Chapter 19:Nightmare...

In the heart of an abandoned building, a room lay hidden, devoid of any natural light.

The air was thick with the stench of mould and decay, a scent that clung to every surface.

In the centre of this forsaken room was a cage, a prison within a prison, and within it lay what appeared to be a corpse.

The figure was emaciated, its clothing tattered and stained with the marks of stool and other unknown foul-smelling liquids.

The only sign that the figure was not a lifeless husk was the faint, irregular rhythm of its breathing. To any onlooker, it was a sight of utter despair, a human being reduced to a state worse than death.

The silence of the room was suddenly broken by the sound of a door creaking open.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the room as a brutish man, distinguished by a circular snake tattoo on his neck, descended the stairs into this abyss.

His face twisted in disgust at the foul odour that permeated the air, a grimace of repulsion at the sight before him.

"Get up, it's time," he commanded gruffly, unlocking the cage with a clatter. As he spoke, the figure in the cage stirred, its eyes opening slowly. They were eyes devoid of life, soulless and empty, windows to a spirit that had long been broken.

The brute grabbed a chain that was cruelly wrapped around the figure's neck, pulling it upwards without a hint of sympathy.

The figure, a boy, struggled to his feet, his movements shaky and weak like a newborn calf.

He followed the man obediently, conditioned into silence and submission. His head was bowed, his spirit seemingly crushed.

They walked through winding, desolate corridors, the boy trailing behind. Eventually, they arrived at a stark, grey room, defined by its concrete walls and the chilling sense of emptiness.

Above, behind double-sided windows, sat twelve men, indulging in a feast fit for kings.

They were observers of the macabre spectacle below, detached and uncaring.

One of them, a man being fed grapes, glanced down at the boy with a mixture of curiosity and Lust.

"Well, here he is, our reigning champion," he remarked with a tone of cruel anticipation. "Let's see if he can survive our next challenge. It's bound to be interesting..."

"Let's get this over with, I have places to be," another man interjected, his voice dripping with boredom. It was clear from his demeanour that he had nowhere else to be; his words were merely an affectation of importance.

"You know the rules," the first man replied. The twelve men then simultaneously pressed a button on their chairs, casting their votes in the twisted game of life and death.

"Then let the match begin," the first man declared with a sense of finality.

As the announcement echoed through the room, a section of the concrete wall began to rise, revealing a dark void beyond.

From this opening emerged a pair of crazed, yellow eyes, belonging to a wolf that had been starved and abused, its mouth foaming in its frenzied state.

The boy stood motionless, offering no reaction to the impending threat.

The wolf, driven by hunger and devoid of its natural caution, charged at the boy with a ferocious growl, its jaws wide open, aiming for a lethal strike.

...

The room was charged with a palpable tension as the wolf lunged towards the boy.

Its crazed eyes glinted with a primal hunger, its jaws snapping open and shut in anticipation of the kill.

The boy, however, remained disturbingly still, his eyes cold, betraying no hint of fear.

The wolf, driven by instinct and desperation, attacked with ruthless aggression. It darted forward, aiming to clamp its jaws around the boy's throat.

But at the last moment, the boy sidestepped with grace, avoiding the fatal bite by mere inches.

The wolf's momentum carried it past him, and it quickly wheeled around for another attack.

The spectators above watched with ghoulish delight, their cheers and jeers echoing through the chamber. "Look at him dodge! Like a rat in a trap!" one of them shouted, his voice laced with sadistic amusement.

The boy, hearing the taunts, remained focused, his expression unchanging. He observed the wolf's movements with a detached interest, analyzing its patterns and weaknesses. The wolf, now more cautious, circled the boy, looking for an opening.

Again, it lunged, faster this time, its teeth aiming for the boy's arm. The boy, predicting the move, pulled back his arm and countered with a swift kick to the wolf's side.

The impact was solid, but the wolf, fueled by hunger and rage, hardly seemed to feel it.

The fight escalated, a savage dance of attack and counterattack. The boy's movements were precise and efficient, each dodge and strike calculated for maximum effect.

The wolf, on the other hand, fought with wild abandon, its attacks becoming more frenzied and desperate.

As the battle wore on, the boy began to show signs of fatigue. A misstep allowed the wolf to graze his shoulder with its teeth, drawing first blood. The crowd above roared in approval, their bloodlust ignited by the sight.

The boy, now with a trickle of blood staining his shirt, changed his tactics. He began to bait the wolf, feigning weakness to lure it into a false sense of security.

The wolf, sensing victory, became more aggressive, its attacks growing reckless.

Then, in a moment of brutal clarity, the boy saw his chance.

As the wolf lunged once more, the boy sidestepped and swiftly moved behind it.

Before the wolf could react, he locked his arms around its neck in a chokehold. The wolf thrashed and howled, but the boy held on with a vice-like grip.

With a savage intensity, the boy bit into the wolf's neck, tearing flesh and muscle. He bit again and again, each bite more ferocious than the last.

The wolf's howls turned to whimpers, its struggles weakening until it lay motionless on the ground.

"..."

The boy released his hold, standing over the defeated creature, his face and hands smeared with blood.

The room fell silent, the spectators above stunned into disbelief.

One of the men finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mix of horror and respect. "Incredible... the boy's a monster..."

The boy, hearing the comment, looked up, his eyes hollow yet burning with an unspoken rage.

He had survived, but at what cost?

.....

(The Safe House...)

Grim's eyes fluttered open, his mind still grappling with the remnants of the vivid dream. "A dream...or was it a nightmare" he murmured to himself, lost in thought.

Hours later, the safe house was buzzing with a tense energy as Felicia arrived. She immediately went to confer with Miss Xuãn, discussing their next move.

"You need to lay low for now," Felicia advised firmly. "I've got my men keeping an eye out for Cheng. We'll find him, but we can't risk exposing you or Grim."

Miss Xuãn, still shaken but composed, nodded in agreement. "I understand. I just hope my boy is safe."

"Don't worry, I've also called in a favour from a hero friend of mine. They'll help if things escalate," Felicia added reassuringly.

Later, in a quiet room, Felicia handed Grim his new identity papers. "This is your fresh start, Grim. Use it wisely," she said, her tone a mix of sternness and concern.

Grim examined the papers, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. "Thanks, Felicia. I didn't expect you to go this far for me."

"It's not just for you," she replied, her gaze steady. "I see a bit of my kids in you. Plus, you cook a mean soufflé."

...

As night fell, the house settled into a sombre quietude.

Miss Xuãn, exhausted from the day's events, was the first to retire to her guest room, leaving Grim and Felicia alone.

Per their unusual agreement, they prepared for bed. Felicia lay her head on Grim's chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart a strange comfort.

Grim's fingers gently weaved through her hair, eliciting a soft, contented sound from her as she drifted into sleep.

Grim, however, remained awake, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

As the clock struck midnight, his expression turned distant, almost empty. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Felicia's embrace and dressed silently.

In the kitchen, Grim selected several knives, handling each with a familiarity that spoke of his past.

"I need a better weapon..."As he said this his eyes spotted the backyard shed.

...

Moving to the backyard shed, he rummaged until he found an axe, its blade glinting ominously in the faint light.

Strapping the axe to his back, Grim took one last look at the house.

His shadow, cast long by the lamppost, seemed to take on a life of its own, sprouting sinister eyes that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

With a final, lingering glance, Grim stepped into the darkness of the night...

.

.

.

"I'll be the Nightmare, you never wake up from..."