The Harrowing

Walking away from the desk, the wind carried ominous whispers before fading into the distance. The words no longer lingered as a new voice entered his ears. Lenny's. He was hurrying to catch up, his steps uneven as he rushed to enter the cave alongside Soren.

"Sorr, wait for me."

Soren glanced back and saw the worn-down figure of the 25-year-old man taking long strides to close the distance. He didn't look the same as he had just a few days ago. Dark bags sagged under his eyes, and one of them was bloodshot. He looked like he had just stumbled out of a war, searching for something familiar—someone familiar.

That someone was Soren.

Soren hesitated, unsure whether to comment on Lenny's deteriorating state. Instead, he simply said, "Lenny..."

But just as his name left Soren's lips, something else caught his eye.

A figure stood behind Lenny—a man even more worn down. His fingers spasmed uncontrollably, grasping at something unseen. His bald head reflected the dim lighting, his posture hunched forward. He appeared to be around the same age as Lenny, but the way he moved felt completely unnatural.

Then their eyes met.

The man smiled.

A chill ran through Soren's spine. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

The man's gums were bleeding. Thick rivulets of red stained his yellowed teeth, his smile widening into something grotesque. His eyes locked onto Soren—not with aggression, but something deeper. Something unhinged.

Lenny's voice snapped him out of it. "What were you about to say?"

Soren shook his head, forcing himself to refocus. When he looked again, Lenny was still there—but something about him had changed. His shoulders sagged, his breathing was heavier, and the faint smile he wore now looked strained, as if he were forcing himself to appear fine.

It was as if something inside him was clawing for release, yet he held it back with sheer willpower.

"No, nothing. Never mind."

The harrowing man was not an unfamiliar sight. People teetering on the edge of madness often had that look—like their soul had cracked, leaving something unnatural behind.

Without acknowledging him further, Soren and Lenny continued into the cave system. By sheer luck, they were once again assigned to the same mining site.

As they headed deeper, Soren felt it again.

The same sensation.

The same suffocating feeling he had while staring out of the family SUV's window that night—watching the dark woods stare back.

Someone's watching me.

They passed multiple workers along the way. Most appeared normal—drained, tired, but functioning. Yet every now and then, faint whispers echoed through the damp walls, following them deeper into the tunnels.

The unseen gaze weighed heavier on Soren's neck.

He stole glances at the workers, but no one was looking at him. No one met his gaze.

Until he saw it.

The man from outside was walking behind them.

He wasn't close, but not far enough either. He tried to blend into the crowd, but his eyes betrayed him—peering over another worker's shoulder, too filled with something unnatural.

Soren's chest tightened.

No matter the reason, running wasn't an option. If he tried, he'd be as good as dead—whether by the guards or the thing stalking him.

The best option was to keep distance and come up with a plan.

Just as he considered his next move, a weight landed on his shoulder.

A hand.

Not aggressive. Not tight. But heavy—as if the pressure alone was meant to remind him he was trapped.

The bloodlust in the man's eyes was gone—but in its place was something just as disturbing.

Soren turned his head slowly, his breath catching in his throat.

He froze.

The hand gripping his shoulder belonged to the very man who had been following them.

Soren studied his face. There was no malice, no hostility—only an uncanny aura that radiated something deeply wrong.

In Soren's mind, his primal instincts screamed to run.

But his body wouldn't move.

Then, the man spoke.

His tone was oddly normal.

"Are you also heading to section 3-2? We should go together."

Soren's breath was steady, but his mind was racing.

The man looked normal now. Just a worn-down worker. No bloodlust, no eerie grin.

But less than ten seconds ago, Soren had felt like prey.

Lenny must have noticed the tension, because he suddenly stepped in.

"You know, we have to get some stuff from 3-3," Lenny said smoothly. "You'd be late if you waited for us. Just go ahead without us."

For a split second, the man's smile faltered.

It was subtle—but Soren caught it.

Like he had forgotten to keep up the mask.

Then, just as quickly, he recovered.

His expression softened, and he gave a low, apologetic chuckle.

"Ah, I see. Well, see you later then."

The man didn't linger after speaking; he simply walked past Lenny and Soren. Neither of them moved. Both were startled by the encounter, but something else had changed.

Lenny no longer looked the same as before. His breathing had become heavier, as if each inhale was a conscious effort. Soren had noticed this throughout the week—every time they met, Lenny seemed to stray further from the first impression he had given off.

The harrowing man had already disappeared deep into the cave, leaving no trace behind. Soren and Lenny exchanged a glance before deciding to move. Standing around too long might attract a guard's attention.

"We better get going now," Lenny said, his voice apathetic, almost distant.

With that, they headed toward mining section 3-2.

The area was a vast cavern, an open space carved inside the cave. Workers lined the edges, some chipping away at the walls, others digging deeper into the rock, creating new paths in search of more minerals.

At the entrance, Soren and Lenny picked up their pickaxes. They made their way to the eastern side of the cavern, where fewer workers were stationed.

The rhythmic clinking of metal on stone filled the air as they hacked away at the black outer mantle of the cave walls. Occasionally, sharp, orange-glowing bricks jutted out from the dark stone. These minerals were their target, even harder to break than the cave's mantle itself.

Yet, as Soren worked, an uneasy sensation crawled up his spine.

The harrowing man was still there.

Somewhere in the open cavern, his bloodlust-filled gaze crept onto Soren's neck—briefly, yet often enough to make his skin crawl.

But it never lingered for long.

Soren paused, stepping back from the wall. His arms ached from the relentless swinging of his pickaxe, but that wasn't why he needed a break.

It was the bloodlust.

That constant, nerve-cracking pressure digging into his spine. It never lasted long, yet each time it struck, it felt more deliberate.

He set his pickaxe down beside him. Lenny noticed and did the same.

Soren turned, his marble-black eyes scanning the dimly lit cavern.

Then, he saw it.

There he was again.

The Harrowing Man stood in the middle of the cavern.

His arms were stretched wide, his fingers dangling limply in the damp air. His body faced west, rigid and still. But his head...

Hung backward.

A grotesque bend, as if snapped at the base, yet still attached.

His eyes remained closed. Yet somehow, Soren felt it.

Felt them boring into him.

Another worker rushed toward the harrowing man, his footsteps hurried, his voice frantic.

"Idiot! Don't just stand there, or they'll kill you! Here—take your pickaxe!"

The harrowing man's eyes snapped open.

Then—

A sound that shouldn't exist.

A piercing, ear-bleeding screech ripped through the cavern.

Before anyone could react, his left hand lashed out—too fast, too precise.

A single, clean swipe across the other worker's abdomen.

The sound was repulsive. Horrid. Like wet meat slamming onto a desk.

For a moment, the worker just stood there. His breathing ragged. His hands shaking.

Slowly, he raised them.

They were painted red.

His intestines spilled from the gaping wound—one after another, thick and heavy, like ropes unraveling from a frayed knot.

Only then did his brain seem to catch up to reality.

He tried to scream.

But nothing came.

Only a wet, gargling noise as blood flooded his throat.

His lips trembled.

Then, he collapsed.

He didn't move again.

A second. In just a second, the man's fate was sealed. It all felt so numb.

People turned their gazes toward the center of the cave, their movements slow, hesitant.

For a moment, everything inside the section fell silent.

Then—

The only sound was pickaxes hitting the ground.

From the corner of Soren's eye, he caught it.

A silver mass moved—blurring through the cavern at an impossible speed, far too fast for its weight.

A silver sword, its blade split by a golden inlay, gleamed as it rose—aimed precisely at the fiend's core.

A clean, piercing strike.

The blade sank deep into its chest.

No resistance. No hesitation.

The fiend jerked once. Then collapsed to the side.

The awakened warrior—clad in silver—pulled the sword free, its surface untarnished by blood.

Without a word, he grabbed the fiend by the collar, then reached for the worker's lifeless body.

Dragging both toward the entrance, away from everyone's sight. 

While walking out the awakened man let out one word in a platonic tone

"Continue"

His tone was flat, emotionless.

Just like that, the workers picked up their tools.

Back to work.

As if nothing had happened.

It felt strange, but not senseless.

Wallowing in despair would only make them deteriorate faster.

The day ended.

Soren lay on his makeshift bed, alone, with no reason to exist other than to pummel a pickaxe against stone.

No purpose. No future. Just labor.

The only thing keeping him company were his own thoughts.

But even they brought no peace.

I... I want to give up.

I'm just too tired. 

But I have to.

I have to survive. 

No matter what.

I have to find a way out.

Even his thoughts were too heavy. Too exhausting to hold onto.

Sleep took him.

A new dawn was breaking.

The twin suns bathed the ground in warmth, preparing it for the trials ahead.

But something was missing.

Lenny was gone.