The Hunt Begins

The lights died.

Not like a flickering candle. Not like a slow fade into blackness.

No—they were snuffed out instantly, like something had swallowed them whole.

And with them, the world fell into an absolute, choking void.

Xyro's body tensed. His breathing slowed, controlled. His ears strained for anything—movement, breath, the scrape of something shifting in the dark.

Nothing.

Then—

A whisper.

Low. Wet. Too close.

"…run…"

A cold jolt shot through Xyro's spine. That voice—it wasn't Zkarn.

And it wasn't the broken man from before.

This was something else.

Something that shouldn't exist.

A presence loomed in the dark, huge, shifting. The air around them thickened, pressing against his ribs like unseen hands.

Zkarn exhaled, amused. "Ah. You heard it, didn't you?"

Xyro didn't answer. His grip on his dagger was tight, his fingers itching to strike at something—even if he couldn't see it.

A sound rippled through the void.

Not footsteps. Not breathing.

Something dragging.

A slow, deliberate movement, like flesh pulling against stone.

Xyro's pulse thundered in his ears. The space around them had changed. He could feel it. The walls had stretched, the air had grown colder, and something else was here now.

Something hunting them.

Zkarn clicked his tongue, the only one seemingly unfazed. "You really should take my advice."

Xyro's jaw tightened. "And that is?"

Zkarn grinned in the dark. "Run."

Then, the world exploded.

The air itself shattered as the sound of something massive rushed toward them.

Xyro didn't think.

He moved.

His boots slammed against the ground as he lunged forward, instinct overriding thought. The space was shifting around him—walls where there had been none, corridors splitting apart, twisting in unnatural patterns.

Behind him, the sound of something enormous colliding with the floor sent a violent tremor through the space.

Zkarn's laugh rang out in the dark. "Oh, it's fast."

Xyro didn't turn back. He didn't need to. The presence behind him was growing, a suffocating, crawling thing pressing in from all sides.

He needed to move. Faster.

His lungs burned as he sprinted down the corridor that hadn't been there before, the floor shifting beneath his feet. The architecture was alive, reshaping itself, turning in on itself.

A predator's den.

And they were trapped inside.

A sharp tug yanked at his wrist.

Zkarn.

He had grabbed him mid-run, pulling him into a sudden, impossible turn—through a wall that shouldn't have existed.

Xyro barely had time to react before he wasn't running anymore.

He was falling.

The drop wasn't long. But it wasn't normal either.

Xyro's body landed too softly. The ground beneath him felt… wrong. Not stone. Not sand.

Something with give.

Something that moved.

His breath came fast as he pushed himself upright, his fingers pressing into the surface beneath him.

Not ground.

Not fabric.

Flesh.

Xyro's stomach lurched as he scrambled back. The entire floor was alive.

A slow, pulsing membrane stretched beneath him, breathing with an unseen rhythm. Each movement sent ripples through the space, as if the walls themselves were… reacting.

Zkarn landed beside him with a casual ease, unfazed as ever.

"Well. That was fun."

Xyro wasn't listening. His eyes were scanning the space, every nerve in his body on fire.

This wasn't a hallway.

It was a chamber.

The walls—if they could even be called that—curved outward like the inside of a ribcage, fleshy, lined with something darker beneath the surface. The air was thick, damp, carrying the faint scent of something rotting, something waiting.

Zkarn hummed, dusting off his coat. "Looks like we made it inside."

Xyro turned sharply. "Inside what?"

Zkarn gave him a slow, amused look, then gestured toward the space ahead of them. "See for yourself."

Xyro's stomach twisted as he followed Zkarn's gaze.

And for the first time, he truly understood.

They weren't in a room.

They were inside the thing that had been chasing them.

The realization slammed into him like a physical force. The walls, the pulsing flesh, the rhythmic breathing—

They had been consumed.

Zkarn exhaled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Honestly. You really are terrible at running."

Xyro didn't respond. He was too busy staring at what lay ahead.

Because something was waiting.

In the center of the chamber, nestled between curling spines of organic material, was a door.

But not the one they had entered through.

This one was different.

It was built from something dark, something twisted and old. Jagged, uneven edges, pulsing veins of light snaking through its surface.

A door that was meant to be locked.

And now, it was slowly opening.

Xyro's breath came fast. His body screamed to move, to stop it—

But Zkarn just smiled.

"Now things get interesting."

The door yawned open.

And something stepped through.

At first, it looked like a man.

A tall, lean figure, wrapped in something dark, something fluid. Its arms were too long, its movements slow, deliberate—like it was remembering how to walk.

But Xyro's breath caught as the light hit its face.

It had no face.

Just a smooth, empty surface, its skin shifting in subtle, unreadable ripples.

It stopped just beyond the threshold, its featureless head tilting slightly—as if listening.

And then, in a voice far too familiar, it spoke.

"Xyro."

Xyro froze.

His name. It had said his name.

His pulse thundered, his grip tightening on the dagger, but he didn't move. Couldn't.

The thing took another step forward, the air warping around its presence.

Then—

Its face began to change.

Slowly, methodically, the surface of its head twisted, stretched, pulling at itself. Features began to form. A mouth. Eyes.

His mouth. His eyes.

Xyro's stomach twisted as he found himself staring at his own reflection.

It wasn't just copying his face.

It was him.

Zkarn exhaled through his nose. "Huh. I was hoping for something more original."

The creature's lips curled into a perfect replica of Xyro's smirk.

"Why do you run from yourself?" it asked.

Xyro didn't answer. His body was screaming to move, but his mind was caught in the horror of the thing standing in front of him.

Because it wasn't just mirroring his face now.

It was remembering him.

The way his fingers twitched when he was on edge. The slight shift in his stance when he was ready to fight.

And then—it moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Xyro barely had time to react before the thing was in front of him, its hand lunging toward his throat. He twisted, his instincts kicking in, bringing the dagger up in a sharp, defensive arc.

The blade connected—

And passed right through.

His balance wavered, the force of his own strike sending him stumbling backward.

The thing didn't flinch. Didn't react.

It just smiled.

And this time, it wasn't his own expression.

It was something else.

Something… worse.

"This isn't your first time here."

The words weren't spoken. They were pressed into his skull, sinking into his thoughts like something ancient, something that had always been there.

His breath came fast. His chest ached. His head spun.

What did it mean?

The creature's voice lowered, softer now. "You've forgotten, haven't you?"

Xyro's vision blurred.

For a split second—

A flash.

A memory that wasn't there before.

Blood on his hands. A door swinging shut. A voice—his own voice—whispering something he couldn't hear.

Then it was gone.

Ripped away before he could grasp it.

His knees almost buckled.

No. No, this wasn't real.

He steeled himself, his breath ragged but controlled. This thing was lying. Manipulating. It had to be.

Zkarn, who had been watching like a spectator at a particularly amusing performance, finally sighed.

"As much fun as this is," he mused, "we should probably go."

The creature tilted its head, still mirroring Xyro's movements with terrifying accuracy.

Zkarn rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know how this ends."

The thing stilled.

For the first time, it looked away from Xyro.

And for the first time, Xyro saw a flicker of something else in its featureless expression.

Fear.

Zkarn grinned.

"You're not the only thing lurking in here, are you?"

The air shifted.

A deep, distant rumbling vibrated through the walls.

Xyro's pulse spiked.

Something else was coming.

And the thing in front of him—the thing wearing his face—knew it.

Zkarn clapped a hand on Xyro's shoulder, startling him.

"Time to move, partner."

Xyro didn't argue.

He ran.