Chapter 7: The Hunter in the Dark

The silence was unnatural.

Nate took slow, careful steps deeper into the Dungeon, his breath steady but tense. Every movement echoed too loudly, each shift of his boots on the stone floor making him feel like he was announcing his presence to something unseen.

The dim glow of mineral veins in the walls barely pushed back the oppressive darkness, leaving deep pockets of shadow where anything could be lurking. He had never felt anything like this before—an endless, suffocating quiet, as if the Dungeon itself was holding its breath.

Or maybe it was waiting.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He forced himself to focus. His eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for anything useful—landmarks, alternate paths, something he could use in case he needed to run. The tunnel ahead stretched into darkness, but he wasn't about to wander blindly.

He needed to think.

If this place was alive, then he had to act like a predator—not prey.

He crouched low, pressing his hand against the cold stone beneath him. The surface was smooth in some areas but rough and uneven in others, as if something had scraped or carved into it. When he moved his fingers further, they brushed against something dry and flaky.

Blood.

It was old, but not too old.

His throat tightened.

Someone fought here.

Or worse—someone died here.

His gaze swept the cavern walls, and that's when he saw them—deep claw marks gouged into the stone. Some were long and jagged, others smaller, but all of them told the same story. Whatever had made them wasn't just strong.

It was fast.

A broken weapon lay nearby, its blade chipped, rusted with age. He reached for it, only to hesitate. There was something just beyond it, half-buried under loose rock.

A corpse.

Nate exhaled slowly, steadying himself before stepping forward. The remains were old—bones stripped clean, armor dented and worn. Time had done its work, but something still felt off.

He crouched beside the corpse, brushing aside loose debris. The bones had deep grooves in them—bite marks. This person hadn't just died.

They had been eaten.

His fingers clenched.

This wasn't just a dangerous place—it was a hunting ground.

Still, he couldn't afford to leave empty-handed. He forced himself to search through the remains. A tattered pouch hung loosely from the corpse's belt. When he pried it open, he found a few dull coins and a small vial filled with thick, murky liquid.

A potion?

He held it up to the faint light, trying to determine if it was still usable. The color was off, but it might still work in an emergency. He tucked it into his belt before checking the rest of the remains.

Then he noticed something else.

Footprints.

Fresh ones.

His chest tightened.

Someone had been here recently.

Or worse—someone was still here.

The silence pressed in on him, heavier than before. The air carried a strange stillness, as if the Dungeon itself was waiting for him to notice.

A low shift in the darkness.

Nate froze.

There was no sound, no warning—just the slightest movement in his peripheral vision. A shadow against the wall, too fluid, too unnatural.

Something was watching him.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white.

Then—

A rush of air.

Fast. Unnaturally fast.

Instinct screamed at him, and he barely twisted in time. Something blurred past him, a gust of wind following in its wake. A sharp, metallic scent filled the air—blood.

His own.

His heart pounded.

Pain flared across his arm—a shallow cut, just above his forearm, warm liquid seeping through the torn fabric of his sleeve. The wound wasn't deep, but it was precise. Whatever had attacked him hadn't missed.

It had tested him.

The realization sent a cold chill through his spine.

This thing wasn't just attacking blindly.

It was toying with him.

His breath came in sharp, controlled exhales. He couldn't panic. He needed to think—fast.

The cavern was too open. Too much space for it to move. If it was fast, then staying in the open would get him killed. He needed cover. A wall to his back, something to limit its angles of attack.

His eyes flicked toward a cluster of jagged rocks near the cavern wall. If he could get there—

Another blur.

This time, he barely dodged. A sharp gust of wind passed within inches of his face, and for a split second, he saw it—

A pair of glowing red eyes.

His blood ran cold.

Not human. Not even close.

A predator.

Something that had already decided he was prey.

The wound on his arm burned, but he forced himself to move, pushing toward the rocky outcrop. His back hit the stone, breath controlled, sword raised.

His mind raced.

How fast was it? How did it move? Could it see in the dark, or was it relying on sound?

He gritted his teeth. He needed to observe before making his next move.

Because right now, this wasn't a fight.

It was a hunt.

And Nate wasn't the hunter.

Not yet.