The Hunted

Click.

Julian let out a triumphant, almost smug, "Ha! Told you. Titanium."

Elias barely had a second to process the absurdity of the moment before Julian shoved him inside, yanking the heavy door shut behind them.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

The only light came from thin slivers leaking through the cracks around the door, casting faint, eerie lines across the room. Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed by their hurried entrance, and the scent of mothballs and old wood filled Elias's nose. The space was cluttered with forgotten furniture and stacks of mystery boxes, their contents long abandoned to time.

Then—

A loud thud against the door.

Elias jolted.

Then another.

Slow, deliberate scratches raked against the metal. The hellhounds were still there. Waiting.

Elias slumped against the door, his legs barely holding him up. His breath came in sharp gasps, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He glanced over at Julian, who—unbelievably—was casually inspecting the room, hands on his hips, like he was deciding which couch would look best in his living room.

"Okay," Elias said between ragged breaths, wiping sweat off his brow. "I'll bite. What's the plan now, MacGyver?"

Without even looking up, Julian replied, "We wait."

Elias blinked. Then blinked again.

"Wait?!" His voice pitched up an octave. "Wait for what? For those things to get tired and leave? For someone to come by and politely ask them to stop trying to eat us?!" He flung a hand toward the door. "Because I gotta say, not really feeling great about the whole 'trapped with monsters outside' situation!"

Julian, still maddeningly calm, pointed to the doorframe. "They can't get in."

Elias squinted at the spot he was indicating. Along the edges of the metal, faint carvings stretched in an intricate, ancient pattern. Greek, maybe?

"What—what is that?" he asked, dread creeping into his voice.

"A ward," Julian said simply. "Protection. They can't cross it."

Elias let out a strained laugh—the kind that happened when the brain just gave up on processing things. "Oh, great. Warded. Fantastic. You mean, like... with magic?" He dragged both hands down his face. "No, wait. Don't answer that. My brain is on strike. No more magic tonight."

Outside, a deep, guttural growl rattled the air. The hellhounds weren't giving up just yet.

Elias groaned and slid down to sit on the dusty floor. "I should've just gone home and watched Netflix."

Then he heard a bang against the door that was so loud it rattled the walls. He nearly jumped out of his skin, slamming his back against the metal.

The snarls outside had deepened—angrier now, hungrier. The scratching turned into full-blown clawing, metal groaning under the assault.

"Are you sure about that 'warded' thing?!" Elias all but yelped, his voice climbing way higher than he'd like to admit.

Julian looked sure—for about half a second. Then his brow furrowed, and he stepped closer to the door, running his fingers over the symbols. "Mostly sure."

Elias stared. "Mostly sure?! There's a pack of nightmare hellbeasts outside, and you're giving me 'mostly'?!"

Julian ignored him, fingers tracing over a section of the ward. His expression darkened. "Huh."

"'Huh'? No, no 'huh'! 'Huh' is a terrible thing to say right now! What do you mean, 'huh'?!"

Another bang—louder, harder. The door buckled inward, dust sifting from the ceiling. The snarls had taken on a deeper, almost… warlike rhythm. Like the hellhounds were working together.

Julian took a step back, muttering under his breath. "That's new."

"NEW IS BAD!" Elias practically shrieked. "New is very, very bad! We need a plan! A better plan! A plan that involves less 'ancient wards' and more 'running very far away'!"

Julian finally—finally—seemed to acknowledge the rapidly worsening situation. His eyes darted around the room, fast, scanning for anything useful. Then his gaze landed on something in the corner.

A freight elevator.

It looked old. Rusted. The kind of elevator that screamed You will absolutely die if you step inside me. Its doors were grimy, the cables thick with age and dust, but… it was still standing. Maybe it worked.

Julian pointed. "There! That might work!"

Elias turned, saw what he was pointing at, then turned back to glare. "'Might'?! No, no 'might'! 'Might' is the same energy as 'mostly sure'! I need a definitely, an absolutely, or at least a probably with a 99% survival rate!"

But Julian was already moving. He crossed the room in three quick strides, bow clutched in one hand, and jammed his thumb against the elevator's call button.

Nothing happened.

A long, excruciating silence.

Julian jabbed the button again. Then again. Then again.

The elevator remained as lifeless as Elias's faith in their survival.

"Oh, come on!" Julian smacked the panel, fingers fumbling over the faded buttons, tracing the exposed wiring like he could will it to work through sheer frustration.

Meanwhile, Elias was living through the worst horror movie of all time. A horror movie where the monsters were real, the escape plans were improvised at best, and the only person who seemed remotely prepared was a teenager armed with nothing but a bow, some ancient knowledge, and an alarming level of confidence in hairpins.

Another crash shook the door, so hard Elias swore he saw the metal bend. His entire soul attempted to evacuate hisoutsid

Then—

With the most excruciating groan Elias had ever heard in his life, the elevator moved.

Its ancient gears shrieked and rattled like they hadn't been used since the invention of elevators, but somehow—miraculously—the doors began to slide open.

Slowly. Agonizingly. Painfully.

Julian let out a breath. "Well, it's not the penthouse suite," he said, voice light with forced nonchalance, "but it'll have to do."

Elias stared at him. Then at the elevator. Then back at Julian.

"You're assuming it actually works." He gestured vaguely at the rusted interior. "That thing looks like it's held together with duct tape and prayers."

Another boom from the door—this one accompanied by the gut-wrenching screech of metal warping under pressure.

Elias stiffened. His gaze darted to the door. Then the elevator. Then back to the door. Then back to the elevator.

He took a deep breath. Then, with all the grace of a man barely keeping it together, he gestured grandly to the open elevator.

"After you."

Julian shot him a knowing smirk. "How chivalrous."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. I just want to see if it eats you first."

With a shrug—like stepping into a death-trap elevator while being hunted by hellhounds was just another Tuesday—Julian stepped inside.

Elias followed, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. The doors shuddered, then creaked shut, the sliver of dim light narrowing until it was just them, the faint hum of old machinery, and the muffled sound of claws scraping against the door outside.

The button lit up under Julian's finger, but the elevator remained stubbornly still—like it was personally offended by the idea of doing actual work.

For a long, painful moment, the only sounds were the faint scratching and growling from the storage room door—a reminder that very bad things were still out there, probably foaming at the mouth.

Then, with the enthusiasm of an ancient beast waking from a hundred-year nap, the elevator lurched to life.

Elias promptly lost his balance and staggered backward into a stack of boxes, sending up a choking cloud of dust.

Fantastic. He was going to die either from a hellhound attack or an asthma attack—whichever got to him first.

The elevator climbed at a pace that could generously be described as elderly. Every few seconds, it groaned, shuddering under its own weight like it desperately wanted to retire.

Elias gripped the railing, knuckles white. "Tell me this thing is safe."

Julian, notably not clinging for dear life, shrugged. "Safe enough."

"Safe enough?" Elias hissed. "That's not what I want to hear while suspended over an empty shaft, Julian! I want 'completely safe,' or at least 'mostly safe with a 10% chance of catastrophe!'"

Julian didn't respond. He was fiddling with something small and metallic, turning it over in his fingers. It caught the dim light for a second—a glint of silver against his palm.

Elias narrowed his eyes. "What is that?"

"Failsafe," Julian muttered, still examining it.

Elias squinted. "Failsafe for what? In case the elevator drops? In case the hellhounds learn how to use buttons? In case the building suddenly becomes haunted?!"

Julian, deadpan: "All of the above."

Elias inhaled sharply. "You cannot just say things like that and expect me to be okay with them!"

The elevator, groaning in protest, continued its sluggish ascent. Every shudder, every creak, every concerning clunk made Elias more convinced that this was how he died. Not in some noble act of heroism. Not even as monster chow. But in a rusty deathbox that hadn't been inspected since the dawn of time.

Just as he was about to start making peace with his maker, the elevator jerked to a stop. The doors wheezed open, sluggish and reluctant, revealing…

A hallway.

A completely normal, completely uneventful hallway.

Elias stared at it. Then at Julian. Then back at the hallway.

"Well," he muttered. "That's anticlimactic."

The hallway stretched before them like something out of a bad horror movie—dim, narrow, and filled with the unmistakable scent of no one has cleaned this place since the '80s. Peeling wallpaper curled at the edges, as if trying to escape whatever misfortune had befallen the building. A single flickering light overhead completed the aesthetic, casting erratic shadows that did absolutely nothing to ease Elias's rapidly worsening anxiety.

But hey—at least there weren't any hellhounds.

Yet.

Elias exhaled sharply, his lungs still working overtime from their frantic escape. His hands were shaking. His entire existence was shaking. "Okay," he croaked, "where are we?"

Julian turned in a slow circle, his expression unreadable. "Not sure."

Elias stared at him. "We took one elevator, right! We should be in a place that has a name! Like 'lobby' or 'roof' or—"

A deep, metallic clang rang out from behind them.

Elias froze.

That was the elevator shaft.

Then came the growls.

Julian muttered a curse under his breath, spinning back toward the elevator. In one fluid motion, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the small metallic object he'd been fiddling with earlier, and slapped it onto the inside panel.

"What—what are you doing?!" Elias hissed.

Julian didn't answer. He pressed something on the device—a quick click, a barely audible hum. Then, without waiting for further questions, he turned on his heel and grabbed Elias by the arm. "Now we run."

Elias, already at peak stress levels, let out a strangled noise of frustration. "What did you just do?!"

"Failsafe," Julian said, yanking him forward. "If they follow us in, they'll regret it."

Elias didn't love how vague that was.

They bolted.

Down the hallway, past doors with faded numbers, their footsteps pounding against the grimy floor. No time to think. No time to plan. Just move.

Somewhere behind them, claws scraped against metal.

Then something heavy thudded onto solid ground.

They weren't just in the building.

The hellhounds were inside it, too.

They crashed through the stairwell door, nearly tripping over each other in their desperation to keep moving. The stairs spiraled downward in an endless, shadowy descent, every step slick with dust that probably hadn't been disturbed in years—until now, when two very motivated individuals were barreling down at breakneck speed.

"Down!" Julian shouted, already launching himself two steps at a time like some kind of parkour prodigy.

Elias—who, for the record, had spent his adult life in an operating room, not an action movie—stumbled after him, his thighs screaming in protest. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. He wasn't built for this! He was a surgeon, not a sprinter! The only time he moved this fast was when someone was literally flatlining!

The stairwell twisted endlessly, but finally—finally—they burst through another door and stumbled into a wide-open space.

Reception desk. Rows of empty chairs. The flickering buzz of a dying overhead light.

None of it mattered.

Because right ahead—glorious, shining like salvation—was the exit.

A breathless, incredulous laugh almost escaped Elias.

They made it.

Then Julian skidded to a halt so fast Elias nearly plowed into him.

"What are you—" Elias's words cut off as his gaze snapped to the door. The locked, very locked, ridiculously locked door.

Because of course it was.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Elias threw up his hands, eyes darting around for anything useful. "How does every exit in this building require a master thief or a wrecking ball?!"

Julian, unfazed, pulled out his trusty hairpin.

Elias stared at him. "Oh, come on."

"It works," Julian muttered, already jamming the pin into the lock.

"You cannot—" Elias dragged both hands down his face. "Are you planning to pick every lock in New York City with that thing?"

"If I have to, yeah."

Elias turned away, pacing furiously as he tried to ignore the inevitable sound of claws scraping against the stairwell door. They weren't safe yet.

Then—

Click.

A glorious, beautiful, life-saving click.

Julian shoved the door open, and cold night air slapped Elias in the face.

Streetlights. Distant honking. The low hum of a city that wasn't currently being hunted by supernatural murder dogs.

Elias stumbled forward, bracing his hands on his knees, lungs howling in protest. His entire body shook, muscles on the verge of staging a violent rebellion.

He glanced up at Julian. Who looked... fine. Not even winded.

Elias squinted at him. "What are you made of?"

Julian shrugged. "A balanced diet and regular cardio?"

Elias groaned, slumping against the nearest building. "I hate you."

And then—

BANG...

Not a normal bang. Not a distant car backfiring, not the usual city clatter. This was deep, thunderous—a sound that vibrated through the pavement, rattling Elias's bones.

The elevator.

It had dropped.

A split second of silence hung in the air, thick with finality.

Then came the howls.

Echoing up through the shattered remains of the building. Rising, twisting, inhuman. A chorus of fury and frustration, cut off by a final, violent crash as the wreckage settled.

Julian exhaled slowly. "Failsafe worked."

Elias turned to stare at him, still catching his breath. "Failsafe?!" He jabbed a finger at the building. "That was your failsafe? Letting an entire elevator drop like an iron coffin?!"

Julian shrugged. "Seemed effective."

Elias made a strangled noise, pressing his hands to his temples. "I don't know whether to thank you or strangle you."

Julian flashed him a smirk. "I'd appreciate the former."

Another howl, more distant this time.

Elias swallowed hard, straightened, and took a shaky step forward. "We need to go. Now."

Julian didn't argue.

They slipped into the night, leaving behind nothing but the dust, the ruin, and the furious howls of creatures trapped far below.

The moment Elias spotted a taxi, all sense of self-preservation went out the window. He stumbled into the street, arms flailing, his desperate wave teetering dangerously close to full-body sacrifice.

The cab screeched to a stop just inches from flattening him, its driver—a grizzled man with the tired, unimpressed look of someone who had absolutely seen worse—barely even reacting.

"Mount Sinai!" Elias wheezed, yanking the door open and throwing himself inside. "And step on it!"

Julian slid in beside him with significantly more composure, shutting the door just as the driver pulled into traffic.

The man glanced at them through the rearview mirror, unimpressed. "You boys running from the cops or the devil?"

"Bit of both," Elias muttered, head thunking against the seat.

The city lights blurred past, the distant honk of taxis and muffled chatter of normal people creating a strange, dissonant contrast to whatever fresh nightmare they had just escaped. Elias wanted to believe it was over, that they could breathe again, but the tension in Julian's posture said otherwise.

"You think we lost them?" Elias asked, cautiously hopeful.

"For now," Julian murmured. His fingers tapped absently against his knee. "But they'll be back. They always come back."

Elias shuddered. "Fantastic. A recurring hellhound problem. Just what I needed."

He let out a long breath, trying to force his brain to cooperate. The panic was ebbing, replaced by something more insidious—confusion. The hellhounds hadn't just been rampaging. They had been hunting. Chasing them with an almost eerie sense of purpose.

"Why the hell were they even after us?" Elias muttered.

"Excellent question," Julian said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'd really like to know that too."

"You mean you don't know?" Elias squinted at him. "Julian. You showed up out of nowhere, in a park, with a bow, acting like you had this whole monster-hunting thing under control, and now you're telling me you're as confused as I am?"

Julian's jaw tightened. "I never said I had it under control."

Elias stared at him, waiting. Julian exhaled sharply.

"I was supposed to find someone at Carl Schurz Park," he admitted. "That's where I was ambushed by a hellhound."

Elias blinked. "Wait, wait, wait. So you're saying you were trying to find someone, but instead, you found me, and then the hellhounds attacked?"

Julian nodded slowly.

"And now they won't stop chasing us."

Another nod.

"Which means—" Elias let out a humorless laugh, "—either these things have a very specific taste in surgeons, or I just accidentally stole someone else's appointment with doom."

Julian exhaled sharply, something between a sigh and a laugh. "Honestly? At this point, I wouldn't be surprised."

A silence stretched between them. The weight of the situation settled into Elias's chest like a stone. The hellhounds weren't just acting randomly. They had a target.

And if Julian was meant to find someone else, then it wasn't Julian.

It was him.

Elias swallowed hard. "Okay, but why would hellhounds be after me?"

Julian hesitated. Then, slowly, he said, "Hellhounds serve Hades."

Elias stared at him. "...You think Hades sent them?"

"I don't know," Julian admitted, his brows furrowing. "But if hellhounds are tracking you specifically, then either you pissed off the god of the underworld, or…" He trailed off.

Elias waited. "Or what?"

Julian didn't answer right away. His fingers twitched against his knee again, his mind clearly working through a theory he wasn't sure he liked.

"Or someone else sent them," Julian finally said. "Someone with enough power to command creatures that are supposed to be loyal to the Underworld."

Elias didn't like the sound of that. Not one bit.

"Great," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "So it's either the king of the dead himself or an even bigger problem. Fan-freaking-tastic."

Julian didn't argue.