"Eth—Ethan, can you hear me?"
Someone was calling my name.
The voice felt far away, distorted, like hearing it underwater.
"How bad is he?" Asked another voice, deep, rough, filled with tension.
"Bad," a woman's voice responded coolly. "His skill is fighting, but it won't last. His skull's cracked. Brain's bleeding."
"Can you fix him?" the deeper voice pressed, urgent.
"I can…" she hesitated, her tone reluctant. "But should we? He's another liability. We've already lost over half our number."
"Do it," the deeper voice said firmly. "He just took out an A-rank undead alone. Luck or not, the kid survived what many others didn't."
A pause hung in the air. Then a sigh.
"Understood."
Warmth surged into the back of my skull, spreading gently, washing away the pain like a wave of sunlight banishing ice.
Then, the darkness returned, and I slipped away again.
When I opened my eyes again, the flickering glow of torches lit the stone ceiling above.
For a moment, I didn't move, my body feeling heavy, sluggish. Expecting pain, I carefully shifted an arm, then my legs, but felt nothing. No pain, no wounds, no broken bones. Nothing but the dull ache of exhaustion.
Slowly, I sat up.
We were still inside the cavern, though now it felt eerily quiet. The fight was long over, but signs of its violence were everywhere.
My stomach churned.
In a corner, bodies had been piled. Hunters I'd seen alive just hours ago, now lifeless heaps covered in blood and dirt. Far stronger hunters than I was, reduced to nothing more than corpses.
I tore my gaze away, swallowing down the nausea.
Down the cavern, our exit tunnel was blocked by a pile of collapsed stone and rubble. Had it caved in naturally during the battle or had it been sealed deliberately to prevent more undead from pouring through? Either way, it didn't matter. We were trapped.
Nearby, a group of surviving hunters argued.
"How the hell did they get behind us?" one snapped, pacing angrily. "Alpha Team was supposed to clear the path!"
"Doesn't matter how!" Darren shouted back, voice shaking with frustration. "They're here, we're stuck, what the hell do we do now?"
John stood silently at the center of the argument, massive arms crossed, his eyes hard and unreadable. Till flanked him, battered but alert, still gripping his heavy shield. The healer, the woman who'd clearly saved my life, stood a little apart, eyes flat and distant, her expression unreadable.
I forced myself slowly to my feet, waiting for dizziness to hit but none came.
"You good?"
I glanced over to find Alex watching me, his face unusually serious.
"Better than I should be," I muttered quietly, still testing my limbs in disbelief.
Alex nodded once, sharply. "Good. Because we're moving forward. Do me a favor, try not to die again."
I chuckled dryly, tightening my grip on the chipped dagger.
John finally stepped forward, silencing the arguments around him instantly. "The path back is blocked. We have only one choice. Move forward and reconnect with Alpha Team."
A heavy silence filled the cavern, broken only by the crackling of torches and the distant drip of water.
"What if Alpha Team's already dead?" someone muttered bitterly.
John's jaw tightened, his voice cold, resolute. "Then we finish their job."
Silence again. No objections. Because really, there were none to give.
Alex shifted uneasily beside me, adjusting the heavy pack on his shoulder. "So, we're just gonna march straight into whatever tore Alpha Team apart and hope it doesn't do the same to us?"
John fixed him with an icy stare. "We stay alert, move as one unit, and strike without hesitation. It's our only chance. Judging from those undead, I'd say this rift is rapidly rising to S-Rank. We need to close it no matter what. If it ruptures, millions of lives could be lost."
Then, without another word, he turned and began walking into the tunnel ahead, his shield raised.
One by one, we followed, stepping forward into darkness, uncertainty, and a grim determination not to become another body piled in the corner.
The deeper we went, the worse it got.
The air grew heavy, pressing against my skin like something alive, something hostile. Every breath felt thicker, harder, as if the darkness itself resisted our presence.
And the smell…
Rot. Blood. Death.
It clung to us, seeped into our clothing, settled at the back of my throat like poison. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth, fighting back waves of nausea.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the scuff of boots on stone and our shallow breathing. It had been quiet too long, the darkness too deep. My instincts screamed warnings louder with each step.
We were being watched.
I glanced back sharply.
Nothing but shadows.
Eight weary figures trudging forward in silence. But I knew the others felt it too. Alex kept rolling his shoulders, muscles tense, eyes darting into the darkness like he expected something to lunge out. Till's grip tightened on his shield, knuckles turning white from the strain. Even John—steady, unshakable John—couldn't hide the wary glances toward the corners of the tunnel.
Then came the noises.
Quiet at first.
A soft scrape.
A faint shuffle.
The sound of something dragging itself across the stone.
Bert cursed softly, voice tight with tension. "Tell me I'm not the only one hearing that."
"You're not," Till muttered grimly.
John kept his pace steady, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Stay close. Keep moving."
But the sounds didn't fade, they grew louder. A low, rhythmic clicking echoed down the tunnel, drifting toward us from somewhere deep behind.
Click-click-click…
My pulse quickened, adrenaline surging painfully through my veins. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying desperately to ignore the overpowering stench. It wasn't just the stale scent of old death anymore. This was fresh. Something was following us. Something close.
We kept moving until John finally called for rest in a small clearing, barely wide enough for us to sit down. Not that any of us intended to sleep.
Darren volunteered for first watch, shield at his side. The healer sat beside him, quietly sharpening a small blade.
I settled against my pack, dagger clutched tightly in one hand. My body was utterly exhausted, but my mind refused to slow down. The feeling of unseen eyes watching us never faded. If anything, it intensified. The silence grew deeper, thicker, filled with a tension that set my teeth on edge.
I forced my eyes closed, whispering silent reassurances I didn't believe.
I woke to silence.
Not the peaceful quiet of sleeping bodies, the kind of unnatural stillness that felt utterly wrong. My eyes snapped open, heart already racing. Something was different. Something was missing.
I sat up slowly, blinking through the lingering haze of sleep.
The air was still.
Too still.
Then I saw Till's face.
Pale. Eyes wide with silent horror. Fixed on something just behind me.
Slowly, my head turned.
My heart stopped.
Darren was dead.
He sat slumped forward, eyes vacant, mouth slightly open. Blood trickled from between his lips, pooling silently onto his armor. His sword still lay across his lap, as though death had taken him before he could even lift it.
Beside him lay the healer.
Her throat wasn't slit. It wasn't cut. It was just… gone. A dark, ragged hole, where flesh and veins should have been.
No scream. No struggle. Nothing.
Just silence and death.
An icy weight crushed my chest. My breath caught, choking me. My fingers tightened reflexively around my dagger, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Something had killed them both, right next to us and none of us had heard a damn thing.
John stood slowly, face an unreadable mask. His gaze moved methodically between the bodies, taking in every horrific detail. He knelt carefully beside Darren's lifeless form, inspecting the brutal wounds.
"This wasn't a clean kill," John said quietly. His voice was cold, almost clinical, but his jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching beneath his skin. "Too messy. They were ripped apart."
"Undead?" Till asked, voice tight and strained.
John shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing further. "Not regular undead. Likely a lurker.. they're fast, silent, built for ambushes. Killed them before they even realized it was there."
Alex glanced uneasily back the way we'd come. "Maybe we should turn around. Dig our way back through the rubble—"
"No," Bert interrupted sharply, cutting through the growing tension. "We collapsed the tunnel for a reason. If we reopen it, those things behind us will flood right in."
John stood slowly, eyes fixed on the shadows ahead. "Bert's right. Going back isn't an option. Forward is the only way."
Nobody argued. Because he was right. No one wanted to face more of those undead.
"Let's keep going." John gestured.
We followed silently, stepping carefully around Darren and the healer, their bodies still warm, blood still dripping slowly onto the stone floor.
As we moved deeper, the silence deepened, I couldn't stop glancing back, half-expecting something to emerge from the shadows behind us.
Nothing moved.
But the feeling of being watched only grew stronger.
The tunnel twisted downward endlessly, narrowing into tight, suffocating passages. We squeezed through, hearts pounding, waiting for an attack that never came. With every step, I expected claws to tear into my back, jaws to clamp around my throat. But nothing happened.
Then, abruptly, the passage opened up, and we stepped into a large cavern.
My body froze.
Corpses littered the cavern floor, broken weapons scattered around them like shattered toys. I recognized their gear, their insignias…
Alpha Team.
All of them dead.
Bile burned at the back of my throat. Alpha Team were elite, experienced hunters, all of them A-Rank. Now they lay butchered, bodies sprawled in broken heaps.
John moved forward cautiously, examining the nearest body. "They fought," he said quietly, running his hand over the ruined armor. "Formed a circle, tried to hold their ground."
He straightened slowly, eyes cold and distant. "They were overwhelmed. Likely numbers. From some of the marks maybe a lurker."
Till's voice was barely a whisper. "If Alpha Team couldn't handle this, what hope do we have? We are just the mining crew."
John didn't answer at first. His gaze moved slowly around the cavern, taking in every corpse, every broken weapon, every sign of the brutal slaughter. I followed his eyes to the weapons lying on the ground. If only I could use one. But it wasn't meant to be. Every mana forged weapon was attuned to their owners mana. Making them and only them, able to use it.
When he finally spoke, his voice held a razor edge. "We keep moving. Staying here is certain death. We have to push to the end. No matter what."
He stepped through the carnage without another word.
We followed silently behind, carefully avoiding the bodies of the dead, each step dragging us deeper into the darkness—toward whatever nightmare had likely killed Alpha Team and waited patiently to kill us next.