Chapter 17: The First Kill
Bright felt aggrieved.
This was ridiculous.
He had just survived one monster only to get nearly flattened by another.
His heart was still hammering, but the initial gut-wrenching fear had faded into something else—something steadier, more controlled.
He had to focus.
Bright pushed himself up quickly, rolling his shoulders, shaking out the tension in his arms. Every part of him ached, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.
He still couldn't see a damn thing ahead, but that didn't matter.
He rolled to the side—just in case.
Nothing.
No impact, no sudden movement. Just empty silence.
Bright narrowed his eyes.
Then—
A rush of air.
Coming straight for him.
His body reacted before his mind could process it. He threw himself sideways—hard—hitting the cave wall with a dull thud. A sharp ache shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it.
That was close.
His stomach twisted slightly.
If he wasn't careful, he'd run out of space to dodge.
Bright didn't move right away.
He just listened.
No heavy footsteps. No growl of frustration.
The creature wasn't attacking.
It was waiting.
That's when he realized—
It was just like him.
It was using sound. Just like he was.
Bright's pulse steadied.
It wasn't some untouchable nightmare. It wasn't a god or a demon. It was a living thing.
It relied on instinct.
And Bright?
He had his head.
And one more thing—
It wasn't that fast.
Its jump had power, but its arms? No stronger than a normal person's.
It was dangerous, yes. But not impossible.
Bright exhaled through his nose, gripping his left shoe.
He took a step back—
Then threw the shoe as hard as he could to the side.
The second it hit the ground—
A loud stomp—then a leap.
The creature lunged straight toward the distraction.
Now.
Bright rushed forward, his body tensed like a coiled spring.
Then—
The airwave hit.
The force pushed against him, nearly sending him skidding backward. But this time, he didn't stop.
His feet slammed against the ground, his body cutting through the pressure.
Then—he saw it.
For the first time, he saw the creature up close.
It was waiting.
Anticipating.
After every heavy stomp, it hesitated just slightly.
Bad luck for you, ugly.
Bright swung.
Hard.
His fist collided with its face, sending a shockwave up his arm.
The creature stumbled, growling.
Bright didn't stop.
He couldn't.
His knee snapped up, slamming into its chin—its head snapping back with a sickening crack.
No mercy.
Bright grabbed its left arm—
And twisted.
A sharp, wet pop.
A shriek.
Then—
He did the same to the other arm.
The creature thrashed, but now—
It was defenseless.
Bright didn't waste time.
He circled behind it—then tackled it, slamming it to the ground.
And then—
He stomped.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again—until the skull gave way.
The cave fell silent.
Bright stood there, breathing heavily, his hands trembling slightly.
Then—
His legs gave out.
He collapsed, his body finally protesting after the sheer adrenaline-fueled madness he had just pulled off.
His throat burned, dry and raw.
This...
This was his first real fight.
Yes, he had been shot at when he was ten.
Yes, he had been pranked with a fake grenade not long ago.
Yes, he had lived on the streets long enough to know what survival felt like.
But this?
This was different.
This was real in a way that nothing had ever been before.
For the first time, his survival depended entirely on him.
No backup. No second chances. Just him, his instincts, and his fists.
Bright lay there for a while, just breathing.
He needed to move before something else came sniffing around.
But first—
His gun.
It took a while, but he found it, half-buried under loose dirt and debris.
His shoe, though?
Nowhere in sight.
Bright stared at the empty space where it should have been.
"...Poor shoe."
He sighed, pulling off the other one.
Might as well make it fair.
Tying the remaining shoe around his neck like some ridiculous battle trophy, he forced himself to his feet and moved forward.