chapter 5:A Descent into Darkness

Isla's breath tore through her chest as she ran, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst. Every instinct inside her screamed: run. Don't stop. Don't look back. Just run.

The pain in her foot was searing — every step felt like knives stabbing into her skin — but she didn't care. She pushed through it, faster, harder. She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away. She'd heard stories — the kind of stories no one wants to believe are real — and she would not become one of them.

Branches lashed at her arms, tearing at her skin, but she kept going. The sounds of pursuit grew behind her — footsteps crashing through the underbrush. Voices shouting in that strange, foreign language.

And then — pain.

Her head jerked back violently as fingers tangled in her hair and yanked. She screamed, her scalp burning as she was dragged backward. Her knees buckled, the ground rushing up to meet her.

No, no, no!

She clawed at his hands, kicking, twisting — but his grip was iron. The fear inside her turned cold, and panic surged.

"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice cracking. But they wouldn't understand her — she knew that now.

The other two were closing in, their faces unreadable in the flickering moonlight.

And Isla knew — she was out of time.

Isla's knees scraped against the rough ground as the man dragged her back toward the fire. The heat of the flames flickered against her skin, but the cold terror inside her drowned out everything else.

"Please," she begged, her voice shaking. "Please don't hurt me! Let me go — I won't tell anyone!"

Tears streamed down her face, but the men didn't understand her words. They didn't need to. The way they looked at her — with those cruel, amused eyes — told her they were enjoying her fear.

One of them smirked, saying something in that strange language. The sound of it sent a fresh wave of dread through her.

Before she could react, another man stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder. His fingers bit into her skin, hard and unyielding.

"No—!" she cried, trying to twist away, but there was nowhere to go.

The fire crackled behind her, the shadows dancing — and in that instant, Isla realized this nightmare was far from over.

As the man's hand tightened on her shoulder, Isla thrashed, desperate to break free. "No! Please!" she screamed, but it only made them laugh — a low, cruel sound that made her stomach twist.

Before she could react, there was a sharp tug — and the sound of fabric tearing filled the air. Cold night air hit her skin as her shirt ripped apart, and sheer panic flooded her veins.

"Stop!" she sobbed, trying to cover herself, trying to push them away — but they were stronger. The fire's light flickered across their faces, showing nothing but vicious amusement.

She fought. She kicked and scratched, her heart pounding so loud it felt like it would burst — but they didn't stop. And in that moment, Isla realized no one was coming to save her.Isla's mind raced, her body trembling as she tried to push them away. But the fear was so overwhelming, it threatened to choke her. She couldn't stop thinking — I just have to survive. I just have to get out of here alive.

Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as one of them grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her back. The other moved closer, his eyes dark and predatory.

Stay calm, Isla. Think.

Even as the terror surged through her, a strange, cold clarity settled over her thoughts. She knew that fighting too hard might push them over the edge. She knew she couldn't overpower them — but maybe she could outsmart them.

"I—I won't run," she whispered, forcing her voice to shake, hoping they'd mistake it for submission. "Please… just don't hurt me."

The men exchanged glances, one of them smirking. Maybe they didn't understand her words, but her tone seemed to register. The grip on her wrists loosened just slightly.

Now.

Without warning, Isla drove her knee upward — hard. The man in front of her doubled over with a strangled gasp. She twisted free, adrenaline giving her strength, and sprinted into the darkness.

Branches whipped against her bare skin. Her heart pounded so fast it hurt. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

Behind her, furious voices rose — and the sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush followed.

Isla's skin burned from scratches, and the cold night air bit at her exposed body. The branches tore at her arms and legs, but she didn't care. She ran — blind, desperate, half-naked — her only thought was escape.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, and the pounding of her heart echoed in her ears. The sound of footsteps behind her grew louder. They were gaining on her.

"No, no, no…" she whispered through clenched teeth, pushing herself harder.

Her shorts were ripped at the side, the thin fabric flapping against her skin as she moved. Her bare feet stumbled over rocks and roots, but she kept going, ignoring the sharp stings.

The men were shouting behind her, their voices wild and angry — and too close.

Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to stop. She wouldn't let them catch her. She couldn't.

Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath her. Isla's foot caught on something, and she tumbled forward, crashing down a steep slope. She rolled and slid, the world spinning, her body hitting stones and branches until she landed hard at the bottom.

Pain flared through her body, and for a long moment, she couldn't move. She just lay there, gasping, her vision swimming.

The forest above was silent. No voices. No footsteps.

But that silence felt wrong. It felt… watched.

And when she finally pushed herself up onto her elbows, she realized she wasn't alone.one of the men found her

The man's grip on Isla's wrist was bruising, his fingers digging into her skin as she fought and twisted, desperate to break free. Her breath was ragged, her heart slamming against her ribs — but his strength was overwhelming.

"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice raw and panicked.

The man only sneered, yanking her closer. Isla stumbled, nearly falling, but she refused to stop struggling.

And then —

SCHWIK!

It happened so fast she almost didn't process it.

The man's hand — the one gripping her wrist — was suddenly… not attached to his arm.

For a heartbeat, everything was still. Isla stared at the severed limb still clutching her. Blood spurted in violent, rhythmic bursts from the man's arm, and the hand… it didn't let go.

The man made a strange, strangled sound — like his mind hadn't caught up with the reality of his injury. Then he screamed. A terrible, high-pitched wail of agony.

Isla stood frozen, her own scream trapped in her throat as she stared at the dismembered hand on her wrist.

She went blank. Numb. Her vision tunneled.

And that's when she heard it — the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from the shadows of the forest.

The footsteps grew closer, unhurried and calm — like the man walking toward them wasn't approaching a scene of horror. Isla still couldn't move, couldn't think, her eyes fixed on the severed hand clamped around her wrist. She knew she should pull it off, but her fingers wouldn't obey.

The screaming man stumbled backward, clutching the stump of his arm as blood poured out. The other two men were on their feet, weapons drawn — one had a crude-looking sword, the other a jagged knife — both snarling like animals.

And then he stepped into the firelight.

The stranger's face was covered by a dark cloth mask, only his eyes visible — cold, sharp, and dangerous. His clothes were black and fitted, the kind of outfit meant for stealth, and a long, curved blade rested easily in his hand. He didn't speak. He didn't even seem rushed.

The first attacker lunged at him with the sword — and the stranger moved like water.

One fluid step to the side, and the attacker's blade sliced through nothing but air. Before the man could recover, the stranger's own sword flashed — and the attacker crumpled to the ground with a gurgling sound, his throat opened wide.

Isla still unable to tear her eyes away from the blood — so much blood dripping from the severed hand.

The second man was smarter — or at least more cautious. He circled, knife raised, his eyes wary. The stranger just stood there, silent, watching. And then the man with the knife rushed him — fast, brutal — but it didn't matter.

The stranger sidestepped again, his movements impossibly smooth. His blade swung once. The attacker fell, a deep wound carving through his chest.

The only one left was the man with the severed hand. He was still screaming, too lost in pain to even notice his companions' fates — until the stranger turned toward him. Then his eyes went wide with terror. He stumbled backward, trying to run — but the stranger didn't give him the chance.

A single throw — a small, gleaming knife — and the screaming stopped.

The clearing went silent. The fire crackled. The scent of blood filled the air.

Isla still hadn't moved. She still hadn't pulled the hand off her wrist.

The stranger finally turned toward her. His steps were slow, measured. He crouched in front of her, his eyes meeting hers — and only then did she realize how badly she was shaking

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low and calm.

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking a language she could understand. But her throat was too tight, her mind too numb to answer. She just stared at him — the man who had appeared out of nowhere and saved her life.

The man who had killed so easily.