Chapter 13 - The Dark II

The air became thick, suffocating almost. The night grew darker still, the only sound was the pounding of a heart in my chest. The slight grin that had once adorned my face had now been replaced with terror.

I shifted my attention to the darkness behind me; it pulsed with a malevolent energy as if it were alive.

Where did he go?

No time to ponder—the body sprang forward, dashing through the night toward the corridor. The sluggish sprint came to an abrupt stop as the head collided with what seemed to be a wall.

An injured hand reached out, attempting to use the wall for guidance.

Just stick to the wall...

The wall retaliated. It was as if the world around me had decelerated—down to the pace of a snail. A pair of unforgivingly harsh hands seized my neck.

Fingernails dug into my skin like knives—the diaphragm tensed in response, choking me further. I clawed at my captor, but my strength had left me, and if this was Otto—nothing would work.

I can't die, not yet.

I pushed my legs out, connecting with Otto's chest. Audible breaths cut through the night as oxygen flooded back into my bloodstream.

I have to get away.

I pushed off my back foot and engaged in a full-on sprint. For just a moment, the pain was gone, but I knew the adrenaline wouldn't last.

I need a plan. I need to calm down.

After running until my legs were past the point of exhaustion, I shifted into a crawl. Moving blind and exhausted wouldn't help much. And plus—if Otto had lost his sense of smell, the only method of tracking me would be sound.

I contemplated in silence for a moment before choosing a course of action. It was quite the predicament; I had just infuriated an individual who could kill me in a second, the pain in my ribs only continued to worsen, and my arm constantly needed pressure to prevent bleeding out.

I needed a location where I could remain stationary—away from Otto. But navigating the darkness of night made such a task impossible.

Subsequent to searching for a corridor, I noticed my sense of direction had been compromised. North was south and west had become east. I was stranded. In darkness.

I stretched a hand into the abyss to touch a wall or anything, but to no avail.

No wall, no direction, and no sight.

I froze in shock—realizing the extent of my situation. Within seconds, any plan of mine had been rendered useless.

What can I do?

A voice emanated from the void to my left, "You truly are a surprising young man," Otto's words trailed off as my heart pounded faster.

"It truly is a shame how they kept such talent in the Fogmoor Theater," my head spun to the right—the source.

Where was he?

The air became fraught with tension and anxiety. Every sound was amplified, every movement scrutinized.

A series of taps arose from a nearby pebble as it skipped across the ground. My head swerved toward the sound—I couldn't take chances.

As my attention was occupied, a cold tendril of fear snaked up my spine as an icy hand descended upon my shoulder. It felt familiar—Otto's hand.

"Creativity may be useful," Otto spoke with a flat tone, "But more is required to defeat a Mistomancer."

Out of instinct, my body began to fall forward—only to be stopped by a frigid hand on my shoulder.

"Not so fast, young one," with supernatural speed, the Eastern monster lifted and catapulted me into a stone wall.

Rocks fell to the side of me, crashing and scattering on the ground. Pain enveloped my spine, branching out like lightning through my back.

Each surge seared through my nerves, radiating from the point of impact and spreading in every direction. It was as if my entire being was alight with electric torment, the pain consuming every thought and sensation.

"If you want to sell a lie, you have to believe it first," Father's words echoed through my skull as agony settled in.

I gazed into the night ahead, trying to locate Otto. But he was gone. Blood spattered from my lips as a jagged knife sliced through my ribs.

Each breath became a struggle, a desperate grasp at the remnants of life. My vision blurred, and unanswered questions gnawed at my fleeting consciousness.

Why me?

I didn't choose this. I didn't ask to be saved from death's doorstep. I didn't want to be selected. Yet all these events had occurred.

I wished I could just disappear—wake up from this bad dream.

A trembling hand raised my body against the wall. I wanted to quit—I was done. But for six years, I had roamed the battlefield, endured terrors, pain, and heartbreak.

Just to get an inch closer to the Church of my Father. There would be a time to quit, but not now.

Based on what Otto had said earlier, if I wanted to survive, I needed to conceal my presence. To remove myself from the equation.

I need to belive in the lie. To belive I'm not here.

"Exactly," a light voice echoed, followed by a series of approaching footsteps and the scaping of chains.

I dragged my limp body to the side, holding my breath. To 'swallow my smell,' I needed to disguise it. To blend in with the midnight breeze.

Slow, calm, deep breaths.

Vision began to fade at an alarming rate as blood streamed from my arm. The slow and strenuous drag continued until I reached an opening.

Finally...

I entered the small alcove and slumped against the wall, every movement sending waves of pain through my battered body. My eyes fought to stay open, each blink growing heavier than the last.

The night pressed in around me, a suffocating shroud that threatened to extinguish the last flicker of my consciousness.

As the first sliver of dawn broke through the darkness, a faint light began to filter into the corridor.

The cold, hard surface beneath me felt like an anchor, grounding me in the present moment despite the chaos swirling in my mind.

I took a deep breath, savoring the cool air as it filled my lungs. Each inhale was a battle, each exhale a victory. The throbbing pain in my ribs and the relentless ache in my arm were constant reminders of the night's ordeal, but I clung to the promise of survival...