The metal was cold through his shirt. His back found the seam where the wall met the floor, and he stayed there, pipe across his lap like it could actually do something against that thing. The doorway remained a dark rectangle, washed in a faint blue sheen that clung to the edges more than the air itself, and he kept staring at it like staring hard enough might stop anything from stepping through. His breathing wouldn't settle, no matter how still he forced himself to be.
He tried anyway—slow in, slower out—counting without meaning to. The numbers slipped, tangled with the hum under the floor and the memory of that wet exhale in the hallway. Every time he felt his chest loosen, his body immediately tightened again, as if it didn't trust him to relax.
The System timer sat in the corner of his vision like a stain he couldn't blink away.
[QUEST: INITIAL SURVIVAL — 24 HOURS]
[REMAINING TIME: 11:38:02]
Eleven hours. It should have felt like progress. Instead it felt like a countdown to whatever came next, like surviving the timer just meant earning the right to be hunted longer. His stomach twisted hard enough that he thought, for a second, he might throw up.
He hadn't eaten since—since before this. Since the few fries he'd stolen at the diner. It was just one more reminder of his circumstances, and not even the most urgent one. It wasn't ideal, but he could ride out the timer before he started worrying about food. Who knew—maybe the System would reward him with something edible.
In hindsight, surviving this nightmare just to get a meal felt a little meek, but he was hungry, and thinking about food was easier than thinking about what might be lurking out there in the dark.
He kept listening, the room offering up its own noises: the soft drip from somewhere in the ceiling, the faint click of metal expanding and contracting with temperature shifts, the low hiss of a pipe venting in the distance. He learned them fast, cataloging each sound so he'd know the second something new joined the list. Minutes passed—maybe more—and he tried not to glance at the countdown in the corner of his vision, half-convinced it might move faster if he ignored it. Outside, the lights continued their irregular flicker, and each change in brightness made the doorway look like it was breathing.
He shifted his grip on the pipe as the cold seeped into his hands and began to bite, another thing he'd have to accommodate eventually. This side of the room felt noticeably colder, but it was also the side he hadn't run into the skarn.
He forced himself to move just to get his blood going, standing slowly with the pipe in one hand before crossing the room in three careful steps. There wasn't much to the place: bare metal walls, a floor scuffed with old grime, and a few crates shoved into a corner that he'd already checked and rechecked. A scattering of loose scraps lay near them—bent brackets, a torn strip of plating, nothing useful. No food. No tools. No hidden panel with a miracle inside.
He crouched by the crates anyway and nudged one with the pipe. It scraped, the sound hitting him like a slap, and he froze with his pulse flaring. Nothing answered it. He waited, jaw clenched, then pushed the crate again, slower this time, trying to control the noise. The lid was warped. Whatever had once been stored inside had been taken or destroyed long before he got here.
A faint thump rolled through the floor, not loud but sharp enough to cut through the noises he'd already cataloged. He stared at the doorway. The hallway remained empty, but the light outside flickered orange, then white, then dipped low enough that the usual shadows thickened and the corridor seemed to stretch deeper than it should have. In that dim, the darkness didn't feel like an absence so much as something with weight, pressing back at the edges of the light.
Another thump, closer. His hand tightened on the pipe until his fingers hurt, and he forced himself to breathe shallow, barely moving air in and out of his chest. Even that felt risky, like the smallest sound could give him away. He edged farther back into the room, keeping the pipe angled low as his brain scrambled for options that collapsed as soon as they formed—run where, hide where, do what? This room had no second exit, no vent big enough, no closet, no shelves tall enough to climb.
The third thump wasn't on the floor. It came from the wall, a dull impact followed by the light scrape of something dragging along the metal, slow and deliberate, like it was testing the space.
Dylan's mouth went dry so fast it felt like his tongue stuck to his teeth. He stood there, centered in the room like an idiot, pipe raised, eyes locked on the doorway while the sound drew closer. His brain flashed back to the hallway—the tail thumping for echoes, the head tilting as if the floor itself might answer back—and he tried not to let that image take over his hands.
He heard it inhale, that wet, dragging breath he remembered too well. The shadow reached the doorway first, long and low, warping with the flicker as it stretched across the floor and bled into the room like a creeping stain. Then the creature itself eased into view, hugging the corridor floor, spine arched at the wrong angle, its hide uneven in places where something beneath it caught the light and then vanished again.
It didn't rush. It didn't charge in blind the way a cornered animal might. Instead it paused just outside the threshold, tail lifting slowly before dropping with a measured slam against the hallway floor. The sound hit the quiet like a punch, deliberate and controlled, as if it were announcing itself rather than attacking.
The metal under Dylan's feet trembled, and he watched as the faint discoloration at the doorway brightened for a second before dimming again, gone almost as soon as he noticed it. The creature stayed still after that, head tilted, body drawn tight, listening.
Dylan didn't move. He didn't even blink, afraid the smallest motion might shift the air and give him away. His heart pounded so hard he was sure it would betray him, each beat feeling too loud, too close to the surface.
The skarn's head jerked slightly, a twitch like it was triangulating on something he couldn't hear. It lowered itself closer to the ground, claws clicking once as it adjusted its stance, its tail shifting with a faint drag of weight against the metal. Then it made a soft sound—something between a rasp and a click—low and deliberate, testing the space rather than filling it.
Dylan's lungs screamed for him to breathe, but he held it, throat burning as his body went cold at the edges. The pipe felt too light in his hands, his arms suddenly weak, the doorway too wide as the creature's head angled toward him. Milky eyes pointed in his direction without seeing, and it exhaled again—low and wet—before taking one slow, careful step across the threshold, claws scraping just enough to make Dylan flinch internally without moving. It entered the room like it owned it, like it had already decided this was where the hunt ended.
Dylan's foot shifted a fraction, barely a redistribution of weight, an instinctive brace. The metal answered with a tiny creak, and that was all it took. The skarn's body snapped tight in an instant, tail lifting as it launched.
It crossed the room in a blur of motion and sound, claws screaming against metal as it surged forward, body low and fast, spine flexing in a way that made Dylan's mind recoil even as his feet refused to move. The space between them vanished too quickly for thought, leaving only impact rushing toward him.
Dylan reacted on instinct. He jerked the pipe up and swung, not aiming so much as trying to put something solid between himself and the thing coming for him. The metal rang as the pipe glanced off the Skarn's shoulder, the impact jarring his arms all the way to the elbows.
The creature shrieked—not in pain, but in irritation—and barreled into him. The force knocked Dylan backward into the wall, metal slamming into his spine and driving the breath out of his lungs in a sharp, panicked burst. The pipe slipped in his grip, and for a terrifying second he thought he'd lost it entirely.
The skarn's weight hit him low, all sinew and shifting mass, pinning his legs as its claws skittered against the floor in a frantic search for leverage. Its tail lashed and thumped hard enough to rattle the crates in the corner, each impact vibrating through the room and into his bones.
Dylan shoved at it with his forearm, panic overriding reason. His hand slid against damp, uneven flesh, the texture wrong in a way that made his stomach lurch, and the creature snapped its head toward the movement. Its jaw opened wider than Dylan expected, lined with uneven teeth that looked less like a predator's and more like something repurposed for tearing, and hot, sour breath washed over his arm.
He screamed and jammed the pipe downward. The metal struck bone this time, solid and unforgiving, the impact traveling up the pipe and into his shoulders until his hands went numb. The skarn recoiled just enough for Dylan to twist sideways, dragging himself along the wall in a clumsy scramble.
He slipped on the damp floor and went down hard on one knee, pain flaring white through his leg and stealing another breath. The pipe clanged as it hit the floor, bouncing once before skidding a short distance away, and the sound ripped a word out of him before he could stop it.
The skarn lunged again, faster now with its patience gone, claws raking across the wall where his head had been a second earlier and throwing bright sparks as they gouged deep grooves into the metal. Dylan crawled, half-blind with panic, fingers scrabbling for purchase until his hand closed around the pipe just as the creature's weight slammed into his back, driving him flat against the floor.
The impact knocked the air out of him completely. His chest refused to rise, lungs burning as he tried and failed to breathe while the skarn pressed down, claws digging in and its tail hammering the floor in short, violent strikes. The vibrations were everywhere—in his teeth, in his skull—blurring the room into a single, rattling pressure.
The creature reared slightly, shifting its weight as it adjusted to the echoes, its head angling down toward Dylan's torso with its jaws opening again, closer this time. Dylan acted without thinking, driving the pipe upward with both hands and jamming it between the skarn's ribs where the body gave just enough to accept it. The metal sank in with a wet, resistant give.
The skarn howled, a high, broken sound that tore through the room as its body convulsed and its claws scraped wildly against the floor. Something beneath its hide reacted—tightening, spasming, losing rhythm—but Dylan didn't pull the pipe free. He couldn't. His arms locked as every muscle screamed, the creature bucking and twisting above him while he hung on through instinct alone.
The skarn's tail slammed down again, harder this time, the impact rattling the wall beside Dylan's head. Something cracked—metal or bone, he couldn't tell—and the pressure on his back shifted just enough for him to gasp, dragging in air in a ragged, choking breath.
The creature collapsed partially to the side, its weight rolling off him just enough to give him room. Dylan shoved himself backward, dragging the pipe with him as it tore free from the skarn's body with a wet resistance, dark fluid spraying across the floor and hissing faintly where it struck the metal.
He scrambled to his feet with his vision swimming and his ears ringing. The skarn lay twisted on the floor, its limbs jerking in sharp, uneven spasms, movement out of sync and wrong in a way that made his stomach drop. Whatever was happening beneath its hide hadn't finished yet.
It wasn't dead. It was trying to rise.
Dylan tightened his grip on the pipe, hands shaking so badly he could barely keep it steady. His chest burned, his knee throbbed, and his arms felt like they might give out at any second, but there was nowhere left to run. He took a step back, then another, boots slipping slightly on the damp floor as he tried to buy himself space he didn't actually have.
The skarn's movements were erratic now, stripped of their earlier precision. Its limbs scraped and twitched as it tried to push itself upright, claws screeching against the metal without finding purchase, frustration bleeding through the loss of control.
The pipe felt heavier in Dylan's hands than it had moments ago, his arms trembling from strain as each breath came shallow and sharp, like his lungs hadn't decided yet if they were going to cooperate. He watched the creature closely, tracking the way its body shifted and failed to settle.
The Skarn slammed its tail down again, not with control this time but with frustration. The impact rattled the room, sending another wave of vibration through the floor. Dylan felt it in his teeth, in the bones of his legs, and something in his chest lurched at the sound.
It had lost him—somewhere in the scramble it had lost track of where he was. The realization cut through the panic like ice water, bringing a sudden, brittle clarity with it. Even wounded and thrashing, the creature was still using echoes to orient itself, each movement and scrape of metal feeding it information whether it meant to or not.
Dylan forced himself to stay still as the skarn dragged one forelimb under itself and began to rise. Its spine bent and straightened in a way that made his skin crawl, joints popping softly as they realigned, dark fluid leaking from the wound in its side and streaking the floor beneath it.
He swallowed and tightened his grip on the pipe. He couldn't wait for it to finish standing. He couldn't let it reset, couldn't give it time to recalibrate. Next to him, a bent bracket lay half in shadow where he'd spotted it earlier, metal dull and loose against the floor.
It wasn't much of a plan, but it would have to do. Trying not to second-guess himself, Dylan took one careful step and kicked at the exposed bracket. The movement was sloppy and off-balance, driven more by fear than intention, his knee screaming in protest as he pushed off it and nearly stumbled when the bracket went careening across the room.
The skarn reacted immediately, turning fully as the metal scraped and clattered against the floor. Dylan didn't let the opening pass him by. He lunged for the creature, and the pipe connected with its shoulder, the blow knocking it sideways as its claws skidded uselessly across the metal.
The skarn shrieked again, louder this time, its tail whipping out in a blind arc that caught Dylan across the thigh and numbed his leg instantly. He cried out and went down hard, catching himself with one hand as the pipe clanged against the floor again. Pain exploded through his side where the tail had struck, his vision tunneling as dark spots bloomed at the edges, and for a terrifying second he couldn't feel his leg at all.
The skarn surged toward the sound. It didn't charge straight at him, but angled as it came, adjusting mid-lunge, head snapping toward the echo of his fall. Its jaws opened wide as it closed the distance, teeth flashing briefly in the flicker of the overhead light.
Dylan rolled clumsily to the side, barely clearing the creature's snapping bite. Its teeth closed on empty air with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, the sound bouncing off the walls and overlapping itself in a dizzying wave.
The skarn froze. Its body went rigid, tail lifting slightly as it processed the feedback, and Dylan lay on his back a few feet away with his chest heaving, watching it hesitate for just a fraction of a second too long. He grabbed the pipe and didn't swing.
He drove it forward with everything he had left, aiming low and close where the creature's neck met its shoulder. The metal punched into soft resistance, slid, then struck something solid beneath with a jarring stop that rattled his arms.
The skarn convulsed violently, its shriek cutting off mid-sound and collapsing into a wet, choking gurgle as its limbs thrashed. Something beneath its hide reacted badly to the blow, tightening and spasming out of rhythm, and Dylan held on as the creature bucked and twisted, dragging him a short distance across the floor. His arms screamed and his muscles felt like they were tearing under the strain, but he kept the pipe jammed in place, leaning into it with his weight because letting go wasn't an option.
The skarn's movements slowed. Its tail struck the floor once more, weaker this time, then fell limp, claws scraping faintly before going still. The gurgling sound faded into a soft, rattling exhale that shuddered through its body and stopped. Whatever tension had been holding it together finally bled out of it, leaving only weight.
Dylan stayed where he was, crouched over the creature with the pipe still embedded in its body. His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps that scraped his throat raw as he waited for it to move again, for some last lunge or twitch that would prove this wasn't over. Nothing happened.
His arms finally gave out, and he let go of the pipe, stumbling backward until his shoulders hit the wall. He slid down it and sat there on the floor, staring at the crumpled shape in the flickering light, trying to convince himself it wasn't going to rise. It didn't look smaller now that it was still. If anything, it looked worse—wrong in a quieter way, limbs bent at angles that no longer served a purpose, dark fluid pooling beneath it and seeping slowly into the seams of the floor.
Dylan laughed once, a short, broken sound that surprised him as much as anything else. It collapsed into a cough halfway through, his chest burning as he hunched forward and pressed a hand against his ribs, the aftershock of everything finally catching up.
A sharp chime cut through the room, followed by a blue window blinking into existence in front of him—steady, indifferent, uncaring.
[XP GAINED]
[LEVEL UP]
[ATTRIBUTE POINTS AVAILABLE]
Dylan stared at the text, then at the corpse, then back at the text again. His hands started shaking in earnest as the adrenaline finally bled out of him, leaving everything hollow and too loud at the same time.
He dragged a hand over his face and looked toward the doorway, suddenly aware of how loud the fight had been. Every impact, every shriek, every echoed blow replayed itself in his head, stacking noise on noise until it felt like the room itself was remembering. Blood had a smell—he knew that much—and whatever else lived in these halls would know it too.
The thought tightened something in his chest. Staying here wasn't an option. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, wincing as pain flared through his leg, and the room immediately felt too small, the walls too close, the doorway too exposed to anything that might be moving toward the noise he'd made.
Dylan spared one last glance at the skarn's body, dark and misshapen against the floor, and swallowed hard. Whatever came next wouldn't wait for him to catch his breath. He tightened his grip on the pipe and turned toward the hall. He needed distance. He needed out—now.