The boy awoke in the embrace of unknown darkness, his senses sluggish as they adjusted to the cold, damp air that clung to his skin. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the decaying odor of dead rats scattered nearby, their lifeless bodies silent witnesses to his suffering.

  Urgency gnawed at his insides, driving him to drag himself from the cold earth. His eyes darted over the labyrinthine tunnels, searching desperately for any sign of escape. Trembling fingers brushed the surface of the murky water, seeking the faint pull of the current as though it could offer him a thread of hope.

  ‘I can see… somewhat.’ He said, as if someone were sitting beside him. ‘How about now?’ He glanced to his side — nothing. He looked back down at the bloodstains on his hands. ’Even if it comes with its price.’ He whispered it into the darkness, as if the sound of his own voice might fill the loneliness around him.

  Minutes, seconds, or perhaps hours passed as he pressed through the seemingly endless halls, his footsteps echoing through the silent void. An icy chill crept down his spine, the unsettling sensation of invisible eyes looking from the shadows. The distant echo of footsteps seemed to follow him, a feeling that he was never alone in the passages.

  Adrenaline surged through him as he spun around, desperate to confront the unseen presence. His efforts were met only by emptiness. Did someone follow me down here? Would someone really follow me all the way down here? The boy could only look behind him, gripping his chest tightly. Yet there was no source of light that pierced the darkness.

  His breath grew more ragged, his mind clogging with panic. Turn. Walk. Sprint. What was the best option?

  Every step sent a shock of pain through his body, his stomach twisting violently, fighting back with every heartbeat, every agonizing second. The sound, grotesque and wet, echoed like the growl of some ancient beast from stories told to frighten children.

  But there was still one thing. One thought that kept him on his feet. I must survive.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He repeated it in fervent whispers, a prayer flung into the dark, to whatever unseen forces governed his fate.

  From that darkness, something answered. Not words, but soft, broken murmurs, curling around him like a sinister promise.

  ’Please, Nectar, grant me deliverance.’ He whispered, trying to pray, but dehydration had stolen his voice. It tried to break free; it simply refused. The words slid back into his mouth, as if they had never left. If someone listened in closely, he would only hear grunts. Then, as if the hopelessness of his plea consumed him entirely, a soft, maniacal laugh bubbled up from his chest. His plea faded into silence, only the hollow shape of a laugh left his open mouth. The whispers, soft and unrelenting, never ceased. They circled around him like a cruel lullaby, dragging him deeper into insanity.

  The boy glanced back, his eyes straining against the all-consuming darkness, but there was nothing, nothing except those soft, haunting whispers that coiled around him. “Where are you?” he called out, his voice cracking with fear, thin and frail.

  Only the echo of his own voice replied, faint and distorted, as though the darkness itself had twisted his words. “Where are you?” The sound reverberated endlessly, mocking him.

  As he sprinted, the walls seemed to press closer, suffocating him with their oppressive movement. His head throbbed, each step sending a spike of pain through his skull. Nausea surged within him, clawing at his insides. Stumbling, he crashed into the tunnel’s rough wall. A bitter, acrid taste filled his mouth as he retched, expelling red liquid laced with tiny bone fragments. The world blurred, twisting and spinning until it was swallowed by darkness. He slumped against the cold stone, his body limp. A small light opened. From it, an arm of black sustenance reached out. A soft voice filled his head, ″a little more″.

  A wet sensation on his face startled him awake. Blinking, he realized it was blood trickling down as if it was tears. Disoriented, he wiped his face, surveying the unchanged darkness around him. The voices were gone, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake.

  Around him, he noticed that there were again dead rats scattered across the ground, each lifeless body adding to the desolation. Despite the overwhelming feeling of despair, he reached out, his trembling hand feeling for the water’s current, hoping, perhaps, for a way out. But as exhaustion dragged at him and his mind swirled with hopelessness, the urge to cry became a hollow emptiness. His eyes welled again. Red tears spilled from them, tasting of iron as it slid into his mouth.’Just a little more. Almost at the end.’ Even if it wasn’t true, it was better than dying with the truth in the darkness.