The lost and the left behind

Nathaniel's breath was ragged as he stumbled deeper into the passageway, the air growing heavier with each step. The walls seemed to close in around him, and the shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if they were alive, crawling toward him like hungry creatures. The whispers were growing louder, no longer fragmented, but a constant, suffocating chorus in his mind.

You shouldn't be here…

It's too late, Nathaniel…

It's already begun…

The words echoed in his skull, gnawing at him, but he couldn't stop. His feet moved of their own accord, pushing him further into the darkness, deeper into the heart of the place. It was as if the very stone was guiding him, pulling him toward something—or someone. The feeling of being watched, being followed, intensified as he walked. It was more than paranoia; it was a certainty that he wasn't alone in the dark.

At last, he reached the end of the passage, where it opened into a large chamber. The air in here was thick with dust, the kind that clung to your skin and made it hard to breathe. In the center of the room stood a stone altar, dark and ancient, covered in strange symbols that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. The atmosphere was charged, as if some terrible event was about to unfold.

Nathaniel stepped forward, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear the whispers anymore. But they were still there, circling around him, pressing against his thoughts.

Don't touch it…

But he couldn't stop himself. The pull, that irresistible compulsion, was too strong. His hand moved of its own accord toward the altar. His fingers brushed against the cold stone, and as soon as he made contact, the ground beneath him trembled.

The room seemed to lurch violently, as if the walls themselves were about to collapse. The air grew dense, thick with a terrible energy. Nathaniel recoiled, but before he could pull his hand away, something erupted from the stone, a crack splitting down the center of the altar. The ground cracked open beneath his feet, and a low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the earth.

Something ancient and powerful stirred below.

No…

The whisper was so clear now that it felt like it was coming from within his own mind. He tried to pull his hand away, but it was as if the stone had a hold on him, pulling him deeper into the darkness. His muscles screamed, his body fighting against the force that had taken control, but it was futile. The earth cracked wider, and from the depths, something began to rise.

A figure—tall, cloaked in shadows, its face obscured. It moved like liquid, its form shifting and twisting as if it were made from the very shadows themselves. Nathaniel stumbled back, his heart pounding so hard it was almost painful. He reached for something, anything, to steady himself, but his fingers grasped at empty air. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

The figure's presence was overwhelming, suffocating. It stepped forward, its form becoming more solid with each step, until Nathaniel could make out the details—pale, impossibly still skin, eyes glowing a fiery red, and long, gnarled fingers that reached toward him. It opened its mouth, revealing sharp, blackened teeth.

"You woke me," it hissed, its voice dripping with venom. "And now, there's no turning back."

Nathaniel could feel the power surging in the room, flooding the air with a dark, oppressive energy. The whispers had turned into a scream, a constant, agonizing wail that filled his ears. The shadows in the room began to move, swirling and rising, as if the very space itself was alive, feeding off the darkness.

"No," Nathaniel whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't—this wasn't… I wasn't supposed to…"

The figure tilted its head, as if amused by his words. Its red eyes flickered with a cruel, knowing gleam. "You didn't mean to wake me. But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already opened the door. You've already unleashed the darkness."

The ground trembled again, and the figure reached toward him, its long, spindly fingers brushing the air like a spider's web. Nathaniel recoiled, but his legs were frozen, his body unwilling to respond. The shadow's hand hovered just inches from his face.

I'm sorry… His mind screamed, the words not even his own, but a frantic plea for mercy. The figure's smile stretched wider, revealing more teeth, more of that blackened void.

"You should be," it whispered. Its voice was colder than death itself. "But it's too late for apologies. You are now part of this world. You are one of us."

The walls of the room seemed to close in, the shadows thickening, pressing in on him from all sides. His breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, and his mind began to race. What was this thing? What had he unleashed? And why had it come for him?

His eyes flickered to the altar—the strange, ancient symbols carved into the stone. The ritual, he thought, it was a ritual to summon something. Something… terrible.

The figure's hand was inches from him now, its fingers trembling as if anticipating the moment they would touch his skin. Nathaniel's stomach churned, and with a surge of adrenaline, he fought against the paralysis, his body finally responding to his desperate need to move. He leaped backward, barely escaping the figure's grasp.

But it was too late.

The shadows closed around him, the room now fully engulfed in darkness. The air was thick with the taste of decay, and the temperature plummeted, freezing him to the core. The figure's laughter echoed in the darkness, a low, cruel sound that made Nathaniel's blood run cold.

"You've woken the old ones, Nathaniel," it whispered, its voice a hiss in the blackness. "And now you will be their guide. They will feast on your soul, as they have done for centuries."

Suddenly, the ground beneath him split open again. The sound of cracking stone was deafening as the very fabric of the room began to tear apart. Something large and dark moved beneath the earth, its presence palpable, an endless weight pressing down from below.

Nathaniel stumbled back, his mind racing. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't—he had to get out, but the way was blocked. The shadows moved closer, the figure's red eyes gleaming with hunger.

RUN.

The command echoed in his mind, urgent and desperate. But Nathaniel was too slow. The darkness enveloped him completely, the figure's cold fingers grazing his arm as he screamed—

And then—

Nothing.