The words hung in the air, burning in the dark.
[STATUS WINDOW DISPLAY]
Name: Ellison
True Name: Spark of Divinity
Trait: Rational Mind
Divine Virtue: Solis
Realm: Dormant]~~[Shards: 1/200]
Verdict: Alive. For now.
…
Ellison stared at the faint, glowing script. It floated just before his eyes, refusing to fade. He blinked. It remained. He looked away, and it hovered in the periphery of his vision, a permanent ghost in his sight.
He pushed himself up, the grit of the cave floor grinding against his palms. The cold was deep, seeping up from the stone. He touched his cheek. The blood across his face had more or less dried but the pain remained whole.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound felt maddening. A tiny, wet metronome counting down the seconds in the dark. It was better than the silence, at first. Then it was worse. It was the only thing, and it was driving him insane.
"Shut up," he muttered to the cave. But it ignored him.
He had to move. He couldn't just sit next to the crushed skull of the monster that almost ate him. He crawled towards the sound, one hand in front of the other, navigating by the faint, ghostly light of his own status window. The rough stone scraped his knees through his torn jeans.
The drip got louder. He reached out, hand searching in the blackness, expecting a trickle down a wall.
There was no wall. His hand met empty air. He lurched forward, but he instinctively threw his other hand out to catch himself.
The next moment. A tiny, red flame erupted from his palm.
He screamed and jerked back, falling onto his backside. The flame, no bigger than a candle's, hovered an inch above his skin. It cast a flickering, bloody light across the wet cave walls, dancing over the stalactites like accusing fingers.
He waited for the burn. It didn't come. He held his trembling hand perfectly still. The flame was warm, but it was his warmth. It didn't consume his fragile skin.
Cautiously, he brought his other hand close. The heat was pleasant, like cupping a fresh mug of tea. He let out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Holy shit."
His eyes were drawn downward. In the new, fiery light, he saw it, a small, still puddle of black water where he'd almost fallen in. And in its imperfect surface, his own reflection stared back.
A thin boy with pale, almost ghost-like skin. Bright red irises that swallowed the firelight. Short, messy black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and dried blood. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't particularly short either.
His body, hidden under a torn and bloody hoodie, wasn't muscular, but it couldn't be called skinny. He had the kind of face people called handsome, a perfect jawline, symmetrical features, but right now, it just looked like a mask of dirt, shock, and terror.
"You look like hell," he whispered to his reflection. The reflection didn't argue.
He focused on the little red flame. Go out, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. He opened them. The flame wavered, guttered, and died, plunging him back into the deeper dark, save for the soft glow of his status window.
"Shit." The darkness felt heavier now. "Come back. Please, come back". He screamed.
From a spark. The little red flame obediently bloomed to life again above his palm.
A shaky, hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat. He now knew it came from his will. The first thing in this nightmare that had listened to him.
He sat there for what felt like hours, cradling the little red light. It was his campfire, his lantern, his only proof that something in this cursed place responded to him.
He watched the flame dance, memorizing its movement, trying not to think about the dead thing a few yards away.
Then, a cold wind blew.
It came from deep within the cave, from a blackness his firelight couldn't touch. It was a chilled, damp exhalation that smelled of wet stone and rot. It made the tiny flame shiver and hiss, and it made Ellison's sweat turn to ice on his skin. He trembled, hugging his knees.
Thump.
The sound was soft, distant. A single, heavy footfall on stone.
Thump. Thump.
Ellison froze. It wasn't his heartbeat. It was coming from the same direction as the wind. From the cave's gullet.
Thump. Thump.
He scrambled to his feet, every bruise and ache protesting. He looked around the chamber. To one side was a smaller, narrower opening, a crack in the wall just big enough to squeeze into. It was better than nothing.
Out. Out. Out.
He focused on the flame. It died instantly, leaving him in the ghost-light of his status window. He hated the dark, but he hated the idea of being a glowing target more.
He slipped into the narrow crevice, pressing his back against the cold stone. He held his breath.
The footsteps grew louder.
They were slow and deliberate, heavy and daunting. Something was walking through the main chamber. Walking towards the dead beast.
Ellison peered around the edge of the rock, his black eyes wide.
The thing passed his hiding spot, so close he could have reached out and touched the hem of its tattered, filthy black robe.
It had no legs. Yet the loud, crushing footfalls came from directly beneath it. Its head was covered by a deep hood, a shadow swallowing its face.
Ellison held his breath as It moved past him without a pause, as if he were just another piece of cave rock. It shuffled to the center of the chamber, to the corpse of the rabbit beast.
He couldn't see in the dark, yet he watched, heart hammering against his ribs.
The robed figure bent over the carcass. There was a wet, tearing sound, followed by a loud, rhythmic CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
CRUNCH.
It was eating. It was feasting on the monster that had nearly been Ellison's end.
A new line of text, stark and white, scrolled silently across the bottom of his vision, overlaying the ghastly scene.
[Dormant Beast: Grave-walker]
[DESCRIPTION?]
The last word appeared like a button, from his instincts, Ellison knew he had to press it, but the fear of the grave walker paralysed him.