Consciousness returned slowly, as if forcing its way through a dense fog. The first thing Finn felt was all-consuming pain—every muscle burned as though he had been running without end. His body seemed alien, unresponsive, as if it had been beaten for hours with heavy clubs. Countless cuts and scrapes throbbed, each a reminder of the recent battle.
Where am I? — the first conscious thought flickered through his mind.
He tried to move, but exhaustion pressed down with leaden weight. It was as though he hadn't slept for days and had then sprinted across the entire dungeon. His thoughts tangled and slipped apart, refusing to form a clear picture of what had happened.
Beside him lay the tulwar—his steadfast companion in this fight. But now its bright flame had almost gone out, leaving only a faint shimmer, barely visible in the cavern's half-light. The blade was caked with dried blood, and the hilt felt unnaturally cold in his hand.
A strange hum filled his ears, through which broke a steady, rhythmic sound. Water! Instinctive thirst proved stronger than pain and fatigue. Finn crawled toward the sound, clutching at the rough stone floor. Every movement brought a fresh wave of pain, yet he stubbornly pressed on.
Drink… I need to drink… — the thought pulsed through his fevered brain.
Reaching the edge of the underground river, he plunged his head into the icy current without hesitation. The cold stabbed his temples, but it was exactly what he needed—his mind began to clear. He drank greedily, feeling the life-giving water wash away the taste of blood and ash from his mouth.
When the first wave of thirst was quenched, Finn slowly raised his head and looked around. What he saw froze him in place—bodies of slain creatures piled all around. Hundreds of gray carcasses lay scattered, some torn apart, others scorched by the tulwar's flame.
I did this? How? — the thought flashed through his head.
The air was thick with the stench of death and charred flesh. Blue monster blood stained the cave walls and floor, creating grotesque patterns. Signs of furious battle were everywhere—deep gouges in the rock, scorched patches along the walls, mangled body parts strewn across the ground.
What had happened after he lost control? The last thing Finn remembered was the darkness rising from within, the moment he let go of the last fragments of self-restraint. Then… nothing. A blank void, filled only with vague images and the memory of overwhelming rage.
He strained his ears, searching for any signs of danger. But aside from the rush of flowing water, there was nothing—no shuffling, no movement, no cries of monsters. The silence was deafening after the chaos of battle.
I need to find the knife… — the thought came suddenly, snapping him back.
Summoning what little strength remained, Finn forced himself to his feet. His knees trembled, threatening to give way at any moment. He stumbled to his backpack, miraculously still intact amid the carnage. Inside, his belongings remained—ordinary things, yet now they felt like anchors tying him to the world of the living.
He had to lift the tulwar with both hands—the weapon felt heavier than before, its golden fire reduced to a dim glow, yet Finn still sensed the power radiating from it. For now, it was his only shield, his only lifeline in the labyrinth below.
Where is it? — Finn scanned the nearest corpses, searching for his knife. It had to be here, buried somewhere in this chaos of blood and ruin. He moved slowly among the bodies, eyes straining to pierce the shadows and the pools of blue blood.
The river's echo wove a ghostly melody across the cavern. The search was made harder by the sheer mass of bodies, stacked one upon another. Patiently, methodically, he combed through the battlefield.
It has to be here… it has to… — the thought drove him on despite the pain and fatigue.
At last, he spotted the hilt protruding from beneath a gray carcass. Carefully, Finn tugged the knife free, shaking off the sticky blue fluid. The blade was stained, but intact.
At least this… — the words drifted through his mind.
Exhaustion surged over him again, making each step unbearably heavy. He shuffled back to the river and slumped onto a stone, letting his legs dangle into the cold stream. The chill wrapped around his aching muscles, easing them with much-needed relief.
Just rest… a little… — the thought felt like the only right thing.
He slipped his backpack under his head and leaned back, staring into the dark ceiling above. His thoughts oozed sluggishly, thick as honey—forming even the simplest idea took immense effort. The sound of the river lulled him, creating an illusion of peace in this kingdom of death.
Time lost all meaning in the underground gloom. Finn simply lay there, drifting between wakefulness and oblivion. The water carried away fragments of pain and weariness with every passing moment. It seemed he could stay like this forever, thinking of nothing at all.
The pouch… the ears… — the sudden thought of trophies forced him upright.
Of course! He could take more trophies now. The idea filled him with an odd vigor, breathing new strength into his battered body. To his own surprise, a faint smile crept across his lips—the first since he had awoken.
I need to collect as many as I can… — the thought propelled him forward.
Staggering, he approached the nearest corpse. The creature's head lolled at a grotesque angle. Finn examined it closely, his attention caught by the ears. They looked strange—as if turned inside out, marked with odd folds and ridges.
Weird looking things… — he thought, gripping the knife tighter.
Pulling back the ear with one hand, he began to cut. The sound of tearing flesh made him wince—it was a new and disturbing sensation. Forcing himself to hurry, he completed the cut and tossed the severed ear toward his pack.
Why does it feel… so wrong? — he stared at his trembling hands.
What's happening to me? — the thought pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Lowering himself onto a rock, he pressed on. The work had to be finished. His gaze fell upon the next body, and with effort, he steadied himself for another cut.
The sound of water filled the cavern while he moved from corpse to corpse. The squelch of slicing tissue still unsettled him, but Finn forced himself to ignore it. Ears thudded onto the stone one after another—strange, inside-out things, unlike any trophies he had taken before.
Just a few more… — he encouraged himself, though his hands shook with fatigue.
The task dulled his thoughts, kept him from dwelling on pain or wounds. He worked steadily until the pouch bulged with fresh trophies. Only then did he allow himself to pause.
Stillness returned, broken only by the eternal river. Finn strained his ears, waiting for some sign—a scrape of claws, a low growl, the faintest shuffle. Yet the silence remained absolute. And that, somehow, was worse.
They're out there… they have to be… — the chill crept down his spine.
Staying here was dangerous. The creatures surely knew he was alive—the reek of blood, both his and theirs, hung heavy in the air. Sooner or later, they would come. Drawn by vengeance.
I need to leave… now, — Finn decided.
Pain screamed at every movement, but he forced himself to prepare. He checked the contents of his pack, tied the pouch of ears tightly, and pulled the straps snug across his shoulders. His body begged for rest, yet survival urged him on.
Don't sleep… don't sleep… — he repeated it like a mantra.
The tulwar glowed faintly, its dim flame lighting a few steps ahead. Finn shouldered the pack, grimacing as the straps dug into his torn flesh. He sheathed the knife at his belt. He was ready.
Follow the river… just follow the river.
Water always flowed somewhere—it might lead to an exit. And the roar of the current would muffle his footsteps, give him cover. Finn took one shaky step, then another, finding a rhythm that let him keep moving.
Just don't stop… — the thought gave him strength.
He trudged onward, keeping close to the wall. Each step was a battle, but he pressed forward with grim determination. Behind him lay the field of the dead; ahead stretched only uncertainty. But there was no choice—he had to find a way out of this underground maze.
There has to be a way out… — he clung to the thought, pushing back fear and exhaustion.
The tulwar's dim glow cast warped shadows along the wet walls. Finn walked on, driven by one desire alone—to escape this place.