The world was a haze of shadows and flickering lights when he opened his eyes. The air was thick, oppressive, carrying a metallic tang that stung his nostrils. He didn't know where he was or how he got there. One moment, he remembered lying in his bed, struggling to fall asleep, and the next, he was here—wherever here was.
A cold sweat coated his skin as he stumbled forward. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, cracked stone that looked like it had been scorched by fire. Around him, the landscape stretched into a shifting void of dark shapes and faint, distant screams. He tried to steady his breath, but fear gnawed at the edges of his mind.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice hoarse and unsteady. No answer came—only the echo of his own voice fading into the distance.
The air felt wrong, heavy with something he couldn't name. Shadows moved at the edge of his vision, but whenever he turned to look, there was nothing there. He pressed on, unsure of where he was going or why. All he knew was that staying in one place felt dangerous.
He walked for what felt like hours, though time had become meaningless in this strange place. The further he went, the more his surroundings changed. The cracked stone beneath his feet gave way to something softer—sand, maybe, or ash. He couldn't tell. His footsteps left shallow imprints that quickly vanished as though the ground itself refused to remember him.
A sudden sound made him freeze. It was faint but distinct—a low, guttural growl coming from somewhere ahead. He took a cautious step back, heart pounding in his chest. The growl grew louder, more insistent, and he realized with a sinking feeling that it was getting closer.
He turned and ran.
The landscape blurred around him as he sprinted blindly into the unknown. The growling noise followed, echoing off unseen walls and making it impossible to tell where it was coming from. He didn't dare look back. All he could do was keep moving.
Eventually, he reached what looked like a narrow alleyway between two towering walls of jagged rock. Without thinking, he ducked inside, pressing himself against the cold, rough surface. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he forced himself to stay quiet, listening intently for any sign of pursuit.
Minutes passed. The growling faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He allowed himself to relax, just a little, and leaned heavily against the wall.
"What is this place?" he whispered to himself. No answer came, but asking the question out loud made it feel more real—like he hadn't completely lost his mind.
He needed to keep moving. Staying put wouldn't help him find a way out—if there even was a way out.
As he emerged from the alleyway, he noticed something new. A faint, flickering light in the distance, barely visible through the haze. It wasn't much, but it was the first sign of anything resembling civilization he'd seen since he arrived. With nothing else to guide him, he set off toward it.
The closer he got, the clearer the light became. It flickered like fire, casting long, dancing shadows across the ground. He soon realized it was coming from a structure—a crude, makeshift altar built from twisted metal and broken stone. Flames burned atop it, though there was no wood or fuel to sustain them.
He approached cautiously, eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger. The altar radiated an unnatural heat that made his skin crawl. As he drew nearer, he noticed something lying on the ground in front of it—a small, rusted knife.
A voice echoed in his mind, low and sinister. Take it.
He recoiled instinctively, looking around for the source of the voice. But there was no one else there. The voice had come from nowhere, or perhaps from the altar itself. He didn't know. All he knew was that it wanted him to take the knife.
He hesitated. Everything about this place screamed danger, and he had no reason to trust whatever force was guiding him. But what choice did he have? He was unarmed, alone, and lost in a nightmare world he didn't understand.
With trembling hands, he reached down and picked up the knife. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, a searing pain shot through his hand, and he cried out, dropping the blade. The pain faded quickly, but it left behind a lingering sense of unease.
The voice spoke again, colder this time. You cannot leave without sacrifice.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, though he wasn't sure who or what he was speaking to. The voice didn't answer. Instead, the flames atop the altar flared briefly, then dimmed, as though waiting for something.
Sacrifice. The word echoed in his mind, filling him with dread. What kind of sacrifice did this place demand?
Before he could ponder further, the growling noise returned, louder and more urgent than before. Whatever had been hunting him was close again. He had no time to think—only to act.
Gripping the knife tightly, he turned and ran once more, the flickering flames of the altar fading into the distance behind him. He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than here.
End of Chapter.