In the Dark

Luke tried to steady his breath, heart pounding as the guttural growls echoed from the unseen dark. The girl's panicked screams behind him shattered whatever calm he had managed to build.

"AHHH! WHAT ARE THOSE!?"

She tried to bolt, but the chain around her wrist yanked her back violently, slamming her to the floor with a harsh metallic clatter.

"GUYS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? LET'S RUN!" she cried, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. Desperation made her voice shrill, near-hysterical.

Luke turned, his voice calm but firm—anchoring.

"Hey—calm down. I don't know your name, but panicking in the middle of chaos will only get us all killed. We need to think."

His words seemed to cut through the panic like a blade through mist. The girl hesitated, trembling, but nodded slightly.

Just then, Caelan spoke up, eyes scanning their surroundings while his back remained toward them.

"He's right," Caelan said. "Even if that thing is in here, we've got some time. We're near the center of this chamber—the people near the edges will run into it first. That gives us an opening."

He turned his head slightly, enough for Luke to see the hard glint in his eye.

"What we need now is a plan… and numbers. Just the three of us? We're dead."

Caelan gave Luke a glance—not a command, not a plea, but a subtle nod. A warrior's nod. One that said You lead. I'll follow.

Luke didn't hesitate. His mind—sharpened by years of enforced knowledge, yet never once tested like this—kicked into gear.

"We find familiar faces first," Luke said. "We can't watch our backs if we don't know who's behind us."

He didn't say "cellmates." The word didn't feel right. They didn't even have a name for their group—but their faces, their pain, that shared silence in the cell… that would have to be enough.

Caelan gave a brief "Got it," and took off at a sprint into the shadows, the chains on his wrist clinking faintly as he moved. His instincts as a mercenary guided him through the chaos—ducking, dodging, reading movement like a map. Luke and the girl ran just behind him, trusting him with every step.

The dark surged with screams—some from terror, some from dying throats. Figures scrambled blindly in the murk, chains dragging behind them, the scent of sweat and blood growing thicker by the second.

Luke shouted the only name he knew, voice ragged but focused.

"ELARIN!"

A breath.

"ELARIN!"

His voice carried like a flare through the madness.

Somewhere in the dark, ears twitched.

Elarin froze.

That voice—familiar, grounding, real. Her sharp semi pointy ears hearing picked it up through the storm of terror.

Luke...

Her fingers gripped the chain that bound her wrist. Her legs trembled, but she didn't collapse. She turned, eyes scanning wildly through the shifting figures, through the screams and growls.

"LUKE?" she called, weakly at first—then 

stronger. "LUKE!"

Their voices began to thread through the chaos, weaving a path toward one another.

....

Elarins POV

The world went dark in an instant.

Then came the growls—from everywhere. Low, wet, guttural. Like things too big to exist were breathing just out of sight.

She didn't freeze. Her body moved before thought could catch up—driven by instinct, the same kind that had kept her alive long before the chains claimed her wrists.

"Move," she whispered, tugging the links beside her.

Two figures were bound to her: a thin boy with ash-gray hair, eyes wide with dread, and a tall noble-looking boy with jet-black hair and a sneer carved into his face.

She weaved through the chaos, ears twitching with every scream, every footstep, every clang of metal. She wasn't looking for the exit. She was listening for silence, for direction—for Luke.

Then came the voice behind her, twisted with mockery:

"HAHAHAHAHA—WE ARE SO DEAD! AND THIS HALF-ELF BITCH IS LEADING US STRAIGHT TO HELL!"

Her steps faltered for a second. Not because of fear—but because of the word.

Half-elf?

It cracked through her thoughts like lightning. Not a new insult—but a memory. A memory blurred, smudged, suppressed. She saw shadows of people she didn't know and a forest she couldn't name.

But the present roared back.

Now wasn't the time.

She shoved the memory down like a burning coal into water and focused. She couldn't afford to break—not now. Not when the air smelled of death and whatever was growling was already feeding.

That's when she heard it.

"ELARIN!"

A voice. Familiar. Hoarse. Sharp with urgency, but warm.

"LUKE?" she called out, eyes wide.

"LUKE!"

The fear cracked—just for a second—and something else slipped in: hope.

She tightened her grip on the chain.

"Come on," she told the others, not bothering to check if they listened. "We're going this way."

Toward the voice.

Toward him.

Toward the only place in this nightmare that felt even remotely safe.

...

Luke's POV

His voice was nearly gone.

"ELARIN!"

Then—

"LUKE!"

He turned toward the sound, but it was Caelan—out in front—who first saw her.

Caelan yanked the chain taut between them as he ducked left, the cold iron pulling at Luke's wrist. The girl chained to Luke stumbled but caught herself. The three of them moved like mismatched 

parts of a single broken machine, dragging chains that clattered against the stone.

Through the chaos, Caelan led—body low, movements efficient. Even restrained, the mercenary moved like someone who had done this before.

Then—movement. A familiar figure weaving through the shadows.

Elarin.

She was dragging two others behind her—one a thin, pale boy on the verge of collapse; the other, a sharp-featured noble with jet-black hair and a sneer too stubborn to die.

Caelan reached her first. He didn't slow, just hooked his arm around her shoulder to 

keep her moving, guiding her toward the wall where they could regroup.

Luke caught up seconds later, panting, the chain still rattling between them. He nearly collided with her—but stopped short. Their eyes met in that fleeting heartbeat, chains still tight around their wrists.

Real.

Tangible.

Like touching something that shouldn't exist in this hell.

"I heard you," Elarin whispered, chest rising with each breath. "I followed it."

He nodded. "Good."

Caelan looked back briefly, counting heads. "You brought friends?" he asked, 

eyes flicking to the two boys behind Elarin.

The gray-haired one looked like he might collapse. The jet-black-haired noble simply scoffed, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.

"You're leading with this mess? Wonderful. Let's all die together holding hands."

Caelan snorted. "Great attitude."

"We don't need his mouth," Luke said flatly. "We need his body. If he moves, he lives. If he doesn't—he gets left."

That shut the noble up, at least for the moment.

Luke turned to the group, counting heads quickly—five. Too few to fight. Too many to hide easily.

"We stay together. We find a safer space, a corner—anywhere we can limit how many directions they can come from."

"They?" Elarin asked.

Luke didn't answer right away. Neither did Caelan. But the growling was louder now. Closer. And distant screams were cutting off faster than before.

"Whatever's out there… it's hunting," Luke said grimly.

Caelan nodded. "Then we need to stop acting like prey."

The group turned, moving fast but low—sticking to shadows, breathing through their teeth.

The first part of surviving wasn't strength.

It was gathering.

And Luke had just made his first pack.

It was not much but he felt something deep inside tingle inside of him.

"We need to get these damn chains off first," Luke muttered, eyes scanning the jagged walls as they ran. The metal cuffs bit into his wrists, slowing every movement, every breath.

The group stayed low, hugging the edges of the chamber. Caelan led them through narrow shadows, his sharp eyes catching movement before it happened. Behind him, Elarin moved like a phantom—ears twitching, head tilting, catching things no one else could.

All around them: screams. Chaos. People tripping, falling, begging.

But this group—was calm amidst the storm.

Then Elarin stopped mid-step.

"They've gathered at the center," she said, voice hushed but clear. "And judging by the sounds… they're not a group. Not even the same species."

Luke halted, breath caught in his chest.

Elarin… is that really you?

The soft-spoken girl he'd seen curled up in the cell now spoke like a hunter.

People change in dire moments—but this wasn't just change. This was something awakening.

He nodded, setting aside his thoughts.

"Good. That gives us space. For now, we focus—find anything to break these chains. Caelan, rubble, pillar, carcass—whatever."

Caelan gave a smirk over his shoulder. "Aye aye, boss."

He led them quickly toward a collapsed arch where massive stone debris littered the floor. One jagged slab stuck out at just the right height.

"This'll do," Caelan said.

They didn't waste time.

One by one, they braced their cuffs against the sharp stone. Caelan went first, then 

Luke, using sheer weight and leverage to snap the connecting links. Sparks flew, skin tore, and wrists bruised—but link by link, the chain binding them together was severed.

The cuffs still clung to their wrists—cold, heavy—but they were no longer leashed.

Free to move.

Free to fight, if needed.

But still together.

Luke looked at them. Six people. Broken, tired, but alive.

"We're not tethered anymore," he said, tightening his grip on a loose chunk of stone. "But we stay together."

No one argued.

In the dark, they moved—no longer a chain gang.

Now, a unit.

"We must avoid the monsters at all costs," Luke said, his voice steady but grim as the group moved quietly along the fractured edge of the chamber. "We don't have the strength. Or the numbers. We couldn't handle one, let alone three of those beasts."

He paused, pressing a hand against the cold stone wall, drawing a mental map of their surroundings.

"This chamber has eight flat sides," he continued. "It's vast—far larger than the coliseum we were kept in. Big enough to hold tens of thousands of people… and 

that means the chaos is only going to spread."

He turned slightly, eyes sweeping over the others. "We must stay sharp. Because the monsters aren't the only threats here."

A beat of silence.

"Then who else?" asked the girl behind him—her voice small, trembling. She looked between them, confused, hopeful for a better answer.

But it was Caelan who responded, his tone flat and cold.

"Other people."

Luke nodded once, slowly.

"People will begin to think that to pass this 'Thinning'... hundreds—maybe thousands—have to die," Caelan continued. "And the fastest way to make that happen… is to start killing each other."

"WHAT?!" the girl cried, her whole body shaking now. Her eyes wide, horrified. "But we—we're all the same! Victims! How could—?!"

Luke looked at her—not coldly, but without delusion.

"It's the truth," he said.

 Even in another world, people will do anything for survival. For advantage. For power.

Luke thought. 

The girl looked down, gripping her own cuffed wrist tightly, as if trying to anchor herself to something.

No one spoke for a moment.

The silence around them had changed. The screams were fewer now. Spaced farther apart. Not because it was safer—

—but because there were fewer people left to scream.

Luke's voice came again, quieter now.

"We don't fight. We don't engage. We watch, we think, we move. That's how we live through this."

The group nodded—some reluctantly, 

some solemnly.

The monsters hunted in the open.

But now… so did humans.