The Last Nightmare

Nate's breath came in sharp, measured exhales. His back was pressed against jagged rock, sword clutched in trembling fingers, the weight of it unfamiliar, unnatural. His arms ached—not from exhaustion, but from gripping the weapon too tightly. He didn't know how to fight. Not really.

And whatever was out there? It did.

The wound on his arm throbbed, a thin trickle of blood soaking into the torn fabric of his sleeve. It wasn't deep, but the precision of the cut made his stomach twist. This thing was playing with him. Testing him. And worse—he had no idea how to stop it.

The red eyes remained motionless, staring at him through the oppressive darkness. The dim glow from the mineral veins barely touched them, and for a second, it almost felt like they weren't there at all—just a figment of his mind, an illusion cast by his own fear.

But they were real.

Too real.

Nate swallowed hard. His entire body was tense, poised to react, but react how? His grip on the sword was wrong—he knew that much. His stance was too stiff, too unnatural. He had never fought with a blade before. Never had to.

And yet, here he was.

In a hunting ground.

With something that had already marked him as prey.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He couldn't stay here. The cavern was too open. Too much space for it to move. He needed to retreat—somewhere tighter, somewhere it couldn't use its speed so easily.

His eyes flicked toward the tunnel ahead. Narrow walls. Uneven ground. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the only one he had.

Slowly—so, so slowly—he took a step back.

The eyes didn't move.

Another step.

Still, no movement.

His heart pounded against his ribs. The air felt thick, too heavy in his lungs, but he forced himself to stay calm. Don't run. Don't turn your back. If he did, he wouldn't even hear it when it killed him.

Another step.

The moment his foot touched the ground—

The eyes disappeared.

A flicker of motion. A whisper of air.

Nate barely had time to react before something blurred through the darkness, cutting the air apart with terrifying speed. His body moved before his mind could catch up—he dropped low, not out of skill, but pure, desperate instinct.

Something slashed the air above him. A sharp gust followed, cold against his skin—a near miss.

He didn't stop to think. Didn't have the time. He scrambled backward, his boot catching on the uneven stone, barely keeping himself from falling. His arms felt too weak, his legs shaking. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

Another flicker of motion—

He twisted, barely avoiding another strike, but he wasn't fast enough. Pain bloomed along his shoulder. A thin, burning cut—not deep, but enough to remind him just how outmatched he was.

He wasn't fighting.

He was surviving.

The thing was too fast. Too methodical. It wasn't attacking wildly—it was picking him apart, inch by inch.

And Nate could barely keep up.

He pushed himself up, his back hitting the cavern wall. He was running out of space. Running out of options. His breaths were coming too fast now, chest rising and falling with the effort of just staying alive.

It was going to kill him.

He could feel it.

Then—

A sound.

A single, almost imperceptible noise.

A footstep.

Not his.

Nate barely processed it at first, too focused on the predator in front of him. But then another came. Soft. Too soft. Barely audible.

Someone—or something—was here.

His body went rigid.

For the first time, Nate saw something change in its stance. A subtle shift, a hesitation. It didn't attack. Didn't move.

As if it had noticed the sound, too.

As if it was uncertain.

The silence was unbearable.

The tension in the air twisted into something worse—something heavier.

That single step had changed everything.

And Nate had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

His pulse thundered against his skull, each beat a hammering drum in the silence. That sound—he had heard it. A footstep. Soft. Almost imperceptible.

Not his.

For a moment, his mind refused to process it. The rush of blood in his ears made it hard to tell if it had been real or if his fear was playing tricks on him. But no—he knew what he heard. Something—someone—was there.

His grip tightened around the sword, his palms slick with sweat. The creature in front of him remained motionless, its glowing red eyes fixed solely on him, waiting for him to move, to slip up, to make a mistake.

But Nate's mind was no longer focused on the thing hunting him.

Because now, there was something else.

Something behind him.

The air felt thicker. The cavern walls, which had already seemed to close in on him, now felt suffocating. His breath came too fast, too shallow. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. The thing in front of him was bad enough—but now there was another unknown factor.

His instincts screamed at him to do something. But what? If he turned his head to look, he'd expose his neck. If he moved without thinking, he might step right into another trap.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, to listen.

Silence.

The kind that stretched too long. The kind that made his skin crawl.

Had he imagined it?

No.

He was sure.

Something was there.

His grip on the sword wavered. His arms felt weak, his fingers barely able to hold on. He wasn't built for this—he didn't know how to fight. And now, he wasn't just up against one unknown force.

There were two.

His mind raced, scrambling for a plan. But there was nothing. No escape routes. No advantages. Just him, his useless blade, and the terrifying knowledge that whatever had made that sound hadn't revealed itself yet.

And that scared him more than the monster in front of him.

---

The red eyes flickered, shifting ever so slightly. It had heard it too.

For the first time since this terrifying game had started, the creature hesitated. It didn't advance. It didn't lunge. It simply waited.

Nate's breath was shallow, controlled only by sheer willpower. Every muscle in his body ached with tension, but he couldn't move. Couldn't risk it.

The unknown behind him… was it worse?

His mind screamed at him to think, to act, to do something before he lost whatever small chance he had left.

Then—another sound.

Soft.

Measured.

Coming closer.

And Nate's heart nearly stopped.