on his skin.
Dylan knew he couldn't hold out much longer.
In a surge of panic, he abruptly opened his eyes.
The creature recoiled, stumbling back awkwardly before collapsing to the ground. Dylan blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing in the darkness. His blurred vision revealed a shadowy, grotesque figure: smooth, hairless skin, a single enormous eye in the center of its face, elongated ears, and a twisted grin that contorted its features.
Its face looked like something out of a nightmare.
A guttural laugh echoed through the cavern. The creature rose slowly, its single eye locking onto Dylan with a palpable hunger.
"Well, well," it rasped in a slow, mocking tone. "Looks like one of them is still alive!"
The deep, gravelly voice, paired with its grotesque smile, sent shivers down Dylan's spine.
He tried to steel himself, his mind racing to find a way to survive.
"What the hell is this thing?" Dylan thought, his mind clouded by growing fear. His beaten, suspended body refused to obey him, but he still tried to move, awkwardly tugging at the metal chains cutting into his wrists.
"Don't move, don't move," the creature growled, raising a hand to stop him. "You'll damage your meat."
Those words struck Dylan like a dagger. A cold dread washed over him. He tried to open his mouth, ready to scream and break this absurd nightmare, but no sound came out. His raw, bruised throat only produced a muffled gasp.
"Very energetic," the creature murmured with a satisfied chuckle.
It moved closer, its heavy footsteps echoing on the cold stone. A massive, rough hand brushed over his battered chest, its icy touch sending an uncontrollable shiver through his body. Then, with a disconcerting gesture, it grabbed the waistband of his pants, tugged it slightly, and glanced inside.
Dylan felt his dignity crumble under the weight of humiliation and a visceral fear.
"Well, well," the creature hissed, its lone eye gleaming with a vile light. "Looks like this one hasn't been cut. Oh… this will do nicely for producing seeds for the Matriarch."
Dylan's blood ran cold. Those words only deepened the horror of his situation.
"Come with me," it finally said, a twisted grin stretching across its grotesque face. "I'll take you to her."
Dylan wanted to resist, but the chains holding him aloft rendered any movement futile. The creature gripped the chains with unsettling ease and unhooked them with a swift motion, letting his body collapse to the ground.
Pain erupted through every nerve as he hit the cold stone floor, but he had no time to recover. A brutal hand grabbed his collar, hoisting him like a broken puppet.
The creature dragged him out of the room, its lone eye glowing with sickening excitement. Dylan, his mind clouded by pain and fear, knew he was leaving behind the familiar horrors of war and stepping into an abyss of even greater terror.
And yet, deep within his mind, a flicker of defiance remained. He wouldn't die here. Not like this.