"Only three out of ten Hunters survive their first dungeon raid"
I read that statistic somewhere once. It didn't stop me from joining a raid team when I had the chance. What they didn't tell you was how often it wasn't the monsters that killed you, it was your so-called comrades.
The air was damp and heavy. My head pulsed with each beat of the pulsing red crystal set into the cavern wall. I pressed a hand to the wound on my side. Warm blood leaked between my fingers, wetting the tatters of my jacket. My breath came shallow. Each breath I took tasted of rust and salt.
The others were gone. They had abandoned me.
I do not know when I realized it. Maybe it was the distant echo of the gate's collapse, sealing off any chance of escape. Or maybe it was the absence of their voices. No shouting. No footsteps. Just the hollow silence of the dungeon.
My vision blurred. I stumbled against the wall, the jagged surface scraping my palm. The dungeon felt alive, as if it were watching me. Waiting. The shadows moved, shifting with an unnatural fluidity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"You will slow us down, Kael," Allen had said before they disappeared into the tunnel. His words rang louder now than they did in the moment. "We cannot afford to babysit dead weight."
Dead weight. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd carried that bastard when his leg gave out in the last raid. And this was my thanks? Left to bleed out in a dungeon that had already claimed the lives of countless others.
I gritted my teeth. Pain surged through my side, sharp and unforgiving. I couldn't afford to dwell on anger or betrayal. Not now. Survival came first. I had to move. Staying still would only invite whatever lurked in the shadows to finish me off.
The floor of the cavern sloped downward. Each step was a calculated gamble, my boots sliding against loose gravel and slick moss. The light from the red crystal dimmed the deeper I went, casting everything in shades of crimson and black. My hand brushed against the hilt of the dagger at my side. It felt small, almost laughably so, but it was all I had.
A low growl echoed from somewhere ahead. My heart leaped into my throat. It wasn't human. Too guttural, too raw. I froze, straining to pinpoint the sound. It was close. Too close.
My mind rushed. Run? Fight? Hide? None of these promised much. My body was already screaming at me to stop, to rest, to quit. I'd seen what happened to those who quit in dungeons. Their screams stayed with you long after you left.
The growl returned, this time louder. Closer. I curled my fingers tighter into the grip of the dagger. Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I took a staggering breath and moved forward, deeper into the maw of the abyss. If I was going to die, I wasn't going to meet it cowering in a corner.
The shadows of the dungeon seemed to close in around me, swallowing what little light was left. My pulse pounded in my ears. Every step felt heavier than the last, air pressing down on me in a physical weight.
Then I saw it.
Two eyes glinted in the darkness, reflecting the dim crimson glow like mirrors. They didn't blink. They didn't waver. They just stared, unflinching and predatory. My grip on the dagger faltered for half a second before I tightened it again.
"You left me for dead," I whispered, more to myself than to the beast. "But I'm not dying here. Not like this."
The creature lunged.