Chapter 1: Awakening in the Depths
Blake Cole's eyes snapped open, his head pounding as if it had been struck by a hammer. His body felt stiff, bruised, and disoriented. The air around him was damp and musty, thick with the smell of stone and something faintly metallic. His senses reeled as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
He was lying on a cold, uneven surface. The ground beneath him was slick with moisture, and the walls of the cave were wet, their surface glistening with condensation. The faint flickering of torches or some form of light cast eerie shadows along the cave's jagged stone walls. The mud beneath him was soft, sticky, and cold, like the remnants of a recent downpour.
Blake groaned and pushed himself up, his body aching as he sat upright. His clothes—a simple, worn shirt and pants—felt strange on him, though they were what he'd worn the day before. His hands instinctively went to his waist, searching for something familiar. But there was nothing there.
Confusion swept over him. Where was his usual gear? His tools? He took a slow breath and looked around, trying to steady himself.
Beside him, on the cold, muddy ground, a rucksack lay open, as though it had been discarded hastily. He frowned and reached for it, pulling it closer. Inside, he found a leather breastplate, the kind used for light protection, folded neatly. His boots—a worn pair of steel-toe boots with steel-plated soles—were nestled at the bottom of the rucksack, along with a small dagger, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Blake took a moment to collect himself, his mind racing. This wasn't right. The last thing he remembered was walking back toward the farm, the familiar rustling of the wind through the trees, the scent of fresh grass filling his lungs. Then… nothing. Just blackness.
He quickly dressed, donning the leather breastplate over his clothes, and lacing up the heavy boots. The dagger slipped into the sheath at his waist, though it didn't feel quite as familiar as it should. Something was off, and Blake couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Standing up, he looked around once more, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The cave stretched endlessly, its walls slick with wet moss and mud. The faint sound of dripping water echoed in the distance, and the air was thick with the musty scent of damp earth. The temperature was cool, but it wasn't unbearable. Still, Blake couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped him.
He gripped the dagger tightly, the hilt cold in his hand, and took a cautious step forward. His boots made a soft squelching noise as he walked through the muddy cave floor, the sound echoing off the walls. He had no idea what was ahead or how he'd gotten here, but he knew one thing—he had to keep moving. Sitting still wouldn't solve anything.
As he walked, his mind raced, piecing together fragments of memories. He had been a farmer, a simple life—tending animals, working the land, fixing tools. His muscles had grown strong from years of hard work, and though he wasn't a warrior, he was capable. He had fought with tools before, but now? Now, he had a dagger and some rudimentary armor.
It wasn't much.
The walls seemed to close in as he walked, the flickering light from the torches casting long, eerie shadows along the stone. Every step he took felt like it echoed for miles, each footfall reverberating through the silence.
Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. A low scraping noise, like something dragging across stone. Blake froze. His instincts kicked in, and he reached for the dagger at his waist, holding it steady. His eyes darted around the darkness, searching for the source of the sound.
It came again. Closer this time.l
Blake's heart began to race. He wasn't alone. Something was moving in the dark, something that wasn't human. His breath caught in his throat as he heard the scraping stop, replaced by a low, guttural growl that seemed to reverberate through the stone.
A figure emerged from the shadows ahead, tall and menacing, with glowing eyes and a form that barely resembled anything Blake had ever seen. The creature was covered in spiky, armored plates, its claws scraping against the stone floor with each step. It seemed to be staring right at him, a low growl emanating from deep within its chest.
Blake's pulse quickened. He gripped the dagger tighter, the blade cold and unfamiliar in his hand. He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't know what this creature was or what it wanted, but he wasn't about to stand there and find out.
Before he could react, the creature lunged.
Blake moved on instinct, ducking just in time as the creature's claws scraped across the stone where he had been standing a second ago. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding its next strike. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
The creature snarled, spinning around toface him again. Blake's thoughts were a blur—he had to act. But how? The dagger was small, not nearly enough to take down something like this. Still, he wasn't without options. The only thing he could do was fight.
He lunged forward, slashing with the dagger in an attempt to disorient the creature. His blade met its armored skin, but it barely left a scratch. The creature hissed, swiping its claws again, but Blake was ready this time. He dodged, getting in closer, trying to find an opening.
The fight was a blur of movement, a deadly dance between predator and prey. Blake's breath was ragged, his body screaming with exhaustion, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Blake managed to get behind the creature and drive the dagger deep into a gap between its armored plates. The creature howled in pain, thrashing wildly. Blake held on, pushing the dagger in deeper, until, with a final scream, the creature collapsed to the ground, its body still.
Blake staggered back, panting, covered in sweat and blood. He couldn't believe what had just happened. The creature was dead. He had survived.
For now.
He wiped the blood from his brow, trying to steady his racing heart. But there was no time to rest. He had no idea where he was or how he had ended up in this twisted place, but one thing was clear—this was just the beginning.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in Blake's mind, soft yet clear.
"You have slain an Armored Beetle. You have earned experience."
Blake's head spun. What was this? He looked around, but there was no one in sight.
The voice continued.
**"You have unlocked two skills:
Dodge (Passive) - Level 1
Stab (Active) - Level 1"**
Blake blinked, his hand tightening on the dagger. He had gained skills? He didn't understand how, but it was clear he was in a place where strange things were happening. That, and he wasn't alone in whatever this place was. There were more creatures. More challenges ahead.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He didn't know what these skills meant, but he would figure it out. For now, the only thing he could do was move forward.
"Keep moving."
The words in his mind were clear, a reminder that survival was the first priority. And Blake knew better than anyone that the world was unforgiving. Whatever this place was, he had to face it head-on. His journey had only just begun.