Ethan gripped the axe tighter as John aimed the shotgun at the door. Whatever was coming—they were ready.
The door rattled violently, the grotesque snarls from the hallway growing louder. John and Ethan exchanged a glance, both tightening their grips on their weapons.
John: "Alright, Winters. Looks like we're about to have company. You ready?"
Ethan: "Not even a little."
John smirked. "Good. Means you'll fight harder."
Before Ethan could respond, the door burst open, splintering apart as a monstrous figure lunged into the room. Its flesh was rotten, its limbs unnaturally elongated, and its eyes gleamed with mindless hunger.
John fired first, the shotgun blast tearing into its chest and sending it stumbling back. Ethan followed up with a quick swing of the fire axe, burying the blade deep into its skull. The creature let out a gurgled screech before collapsing to the floor, twitching violently before going still.
Ethan: "Tell me that was the last one."
John reloaded his shotgun, shaking his head. "Doubt it."
A distant roar echoed through the halls, followed by the sound of more footsteps approaching.
Ethan groaned. "You have *got* to be kidding me."
John scanned the room, spotting an old wooden hatch in the corner. "There! That might lead us somewhere safer."
Ethan: "Or it could lead us straight into more of those things."
John: "Well, standing here sure as hell ain't an option. Move!"
Ethan rushed to the hatch and yanked it open. A dark, musty tunnel stretched below, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. Without hesitation, John climbed in first, dropping into the tunnel. He turned and motioned for Ethan to follow.
Ethan hesitated for only a second before climbing down and pulling the hatch shut behind him. The sounds of their pursuers grew muffled, but they weren't in the clear yet.
John flicked on a small flashlight attached to his vest, illuminating the narrow dirt passage ahead. "Stay close and keep quiet. No telling what's down here."
Ethan let out a shaky breath. "Yeah… great. More dark tunnels. Just what I needed."
John led the way, moving carefully through the confined space. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air growing heavier with each step. Then, a low, guttural growl echoed from deeper within the tunnel.
Ethan: "Please tell me that was your stomach."
John: "Wish I could."
They exchanged a wary glance before pressing forward. Whatever was waiting for them in the darkness, they were about to find out.
The tunnel stretched ahead of them, the damp air thick with the scent of decay. The faint sound of shuffling feet echoed through the passage, sending a chill down Ethan's spine.
Ethan: "I swear, if it's more of those things…"
John: "It's always more of those things. Keep moving."
They pressed forward, their footsteps careful against the unstable dirt floor. John kept his shotgun raised, his flashlight casting eerie shadows on the tunnel walls. The growl they had heard earlier came again, closer this time. It was deep, guttural, unnatural.
Ethan: "I don't like this, man. This place feels… wrong."
John: "That's because it *is* wrong. Keep your head straight."
A sudden scraping noise from behind made them both spin around. The tunnel behind them remained empty, but the oppressive darkness felt like it was closing in.
Ethan: "Okay, let's not stand around waiting for whatever that is to catch up."
John: "Agreed."
They picked up the pace, moving deeper into the tunnel. After a few tense moments, the passageway opened into a large underground chamber. Broken wooden beams jutted from the ceiling, and an old lantern flickered weakly in the center of the room. The scent of blood was stronger here.
John: "Looks like someone's been here before us."
Ethan: "Yeah, and I don't think they left in one piece."
Scattered across the dirt floor were torn scraps of clothing, deep claw marks gouged into the stone walls. In the far corner, something moved—a slow, dragging motion accompanied by a wet, labored breath.
John raised his shotgun. "We got movement."
Ethan tensed, gripping the fire axe tighter. "You think it's human?"
John: "Doubt it."
The figure shifted, stepping into the dim light. It was grotesque—its body misshapen, its skin peeling in long, sinewy strips. Hollow, soulless eyes locked onto them, and its mouth twisted into an unnatural grin.
John: "Ethan… whatever you do, don't let it touch you."
The creature lunged.
The creature lunged, its grotesque form moving faster than either of them anticipated. John barely had time to fire off a shotgun blast before it was nearly on top of them. The shot hit its shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh, but the thing barely reacted.
John: "Shit! It's still moving!"
Ethan swung the fire axe with all his strength, the blade sinking deep into the creature's side. A sickening squelch filled the air, but instead of collapsing, the monster twisted unnaturally, its hollow eyes locking onto Ethan.
Ethan: "Oh, hell no!"
John pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time aiming for the head. The blast sent the creature reeling, its body convulsing before it finally collapsed onto the dirt floor.
Ethan took a shaky step back, gripping the axe with white-knuckled fingers. "Tell me that was the only one."
John scanned the chamber, his breathing heavy. "No guarantees. Let's keep moving."
They stepped past the now-motionless creature, keeping their weapons raised. The underground chamber led to another tunnel, this one appearing more structured, lined with stone bricks rather than raw dirt. The flickering lanterns mounted along the walls cast eerie, shifting shadows.
Ethan: "This doesn't look like part of the house. What the hell is this place?"
John: "Something old… and probably something we don't want to be in much longer."
As they moved deeper inside, the walls grew damp, the air thick with moisture. A faint sound echoed through the tunnel—a slow, rhythmic *drip*—followed by something much worse.
A whisper.
It was faint, almost like a breath against their ears, but it was unmistakable. Words they couldn't understand slithered through the air.
Ethan froze. "Tell me you heard that."
John nodded grimly. "Yeah. And I don't think we're alone down here."
The whispering grew louder, shifting into something between a chant and a growl. The air itself seemed to pulse, growing heavier with every step they took.
Then the lanterns flickered once… twice… and went out.
The tunnel was plunged into total darkness.
The darkness was suffocating. John and Ethan stood frozen, their breathing the only sound in the pitch-black tunnel. Then, the whispering returned—closer this time, surrounding them on all sides.
Ethan: "I hate this. I *really* hate this."
John: "Stay close. We need to move before whatever's whispering decides to show itself."
John reached for the small flashlight clipped to his vest and flicked it on. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing damp stone walls slick with moisture. The passage ahead stretched forward into the unknown.
Then, movement.
A shadow flitted across the edge of the light, vanishing before John could track it. Ethan clenched his jaw. "Tell me that was just a trick of the light."
John: "Wish I could. Keep moving."
They pushed forward, every step slow and deliberate. The air grew colder, the whispering shifting into distorted murmurs. It was as if the walls themselves were speaking, voices overlapping in a maddening chorus.
Then, the ground beneath them *lurched*.
Ethan lost his balance, stumbling forward. John caught him by the arm and steadied him. "You alright?"
Ethan nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah, just—"
A deafening *screech* filled the tunnel.
The light flickered as something massive moved ahead of them. The flashlight caught glimpses—twisted limbs, too many fingers, a body that didn't move like it should.
John: "Run. Now."
Neither of them hesitated. They turned and sprinted back the way they came, the sound of scraping claws and guttural breathing chasing them through the tunnel. The whispering had turned into a cacophony of inhuman voices, each one more eager than the last.
Ethan: "Where the hell do we go?!"
John spotted a rusted metal door to their right and yanked it open. "In here!"
They dove inside, slamming the door shut just as something heavy crashed against it. The impact sent a cloud of dust through the air.
Ethan pressed his back against the door, panting. "Okay. Never doing that again."
John reloaded his shotgun. "You keep saying that, but here we are."
The room was small, lined with old crates and rusted equipment. A single lantern flickered weakly, casting long shadows.
John scanned the area. "We need a way out before whatever that was figures out how to open doors."
Ethan: "Agreed. But let's make sure we're not walking into something worse."
John nodded. Whatever was hunting them wasn't done yet—and neither were they.
John and Ethan stood in the dimly lit room, their breaths heavy as they listened for any sign of movement outside the rusted door. The walls around them were damp, the air thick with mildew. A single, flickering lantern barely illuminated their surroundings.
Then, the sound of an old rotary phone rang out, cutting through the silence.
Ethan: "You have *got* to be kidding me."
John exchanged a glance with him before stepping forward, locating the dusty phone on a nearby wooden table. He hesitated for only a second before picking it up.
John: "Who the hell is this?"
A woman's voice, eerily calm, came through the crackling receiver.
???: "Ethan… you don't have much time. You need to get out of there before *it* finds you."
Ethan's eyes widened. "Who *are* you? What's coming?"
???: "You need to go through the passage behind the shelf. There's a key there. Take it and move fast. Don't stop."
John: "And why should we trust you?"
The voice remained unfazed. "Because if you don't, you *die*."
A sudden, loud crash sounded from outside the door. The thing hunting them was close. Too close.
John slammed the phone down. "Move! Now!"
Ethan rushed to the shelf, shoving it aside with all his strength. Behind it, a narrow tunnel led deeper underground. Sitting on a crate inside was an old iron key.
Ethan grabbed it. "Got it!"
John took one last glance at the door as something massive slammed against it, rattling the hinges.
John: "No time to second-guess. Go!"
They dove into the passage just as the door burst open behind them, the monstrous growl of their pursuer echoing through the small room.
The chase had only just begun.
John and Ethan crawled through the narrow tunnel, their breath ragged as the sounds of their pursuer echoed behind them. The walls of the passage were damp, the scent of mold and decay clinging to the air. John kept his shotgun close, his finger hovering near the trigger.
Ethan: "Who the hell was that on the phone?"
John: "No idea, but she knew what she was talking about. Let's just hope this key actually leads somewhere safe."
A sudden shriek from behind them sent a jolt through both men. The creature was close—too close. They pushed forward faster, the tunnel beginning to widen as a faint light flickered ahead.
Ethan: "I see an opening! Almost there!"
They scrambled toward the exit, emerging into a small, decrepit storage room lined with rusted shelves and scattered debris. A single, flickering bulb swayed from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows.
John: "Lock that damn door!"
Ethan turned and slammed the metal grate shut, shoving an old crate in front of it just as a heavy thud hit the other side. The creature let out a guttural growl, clawing at the barrier, but for now, they had a moment to breathe.
Ethan: "Okay… okay… what now?"
John wiped the sweat from his brow, scanning the room. His eyes landed on an old wooden door at the far end, its surface marked with deep scratches. He pulled out the key and fit it into the lock. It clicked open.
John: "We keep moving."
They stepped into a dimly lit hallway, the air heavy with an unnatural silence. The walls were lined with old paintings, their once vibrant colors faded and warped. A staircase loomed ahead, leading up into darkness.
Ethan: "I swear, if there's another phone up there…"
John smirked, gripping his shotgun. "Then we answer it."
With one last glance behind them, they ascended the stairs, knowing that whatever awaited them above would be far worse than what they had left behind.
John and Ethan ascended the creaking wooden staircase, their weapons at the ready. The dim hallway at the top stretched ahead, lined with broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and something metallic—blood.
Ethan: "This place keeps getting worse."
John: "Stay sharp. We're not alone."
A loud *crash* echoed from a nearby room, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots stomping against the wooden floor.
Ethan: "You think that's—"
John: "Jack. And I'd bet my last shell he's waiting for us."
They pressed forward, cautiously pushing open a heavy metal door at the end of the hallway. Inside, the room was massive, resembling an old barn or slaughterhouse. Dim, flickering lights cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating rusted chains and piles of discarded tools. In the center of the room, Jack Baker stood with a wicked grin, holding a massive spiked shovel over his shoulder.
Jack: "Well, well! Look what the swamp dragged in! Y'all really think you can waltz around my house and get away with it?"
John tightened his grip on his shotgun, stepping forward. "You've got one hell of a hospitality problem, Jack."
Jack chuckled, tapping the shovel against his palm. "Boy, you got no idea what you're dealin' with."
Before John could react, Jack lunged forward with unnatural speed, swinging the shovel. John barely dodged, the weapon slamming into the wooden beam beside him, splintering it apart.
Ethan scrambled to the side, grabbing a rusted axe from a nearby table. "We need to put him down *now*!"
John fired a shot into Jack's chest, but the man barely flinched. Laughing, Jack grabbed a nearby chainsaw and revved it to life, the sharp teeth spinning menacingly.
Jack: "Let's see how y'all like a real *family* welcome!"
Ethan's eyes locked onto another chainsaw resting on a tool rack nearby. Without hesitation, he dashed for it, gripping the handle as the machine roared to life.
John stepped back. "You got this, Winters?"
Ethan nodded, determination in his eyes. "Yeah. Time to end this."
The chainsaw duel had begun.
The roar of the chainsaws filled the room as Ethan and Jack clashed, the grinding teeth sparking as metal met metal. The force of Jack's swing sent Ethan stumbling back, his chainsaw barely keeping the older man's relentless attacks at bay.
John knew he couldn't stand back and watch. He needed to act—fast.
Spotting a rusted machete hanging from a workbench, John snatched it up. The weight was uneven, the blade dulled from years of neglect, but it would have to do. He gripped the handle tight and charged forward.
John: "Hey, Jack! Try me!"
Jack turned just as John swung. The machete slashed across Jack's side, cutting through his tattered shirt and leaving a deep gash. Jack let out an enraged growl, momentarily forgetting Ethan.
Jack: "Oh, you wanna dance too, boy? Fine by me!"
Jack swung his chainsaw at John, forcing him to duck and roll away. The blade missed by inches, biting into a wooden beam, sending splinters flying. John used the moment to slash at Jack's leg, slicing through flesh and muscle. Jack staggered, but the wound barely slowed him down.
Ethan seized the opportunity, revving his chainsaw and lunging. The blade tore into Jack's shoulder, sending a spray of blackened blood into the air. Jack howled, his body convulsing unnaturally, but he still wouldn't go down.
John: "What the hell does it take to kill this guy?!"
Jack, grinning through the pain, yanked Ethan's chainsaw away with unnatural strength and threw it across the room. He turned back to John, eyes wild.
Jack: "Y'all ain't gonna kill me that easy! I been through worse!"
John didn't waste time on words. He surged forward, driving the machete straight into Jack's stomach. Jack grunted, his body shuddering, but instead of falling, he grabbed John by the collar and *lifted him off the ground*.
Ethan: "John! Hang on!"
John struggled as Jack's grip tightened around his throat. The room spun, his vision blurring.
Ethan, desperate, grabbed a nearby metal pole and swung it like a bat. The impact sent Jack stumbling back, dropping John in the process. Gasping for air, John recovered quickly, snatching his machete from the ground.
Jack reeled, his body convulsing, his flesh twisting unnaturally. His grin widened into something grotesque.
Jack: "This ain't over… not by a long shot."
John wiped blood from his mouth and readied his stance. "We'll see about that."
The fight wasn't over. Not yet.
Jack's body twitched, the unnatural grin still plastered across his face. His eyes flickered with something almost inhuman, as if he was enjoying every second of the battle. John gritted his teeth, gripping his machete tighter, while Ethan held his chainsaw at the ready, its motor still roaring.
Jack: "Y'all think you can kill me?! *I AM THE FAMILY!*"
With terrifying speed, Jack lunged at John, his chainsaw arcing down. John barely managed to roll away, feeling the air shift as the blade missed his head by inches. He countered with a powerful slash of his machete, carving a deep gash into Jack's arm. Black, tar-like blood seeped from the wound, but Jack only chuckled.
John: "Ethan! We need to end this!"
Ethan revved his chainsaw and rushed in from behind, slicing deep into Jack's back. The monstrous man let out an unholy scream, his body convulsing violently. Seizing the moment, John drove his machete into Jack's stomach, twisting the blade as hard as he could.
Jack staggered, his grin finally faltering. "This... ain't over... boys..."
With one final surge of strength, Ethan yanked his chainsaw upward, splitting Jack's chest open. Jack let out one last, gurgling laugh before his body collapsed to the floor in a heap. His limbs twitched for a few moments, then went still.
Ethan panted, stepping back as he wiped sweat and grime from his face. "Tell me that's the last time we have to deal with him."
John, catching his breath, nudged Jack's unmoving body with his boot. "I don't trust it. We need to keep moving before something else decides to show up."
Ethan nodded, looking around the room. A metal door stood at the far end, its frame old and rusted but still intact.
Ethan: "That's gotta lead somewhere."
John: "Then let's find out. And let's hope whatever's next isn't worse than what we just fought."
They exchanged one last glance at Jack's corpse before stepping through the door, ready for whatever fresh nightmare awaited them next.
John and Ethan moved cautiously through the dimly lit hallway, the weight of their recent battle still heavy on their shoulders. After everything they'd endured, the eerie silence almost felt unnatural. As they reached a small storage room, John pushed the door open and peeked inside. Finding it empty, he motioned for Ethan to follow.
Ethan: "Alright, I think we can take a breather here."
John sighed, leaning against the wall and stretching his sore arms. "Yeah, I think we earned it."
Ethan sat on an overturned crate, rubbing his temples. "You know, for someone who looks like they've been through hell, you sure fight like a damn machine."
John smirked. "You learn a thing or two when you've been fighting your whole life."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "That so? Care to elaborate? We've been running and shooting for hours, might as well get to know each other."
John hesitated for a moment before exhaling. "Alright, Winters. You want to know? Fine. But don't expect some happy story."
Ethan: "After what we've been through? I didn't expect sunshine and rainbows."
John let out a dry chuckle before his expression hardened. "I grew up in a military family. The Bookers have been soldiers for generations, so my future was decided before I could walk. I trained, I fought, I survived. But then… I was sent to Japan. And that's where things get blurry."
Ethan leaned forward. "Blurry how?"
John rubbed the back of his head absentmindedly. "I don't remember much. Three years of my life are just… gone. I know I was there. I know I trained soldiers. I know I fought things that shouldn't exist. But the only thing I remember clearly… is Osamu."
Ethan: "Osamu? The guy who—"
John clenched his fists. "Burned me alive. Threw me off a canyon. Broke damn near every bone in my body. When I woke up, I wasn't the same. Pieces of my past? Missing. All I had left was the pain, the scars, and the certainty that I had to keep moving."
Ethan sat in silence for a moment. "Damn… and I thought I had it rough."
John smirked. "Speaking of which, what about you, Winters? Who were you before all this?"
Ethan exhaled, shaking his head. "Just a regular guy. Had a normal job, a normal life. Met Mia, got married. Everything was fine… until it wasn't. One day, she vanished. No leads, no explanation. Then, out of nowhere, I get a message from her, telling me to come find her. And like an idiot, I did."
John nodded. "And now you're stuck in this hellhole."
Ethan let out a dry laugh. "Yep. And I don't even know if Mia is the same person anymore."
John placed a hand on his shoulder. "Listen. No matter what happens, you're here for a reason. But be ready for the worst. Sometimes, the people we love aren't the same when we find them."
Ethan looked down, processing John's words. "Yeah… I guess we'll find out soon enough."
John glanced toward the door, his soldier instincts kicking in again. "Alright, break's over. Let's move."
Ethan stood up, gripping his axe. "Back into the nightmare."
With that, the two men pressed forward, their bond stronger than before, both carrying pasts that had led them to this moment.
As they stepped into the next corridor, a familiar sound cut through the silence—a phone ringing. The same old rotary phone as before, sitting on a nearby wooden table, untouched and somehow still working.
Ethan: "Oh great, her again."
John exchanged a glance with Ethan before walking up to the phone. He hesitated before picking it up. "Yeah?"
The same calm female voice crackled through the receiver.
??? "You don't have much time. Jack was only the beginning. If you want to survive, you need to keep moving. There's a way out through the processing area—but it won't be easy."
Ethan leaned in. "Who the hell are you?"
???: "The name's Zoe. Someone who wants to help. But you have to trust me. Find the processing area. Hurry."
Before Ethan could ask anything else, the line went dead.
John: "Processing area, huh? Sounds like a fun time."
Ethan groaned. "Yeah, I'm sure it's just filled with sunshine and puppies. Let's go."
They pressed on, not knowing what new horrors awaited them next.
John and Ethan moved deeper into the house, following the only path available to them. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp wood and something metallic—blood.
Ethan: "Processing area... sounds like a place we don't wanna be."
John: "No shit. But if Zoe's right, it's our only way forward."
They descended a narrow staircase, the dim lighting casting jagged shadows on the walls. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, sending a chill down Ethan's spine.
Ethan: "You ever wonder why people like us get dragged into this kind of crap?"
John smirked, keeping his shotgun raised. "All the time. You think we pissed off the universe or something?"
Ethan let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe. Before all this, my life was normal. Boring, even. I worked in IT, fixed computers, played video games. The worst thing I had to deal with was slow Wi-Fi."
John glanced at him. "You? An IT guy? Never would've guessed."
Ethan shrugged. "Yeah, well. I liked my quiet life. Then Mia disappeared, and suddenly, I'm playing survival horror in real life."
John nodded. "Guess we've both had our worlds flipped upside down. My life? It was never quiet. Always training, always preparing for war. My father made sure of that. Then Japan happened, and... well, you know the rest."
Ethan: "Do you ever think about trying to remember?"
John hesitated before shaking his head. "I've tried. But every time I dig too deep, all I get are nightmares. Maybe some things are better left forgotten."
Ethan: "Yeah... maybe."
The two pressed forward, stepping into a large, grimy chamber filled with metal cages and rusted processing equipment. Bloodstains covered the floor, and the sickly scent of rot filled the air.
Ethan: "Well... this is just fantastic."
John gripped his shotgun tighter. "Stay sharp. I don't think we're alone."
A low, guttural growl echoed from the darkness.
John: "Yep. Definitely not alone."
John and Ethan instinctively raised their weapons, scanning the dimly lit chamber. The growl was deep, guttural, reverberating through the bloodstained walls.
Ethan: "Tell me that was just the pipes creaking."
John: "Yeah? You wanna stick around and find out?"
The shadows ahead shifted. A grotesque figure emerged from the darkness, its twisted limbs twitching as it dragged itself forward. Its skin was blackened and rotten, its mouth splitting open to reveal jagged, unnatural teeth.
Ethan: "Oh, hell no."
John didn't wait. He raised his shotgun and fired, the blast echoing through the chamber. The creature staggered but didn't fall.
John: "You've gotta be kidding me."
The monster lunged, forcing Ethan to swing his axe. The blade buried deep into its shoulder, but the creature barely reacted, its clawed hand swiping at Ethan's chest. He barely dodged in time.
Ethan: "Any more bright ideas?!"
John pumped his shotgun, firing another round, this time aiming for the creature's head. The impact sent it crashing backward, twitching violently before going still.
Ethan exhaled sharply. "That better be the last one."
John: "Doubt it."
A distant scraping noise echoed through the chamber, followed by more guttural snarls.
John: "We need to move. Now."
Ethan grabbed his axe, pulling it free from the corpse. "Which way?"
John scanned the room, spotting a metal door on the far side. "That way. And let's hope whatever's behind it is better than what's out here."
They sprinted across the room, John kicking the door open. Inside was another hallway, lined with rusted metal grates and flickering lights.
Ethan: "I hate this place."
John: "You and me both. Keep moving."
With the growls growing louder behind them, they disappeared into the next corridor, bracing for whatever horrors lay ahead.
John and Ethan sprinted down the narrow hallway, their footsteps echoing against the metal grates beneath them. The dim, flickering lights above cast eerie shadows along the rusted walls. Behind them, the guttural snarls and scraping claws of the creatures grew louder.
Ethan: "Tell me you see a way out!"
John: "Working on it!"
They turned a corner, nearly colliding with a rusted metal door at the end of the hall. John grabbed the handle and yanked, but it didn't budge.
John: "Damn it! It's locked!"
Ethan scanned the area, spotting a nearby panel with a keycard slot. "Looks like we need a keycard."
John: "Because of course we do."
The growls grew closer. John and Ethan exchanged a look before Ethan pointed down another hallway leading deeper into the facility.
Ethan: "Only one way to go."
John let out a frustrated sigh. "Let's move before we become monster chow."
They pushed forward, navigating the maze-like corridors, their weapons at the ready. The deeper they went, the worse the air smelled—damp, rotten, with a hint of something metallic.
Ethan: "This place just keeps getting worse."
John: "No argument here."
A loud *clang* echoed from behind them. Both men spun around, their weapons raised. The hallway remained empty, but the tension in the air was suffocating.
John: "Stay sharp. They're toying with us."
Ethan: "Yeah, well, I'm not in the mood for games. Let's find that damn keycard and get the hell out of here."
They pressed on, unaware of the eyes watching them from the darkness.
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Arthur nots: that took forever to finish im sorry it took soo long to complete but hey it's here and I hope you enjoys the chapter see you next time bye