The air filled with new screams—dozens, maybe hundreds of creatures closing in through the winding tunnels. Their howls merged into a single, maddening chorus that made the cave's ceiling tremble. Finn could feel them coming with his whole body—the vibration of countless feet carried through the stone.
Fear returned, a cold wave running down his spine. But now there was something else—understanding that the only way out lay straight through this horde. With a quick motion, he dropped his pack to the ground and pulled out a knife with a worn rope-wrapped handle. The tulwar in his right hand burned brighter than before, as if responding to the oncoming threat.
The first creature burst from the darkness—smaller than the hunchback he had faced earlier, but just as gray-skinned and vicious. Finn met it with a swing of the tulwar, the blade's flames carving a shining arc that neatly took off its head. Burnt flesh hissed, filling the air with the sickening stench of roasted meat. He kicked the still-twitching body aside, clearing space to maneuver.
The next monster took a knife to the temple—the blade sank to the hilt, and blue blood sprayed in a fountain. Without losing a beat, Finn spun, driving the flaming tulwar into the chest of a third attacker. The blade's fire burned straight through, unleashing another wave of choking stench.
Ripping the knife free from the slain creature's skull and tossing the body back, he grabbed the nearest monster by its long neck, using it as a living shield. Blue blood slicked his hands, making the grip slippery, but adrenaline kept him strong. The tulwar kept singing, slicing through air and flesh alike—one creature after another fell, engulfed in flames.
The smell was becoming unbearable—charred meat, sour blood, the stench of entrails. All of it mixed into a nauseating haze that stung his eyes. But Finn didn't notice; he was entirely consumed by the fight. His movements were clumsy but effective—every strike found its mark.
The monsters surged in waves, their claws raking the stone and leaving deep gouges. They swarmed from every direction, climbing over each other to get at their prey. Finn spun like a whirlwind, using the corpse-shield as both battering ram and barrier. The tulwar traced fiery arcs through the air, each strike part of a deadly dance of flame.
Blue blood coated everything—his clothes, his face, his hands. It dripped from the ceiling, where dying creatures clawed at the rock in their death throes. When it touched the tulwar's burning blade, it boiled away instantly, forming a strange bluish mist.
The screams of the wounded echoed through the cavern, blending into a cacophony of pain and fury. Finn hacked and stabbed without thought—instincts ruled now. His corpse-shield still held, deflecting claws and fangs. The tulwar burned a path through the mob, leaving trails of smoldering flesh behind.
Bodies piled up, forming obstacles for the living. The air grew thick with smoke and steam, each breath harder than the last. But Finn kept moving, kept killing. His eyes, lit with blue fire, blazed brighter in this inferno of blood and flame.
The monsters began tripping over the fallen, their attacks less coordinated. Finn exploited it, forcing them into each other's paths. The tulwar's deadly song never ceased, turning every swing into a sentence of death.
The creatures' blood covered the walls, ran in streams across the floor, and dripped from the ceiling. Its metallic tang mingled with the reek of burned flesh, creating an almost unbreathable atmosphere. But Finn was beyond noticing—he had become part of the slaughter.
They kept coming, but now they hesitated. They saw the mound of their dead kin, the blazing sword, the blue fire in the eyes of the one they thought would be easy prey. Primitive fear began to gnaw at them.
Finn moved as if in a trance, each motion flowing into the next in a lethal rhythm. The corpse he used as a shield was long since torn to rags, but he still clutched it, knocking attackers aside. The dead and the burning steel worked in grim harmony, finding every opening in the enemy's defense.
The cave had become a true charnel house—mutilated bodies everywhere, some still smoking from the tulwar's touch. The walls dripped with blue blood, trickling down in bizarre patterns. The air was thick with the scents of death and char.
But Finn fought on, driven by pure survival instinct. His hands were slick with blood, his clothes soaked through, but his grip on the weapons never faltered. Each strike, each thrust brought him closer to breaking through the horde, to finding a path to freedom.
The monsters attacked and retreated in turns, their claws gouging the rock and tearing at the boy's flesh. But he seemed numb to the pain, completely consumed by battle. The twin blue suns in his eyes blazed brighter, their reflection shimmering in the pools of blood.
Time lost all meaning in the chaos. Barely minutes had passed, yet to Finn it felt like an eternity. Every muscle burned from strain; wounds he hadn't even felt began to ache.
Too many… there are too many… The thought pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Each swing of the tulwar grew heavier, his arms trembling with fatigue. The corpse-shield weighed on him like stone, yet he held it still—it was the only thing between him and the killing claws.
The flood of creatures didn't stop—it seemed to grow stronger. For every one he killed, two more appeared, fiercer and hungrier. Their eyes glowed with malice, their roars merging into an unending howl.
How many have I killed? A hundred? More? He had lost count. The mound of bodies grew, but it only drew more hunters. They climbed over their fallen like a living staircase of death.
His strength was ebbing. Each blow slowed, each step faltered. The tulwar still burned bright, but its weight was unbearable. Finn began to fall back, step by step, forced by the relentless tide.
I can't… I can't anymore… Despair seeped through the haze of fury. For every dead creature, three more replaced it, claws slashing the air inches from his face. Only the tattered corpse-shield kept him alive.
The air was a choking mix of smoke and rot. Every breath scorched his lungs; every exhale felt like fire. Sweat stung his eyes, mixing with monster blood into a strange, shimmering film.
Need to do something… something… His thoughts tangled, growing wild. He fought on, but his movements became erratic, less controlled. Something primal stirred deep inside, something dark.
The next wave hit like a tide of death—claws raked, jaws snapped too close. Finn felt the last threads of control slipping away. Pure, unbridled rage flooded his mind.
To hell with it all! With that last conscious thought, he flung aside the ragged corpse-shield. The tulwar still burned, but its fire now seemed to struggle against something else—darkness, seeping from Finn himself.
Shadow began to pour from every pore, wrapping him like a second skin. His eyes, once full of blue fire, widened, releasing streams of pure blackness. The darkness was alive, moving, pulsing, reaching for the surrounding creatures like hunting tendrils.
Kill… destroy… tear apart… The final coherent thoughts dissolved into primal bloodlust. Finn no longer controlled his body—it moved on its own, driven by ancient instincts to kill or be killed.
The darkness spread, swallowing the light, forming an aura of absolute night around him. For the first time, the monsters knew true fear—their primitive minds screaming of the danger radiating from this thing that was no longer human.