Chapter 22: The Price of Survival

Nathan's breath came in ragged gasps as he lay sprawled on the cold ground of the ravine, his body bruised and torn. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, and he struggled to spit out the taste. His arms ached, his skin raw from the harsh descent, but it was the deep, festering gash across his abdomen that sent waves of sharp pain shooting through him. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his side, soaking into the dirt beneath him.

Beside him, Enoch groaned, clutching his own bleeding leg. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "We can't… stay here," Enoch managed to choke out, trying to pull himself upright.

Nathan wanted to respond, but his voice failed him. His throat felt like it was closing, each breath growing shallower as panic took hold. The reality of their situation weighed down on him—trapped in this hellish ravine, surrounded by the decaying dead, with nowhere to run. The ravine's steep walls loomed over them, impossibly high, and any hope of climbing out had long since evaporated.

The stench of rotting flesh was overpowering. Nathan gagged, his stomach lurching as he looked around. The ground was littered with bodies—some fresh, others reduced to skeletal remains. Their hollow eyes stared up at the sky, frozen in eternal terror. Maggots writhed within the sunken cavities of their faces, devouring what little flesh remained. The scene was grotesque, nightmarish, a graveyard forgotten by time and mercy.

A loud crack echoed through the ravine, jolting Nathan back to the present. He turned his head sharply, searching for the source of the noise. The creature that had chased them still lingered at the edge of the ravine, pacing back and forth. Its glowing yellow eyes fixated on them, hunger evident in its predatory movements. It let out a low, guttural growl, frustrated that its prey had escaped its reach.

"Damn it, it's still up there," Enoch whispered, his voice trembling. "We're sitting ducks if it finds a way down."

Nathan grimaced, pushing himself onto his elbows. His muscles screamed in protest, and he nearly collapsed again from the pain. "We need to move…find cover," he gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

The ravine was a death trap, but staying in the open wasn't an option. Every minute they lingered, the creature above became bolder, its patience thinning. Nathan scanned the ravine's walls for any sign of shelter. His gaze fell on a small cave nestled at the base of the rocky incline, partially hidden behind a thicket of twisted roots.

"There," Nathan pointed, his voice barely more than a rasp. "We can hide in that cave."

Enoch nodded grimly, pulling himself to his feet with great effort. He hobbled toward Nathan, offering his hand. Nathan took it, the pain in his abdomen flaring as he struggled to stand. Together, they limped toward the cave, their bodies weak and battered, but their will to survive pushing them forward.

As they neared the entrance, a chill ran down Nathan's spine. The air seemed to grow colder, heavier, with each step. The darkness inside the cave beckoned to them, swallowing the faint light that filtered through the trees above. The closer they got, the more Nathan's instincts screamed at him to turn back, to stay away from whatever lay within the depths of the cave.

But they had no choice. It was hide, or die.

They ducked inside, the cave's walls narrowing around them as they moved deeper into the darkness. The sound of their footsteps echoed hollowly, and Nathan's heart raced as the oppressive silence closed in. His breathing was labored, every inhale sharp and shallow. Something felt wrong here—very wrong.

"I hate this place," Enoch muttered, his voice shaking. "It's like we're walking straight into the devil's mouth."

Nathan nodded in agreement, though his throat was too dry to respond. The further they ventured into the cave, the colder it became. The walls seemed to pulse with a strange, unnatural energy, a low hum that vibrated in Nathan's bones. His skin prickled with unease, every nerve on high alert.

As they rounded a corner, the cave opened into a small chamber. Nathan's heart nearly stopped when he saw what awaited them.

In the center of the room, sprawled across the cold stone floor, was a man. Or at least, what remained of one. His body was emaciated, his skin stretched thin over sharp bones. Deep gashes and open sores covered his limbs, oozing black pus that stank of rot. His eyes, sunken and glazed, were fixed on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths.

"Dear god," Enoch whispered, stepping back in horror. "Is he still alive?"

Nathan knelt down beside the man, wincing at the stench that assaulted his senses. The man's lips were dry and cracked, his skin a sickly shade of gray. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days, maybe weeks. His breath came in wet, rattling gasps, and Nathan could see the life slipping away from him with each passing second.

"Help… me," the man wheezed, his voice barely audible. His eyes rolled toward Nathan, filled with a desperate, pleading look. "Kill… me."

Nathan's stomach churned. He glanced at Enoch, who stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. This man was suffering—trapped in a living nightmare, too weak to even move, his body ravaged by the horrors of this place.

"We can't leave him like this," Nathan said, his voice strained. "We have to help him."

But there was no helping him. Not here. Not in this forsaken place where death clung to everything.

The man's hand twitched, reaching for Nathan, but his strength failed him. He let out a low, pained moan, his body trembling. His eyes, once filled with terror, began to glaze over, the life in them fading to nothing.

Nathan swallowed hard, knowing what needed to be done. His hands shook as he reached for the knife at his side, the blade slick with dried blood. He knelt beside the man, his chest tightening with a deep, overwhelming sadness. There was no hope here—only death.

With one swift motion, Nathan drove the blade into the man's heart.

The man's body convulsed violently, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, there was only silence—the terrible, suffocating kind that crushed the air from Nathan's lungs. And then, it was over. The man's body went still, his final breath escaping in a quiet, wheezing sigh.

Nathan pulled the knife free, his hands slick with blood. He stared down at the man's lifeless body, his stomach twisted with guilt and revulsion. Was this what they had been reduced to? Killing strangers in the dark to spare them the suffering?

Enoch said nothing, his face pale as he stared at the corpse. Nathan wiped the blade on his torn shirt, the blood staining the fabric a deep crimson. He could feel the weight of the act pressing down on him, the realization that they were no better than the monsters that hunted them.

As they turned to leave the cave, Nathan caught a glimpse of something scrawled on the cave wall. Words, written in dried blood, barely legible in the faint light:

"The price of survival is death. The longer you stay, the more it takes."

Nathan's heart sank. There was no escape. Not from this place. Not from the things they would become.