Myth

Mark felt his life slipping away, darkness tugging at the edges of his vision.

His eyes were half-closed, the pain overwhelming, until the air in the room shifted—a presence, monstrous and suffocating, manifested out of nowhere.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the silence, forcing Mark's eyes open despite the agony.

Before him stood a hulking, grotesque creature, its form an abomination of muscle and sinew. The creature's skin was a sickly, grayish-blue, stretched tightly over its massive frame, with horns jutting from its joints, each one twisted and sharp.

The beast's breath was labored, a wet, rasping sound that echoed through the deathly still room.

The monster's teeth, jagged and uneven, gleamed under the dim light, each one designed to tear and shred.

It towered over everything, nearly nine feet tall, its heavy horns scraping the ceiling with an ear-piercing screech as it advanced slowly toward the trembling criminal boss, now on his knees.

A frigid mist escaped the creature's gaping maw, filling the room with an icy chill that bit into Mark's skin.

The beast was terrifyingly close now, its foul breath mingling with the cold air.

The sound of the boss's tears hitting the floor was the only thing that broke the silence. "Please… just gi—" The plea was cut short. Blood, viscera, and pieces of flesh splattered violently against the wall as the beast swung its massive arm, tearing the man's upper body apart in a single, brutal motion.

Mark watched in horror, his stomach turning. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late—he retched, bile spilling through his fingers as the reality of the carnage set in. The sight was too much, too raw; Mark wasn't prepared to witness a man being ripped to shreds.

The creature took another step, and the officers, led by Mr. Don, opened fire.

"Do not falter, officers! It's not bulletproof—fire!"

Don's command rang out, desperate, but resolute.

"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"

The officers responded in unison, unloading their clips into the beast.

But the horror didn't end. Blood sprayed across the room again, this time in an even wider arc. The beast had swung with such ferocity that one of the cops was reduced to nothing more than mangled flesh, strewn across the floor like discarded meat.

"Grrrrrrrraaaaaah!"

The beast roared, the sound shaking the walls. It moved with terrifying speed, dismembering two more officers and a criminal with brutal efficiency. The room fell into a suffocating silence, the sheer force of the creature's presence rendering everyone mute and paralyzed with fear.

And then it began—the massacre. With each swing of its grotesque arm, more bodies were torn apart, the room painted in blood.

Screams were cut short, dying in the throats of those unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.

Mark lay there, unable to move, trapped in his own shattered body. His hand still clutched his mouth, trying to stifle his ragged breathing. But he knew—his time was running out. The beast, still slaughtering everything in its path, was moving closer.

Panic surged through Mark. He needed to get up, to run, but his body refused to respond. It was too late. The creature was right in front of him, its massive, powerful feet inches from his face.

He could feel the cold radiating from its body, seeping into his bones.

Mark forced his head upward, every movement sending a jolt of pain through his neck. The room spun as he finally looked into the creature's eyes—glowing, malevolent yellow orbs that seemed to pierce his very soul.

Mark's protective instincts crumbled, and he found himself kneeling, helpless.

His voice cracked as he tried to speak, to plead, but all that came out was a broken, desperate whimper.

"Ple… please…"

But deep down, he knew there was no mercy to be found. Not here, not now.

The creature stared at Mark with an eye full of what seemed like pity. Then, its mouth twisted into a grotesque grin, and it began to laugh—a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the room, growing louder and more unsettling with each passing second.

"You're perfect for my amusement," the creature rumbled, its voice deep and menacing.

Mark could only watch in frozen horror as the beast slowly rose into the air, tearing apart the ceiling, its massive hands stretching outward.

"Open!!"

the creature bellowed, its voice reverberating like a thunderclap.

A blinding light exploded from the creature, flooding the room with a brilliance so intense that Mark had to shield his eyes.

The light seemed to consume everything around him, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world was being ripped apart.

"Huh?"

Mark groaned as his eyes slowly opened. He was lying on the ground, but something was wrong.

This wasn't the ground he remembered. The floor in the building had been a fine, special wood, now slick with blood and other fluids. But here, the ground was black with a hint of blue, and it felt rough and solid, like stone.

His heart pounded In his chest, the rhythm wild and uncontrolled, as though it might burst through his ribcage at any moment.

Mark pushed himself off his knees, forcing himself to take in his surroundings. He was enclosed by massive granite walls, and wooden torches flickered in their sconces, casting an eerie glow. The entire scene looked like something out of a medieval movie—a dungeon or a fortress of some sort.

"Hello!"

Mark called out weakly, his voice echoing back to him, hollow and empty.

He tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him, too weak to support his weight.

He collapsed back onto the ground, squeezing his shirt as tears welled up in his eyes.

The memories of the massacre flooded back, and he broke down. What he had witnessed was nothing short of a living nightmare.

"Why… why me?"

Mark cried out, his voice breaking as he sobbed. He regretted everything—taking the job, coming here, everything. The despair consumed him, and he whispered to himself, "I'm just going to lay here and die…"

"Mark!!!"

A voice cut through his despair, distant but clear. Mark's head lifted slightly, straining to see where it had come from.

"Mark, get up now!"

The voice was closer this time, more insistent. Mark squinted through his tears and saw a figure running toward him.

"Nigel…"

He murmured, recognizing the man. Nigel, who had been his superior, was now soaked in blood, a gruesome head injury marring his appearance.

"Nigel… sir, what's happening? Are we dead?" Mark's voice was weak and full of defeat.

"Shut up," Nigel snapped, grabbing Mark by the shoulders and pulling him upright. "We need to get out of here, now."

Mark shook his head, a wave of hopelessness washing over him. "We can't get out… we're dead… sir, we're dead!" he yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.

"We're not dead!" Nigel's voice was firm, almost angry. "We can get out of here. I know a way. But you have to get up and follow me!"

Mark stared at him, his mind barely processing the words.

"I can't… I've been shot, I'm bleeding out…"

Nigel's patience was wearing thin. He grabbed Mark by the collar and shook him hard. "You're not bleeding out! We can make it out of here. If we can get outside, I can patch you up. Here, drink this."

Nigel reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny bottle of water, pressing it into Mark's hand. "Drink it, and trust me. We'll get out of here."

Mark stared at the bottle for a moment before finally uncapping it and taking a few gulps. The water soothed his dry throat, and he felt a small spark of life returning to him.

"Alright,"

Mark muttered, pushing himself upright and shaking off the last vestiges of despair. He looked at Nigel with newfound resolve. "Let's get out of here."

It had been an hour since Nigel got Mark back on his feet, and they had been walking ever since, the silence between them heavy and tense.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Mark asked softly, his voice weak, like a child's from the backseat of a car.

"We just have to find an exit," Nigel replied, his tone curt but focused.

"How do you know there's an exit? In fact, how do you even know anything about this place? None of this makes any sense."

Nigel's patience snapped.

"Why don't you shut the hell up and just follow me,"

He snapped, not even bothering to turn around.

"No! I don't trust you!"

Mark's frustration boiled over, his voice rising.

Nigel stopped abruptly, spinning to face Mark with a glare.

"Alright, enough! You want answers? Fine. You'll never get it, but these intricate writings on the walls mean something. If you ever believed or followed our faith, you'd understand easily."

He pointed to the barely visible ancient symbols carved into the stone walls. "Those signs—they're showing us the way out."

Mark looked at the markings, their meaning still a mystery to him. He took a deep breath, letting the tension seep out of him.

"I'm sorry… maybe I should've listened to you guys."

"Maybe?" Nigel echoed, his tone sharp, challenging Mark's half-hearted apology. "Let's keep moving and quit the whining."

They put their argument aside and pressed on, the weight of their situation forcing them to focus.

The further they ventured, the narrower the path became. The air grew denser and heavier, a strange sensation given they were descending deeper into the earth.

"Hey, Mark," Nigel's voice broke the silence, startling Mark. "For what it's worth, I never hated you."

Mark glanced at him, surprised by the sudden admission. He smiled faintly but said nothing.

"I just… didn't have a choice," Nigel continued, his voice tinged with regret. "You were a spoiled egg in the middle of us all, and I had to push you away."

Mark's smile grew, but this time he spoke up. "Yeah, well… it was a bit much, you know? The commissioner sho—"

A loud bang cut him off, the sound echoing through the narrow passage. Both men immediately crouched, their hearts racing.

"What the hell was that?" Mark whispered, his voice trembling.

They crept toward the source of the noise, carefully peering around a corner. A tall, slim man stood there, his right hand stained with blood and the other gripping a Glock. At his feet lay the lifeless body of a constable.

"What do we do?" Mark whispered urgently, his fear evident.

Nigel didn't respond, his focus locked on the murderer. Without a word, he picked up a loose piece of rock from the ground and got to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mark hissed, his voice more frantic.

"Shh!"

Nigel silenced him with a sharp glare before quietly approaching the man.

With a swift, brutal motion, Nigel brought the rock down on the man's head, knocking him out cold. The sound of the impact echoed in Mark's ears, but he found himself strangely numb—he had witnessed far worse today.

"Shit!"

Mark muttered, his shock mingling with a growing sense of numbness. He watched as Nigel collapsed onto the ground, trying to catch his breath. The strain of their ordeal was clearly taking its toll.

"Mark, let's rest here for a bit," Nigel panted, his exhaustion palpable.

Mark stepped out from his hiding spot and walked over to Nigel. He glanced down at the unconscious man. "He's alive."

"I know," Nigel replied, not looking up as he rubbed his nose. "I didn't strike to kill him."

From his belt, Nigel pulled out a pair of handcuffs and began securing the unconscious man to the dead constable.

"What are you doing with the handcuffs?" Mark asked, his voice flat, devoid of energy.

Nigel didn't answer, focusing on cuffing the man tightly. Once he was sure the man was secure, he leaned back against the wall, finally letting himself rest. "We're going to take a break. We need it."

Mark sighed and nodded, sliding down the wall to sit beside Nigel. The two of them sat there in silence, the darkness of the passage pressing in around them as they tried to gather their strength for whatever came next.

Silence settled over them, broken only by the faint sound of stale wind passing through the dark corridor. Despite their exhaustion, Mark and Nigel remained alert, their senses heightened by the oppressive atmosphere.

Nigel sat beside the unconscious man, his eyes never leaving the figure as he kept watch, while Mark sat at the opposite corner, nervously arranging sticks and stones, trying to keep his hands busy and his mind focused.

A low groan broke the silence.

"Ughhhhhh… What the hell is happening?" The man on the ground began to stir, slowly raising his head and wincing as he tried to rub the pain from his throbbing skull. "Shit, I'm bleeding… What the hell happened?"

"Shut the hell up,"

Nigel snapped, his voice cold and commanding. The man's eyes darted to his left, finding Nigel's gun pointed directly at him.

"Who the fuck are you?!"

The man's voice rose in panic, his confusion evident.

Mark hurried over, concern etched on his face as he checked on the situation. The man sneered at him, his face twisting in disgust.

"Ugh, this dirty kid," he spat, his disdain clear.

Mark frowned, glancing down at himself. Sure, he was roughed up, but so was everyone else. The man was in no better shape, covered in dirt and blood. The insult stung, but he pushed it aside.

"Who are you?"

Nigel's voice cut through the tension, his gun still aimed steadily at the man's head.

The man forced a chuckle, his lips curling into a twisted smile.

"Chill, I see you're a cop. Not that it matters—we're as good as dead down here." He flashed a sheepish grin, sticking out his tongue in mockery. "Name's David, but you can call me the Reaper."

David's smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with a mix of madness and arrogance. Nigel's expression remained stone-cold, showing no sign of intimidation. He'd dealt with men like this before—men who thrived on fear and chaos. But Mark… Mark felt his knees weaken, the name "Reaper" sending a chill down his spine.

"You'll need me to get out of here, you know," David continued, his tone annoyingly confident.

"Why's that?"

Nigel asked, his voice low and dangerous as he pressed the gun closer to David's head.

"You don't know what's waiting for us further down this path. You'll need my expertise… in killing." David's smile grew, his eyes gleaming with sick amusement.

Nigel chuckled, a harsh, mirthless sound. "You think you're special because you can stomach killing people?" His disdain was palpable, but David only laughed louder, the sound echoing eerily in the confined space.

"You haven't seen what's further down that path," David warned, his voice dropping to a serious tone, the mockery gone from his eyes.

Nigel's expression changed, a flicker of curiosity and concern crossing his face. He lowered the gun slightly, still keeping it trained on David but now more focused on his words.

"What do you mean?"

Mark asked, his voice trembling as he looked between Nigel and David.

"That thing that killed our comrades… it's just the beginning." David's tone was ominous, his words hanging heavy in the air.

Nigel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, weighing the situation. Mark watched him, his anxiety growing with each passing second.

"What the heck… What's he thinking?" Mark muttered to himself, his worry turning into frustration.

Finally, Nigel made his decision. "Okay, you can come with us."

"Hun?"

Mark's eyes widened in shock, and he rushed to Nigel's side. "What the hell are you saying?"

Nigel didn't look at him, his focus remaining on David.

"We don't have time to argue. But don't expect me to release the hand cuff,"

He said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

David laughed as he struggled to his feet, the sound unsettling in the oppressive silence. "That's fine by me. Wouldn't want to stab you in the back… yet."

"Hmph,"

Nigel grunted, unimpressed.

He motioned for Mark to follow, and the three of them continued down the dark, narrow path, the tension between them as thick as the air they breathed

Their journey dragged on in tense silence, the three men moving through dark, twisting paths without a word. The atmosphere was heavy, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

Mark couldn't understand why Nigel had allowed a murderer to join them. The doubt gnawed at him, unsettling him more with each step.

Nigel kept his eyes forward, determined to lead them out. David, burdened with a lifeless body slung over his shoulder, trailed behind, his silence unnerving.

Suddenly, David broke the silence.

"Oi!"

His voice was ignored.

"You fools better listen!"

"What!!"

Nigel snapped, spinning around with his gun drawn.

He aimed at David, but Mark stood in the way, caught off"guard.

Mark gasped, stepping aside just in time.

"Can't you smell it? Can't you smell the death in the air?" David's voice was eerie, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

Nigel's grip on the gun tightened. "What are you saying?" he demanded, lowering the weapon slightly.

David smirked.

"You're standing on blood."

The realization hit them hard. The ground beneath their feet was wet with blood.

"Shit!"

Mark cursed, recoiling

"Quiet!"

Nigel ordered, his voice sharp. He ignored the blood, focusing on the wind.

"It's coming from this way," he muttered, more to himself than the others.

Nigel took off down the path. David followed, nudging Mark hard as he passed.

"What the hell is going on?" Mark muttered, still in shock.

"Come on, dirty kid!" David shouted back, his tone mocking.

Mark sighed, then sprinted after them, his footsteps echoing against the rocky ground.

Suddenly, a beam of light appeared ahead, cutting through the darkness.

"Light…" Mark whispered, hope surging within him.

"Yes!"

He ran toward it, desperate.

But hope turned to horror.

"Arghhh!"

Mark stopped cold as a man was flung into the air, impaled on a massive pole. A towering figure with wood-like skin and long, twisted fingers had tossed the man aside effortlessly.

Mark was outside now, the sun glaring down—but this was no place he recognized. The sky held three suns, casting an eerie light over the landscape.

Men with guns surrounded the creature, their faces grim, mark recognized them as a few officers he knew.

"Mark! Run back into the cave!" Nigel shouted, fear in his voice as he ran toward Mark.

"What the hell is happening?" Mark whispered, collapsing to the ground in shock.