"The difference between a survivor and a corpse? A single misstep."
The days blended together in a haze of blood, hunger, and exhaustion. I wandered the dungeon like a ghost, scavenging what I could, killing when I had to, and hiding when the odds were against me. Time meant nothing. There was only survival.
The first thing I required was water.
Dehydration gnawed at my throat like a vice, every breath dry and raw. I hunted relentlessly, deeper into the cavernous labyrinth, ignoring the growls of hunger in my belly. Then, on the third day, I found it—a thin crevice where a trickle of water ran down slick black rock, pooling into a shallow basin. I dropped to my knees, scooped it up with shaking hands, and drank greedily. The taste was metallic, fouled by the raw flavor of the dungeon, but it was salvation. I lingered there for hours, drinking, filling a crude container fashioned from a monster's hardened hide. My body needed it more than food, more than sleep.
But survival was never easy.
Monsters haunted every corner of this hellhole, grotesque creatures of sinew and bone, eyes glowing with hunger. Some I fought. Some I ran from. The weakest of them fell to me—twisted goblin-like creatures with jagged teeth and elongated limbs. They shrieked when crushed beneath my strength, their bodies folding like brittle twigs beneath the weight of my gravity. Their corpses were my food. The flesh was foul, chewy, tasting of rot and iron, but it kept me alive.
The stronger monsters were another story.
One nearly killed me.
It had lain in wait, watching. I let down my guard for a moment—just a moment—after killing another smaller creature. That was all it required. Clawed hands lashed out of the shadows, dragging me down. My back crashed against stone. A maw full of serrated teeth snapped shut around my shoulder. Pain exploded, white-hot and blinding.
I screamed.
Blood poured from the wound, warm and thick, flooding my arm. The beast growled, saliva dripping from its wide maw as it tore deeper into my muscle. I could feel its teeth grinding against bone.
Desperation triumphed over pain.
I worked gravity, making my own body impossibly heavy. The beast staggered, its grip faltering just enough. I unleashed all my strength in a single, desperate burst, sending it flying off me and smashing into the jagged rock face.
Its head burst open like a ripe fruit.
I slumped against the wall, gasping, my vision dark at the edges. Blood kept pouring from my shoulder, a river of crimson soaking into my clothes. I gritted my teeth, shaking fingers pressed over the wound. I had to stop the bleeding. Now.
With the last of my strength, I focused. Gravity adjusted around my wound, compressing the torn flesh together, forcing the blood to clot more rapidly. The pain was exquisite, like knives stabbing into my shoulder repeatedly. I didn't care. I kept working the pressure, ignoring the dizziness, the cold sweat trickling down my face.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
At last, the bleeding slowed. The wide wound had become an ugly, dark bruise, but it would have to do. For now.
I couldn't fight like this.
I staggered back to a hidden alcove I'd found days before—a place wedged between jagged stone pillars, just large enough not to fit within. I huddled up in it, back against the cold stone, cradling my bruised arm. Sleep loomed over me, ready to sweep me away, but I knew I couldn't let myself get too far.
Not here.
Not when the monsters were always closing in around me.
I needed to heal. And when I healed, I would pick up the hunt again.
Because this dungeon was not going to kill me.
I would not let it.