Abarith
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Chapter 31: The Maze’s Runner
🕑 Added 2024-11-22 06:10:40 +0000 UTCPain. Indescribable pain. A scream, loud, shrill. Lizards could scream? No, it sounded familiar. Was that him? It couldn’t be. He tried breathing. His throat burned in agony.
The pain was everything—sharp, dull, loud, quiet—all at once. Cold. The hollowness carved through him, an ache that grew with every moment. Was it the ground biting into his fingers, or was he falling apart? Since when was he lying on the ground?
His vision swam, filled with blurred shadows and flickering light. He didn’t know where he was—couldn’t remember if he’d even been anywhere before. The labyrinth? The lizards? Were they still there? Or had he imagined them?
Move. The thought whispered at him from the haze. Move. Why wasn’t he moving? His legs twitched, but they didn’t feel like his. His arms trembled, distant and disconnected, like watching someone else in a dream. The snarls grew louder, the scrape of claws pulling at the edges of his mind. They were close—too close. He needed to fight, needed to—
The lizards—he could hear them again, faint at first, but then louder, snarls echoing through the haze. They were there. They’d always been there. He had to move. Had to fight. His mind screamed at his body to react, but it stayed limp, useless. Seconds stretched, long and unbearable, until his legs kicked against the ground, throwing him upright in jerk.
The spear was in his hand again. He didn’t know how, but it was there, moving, slicing through the air. A lizard lunged, its glowing eyes locked onto him. The spear drove forward, puncturing through its chest with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed all over, hot and sticky, but it didn’t feel real.
Another one. He swung the spear faster than it had any right to. A sharp pop echoed in his shoulder, a jolt he didn’t have time to acknowledge. Pain blurred with movement, all of it fading into one. His body moved without thought, without control.
More. There were more of them, too many. Another lunged; Jeremy’s body moved like it wasn’t his, jerky, uncoordinated. His muscles burned, but it wasn’t his—as if he was just an observer. Just keep swinging. Just keep swinging, swinging, swinging.
And then, through the pack, a hole—a path. His mind screamed to take it, to run. But run where? Run for what? What was he even doing here? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think. The sound of snarls dragged him back. Run. Just run.
His body didn’t run. Instead, his spear swung. It wasn’t instinct. It wasn’t choice. It just happened.
They kept coming. More and more. It was endless. Their scent filled the air. Again and again the spear was swung.
At some point, the sounds faded. Jeremy stood there, chest heaving, blood pooling around him. Where did the blood come from? The world blurred, the edges of the labyrinth twisting and tilting. He blinked, trying to steady himself, but the hollowness in his chest throbbed, pulling him down.
Run. That thought again, faint and insistent. He stared around him, the bodies of the lizards piled in heaps. He should run, shouldn’t he? He was supposed to. But why? His mind grasped for the reason, but it slipped through his fingers like water.
Forward. A step. Another. His legs jerked—stop, move, stumble. No rhythm, no reason. Faster. He didn’t tell them to go faster, but they did. The labyrinth swallowed him again, the walls closing in, twisting and turning. He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care. Left, right, straight—he just had to run.
And then he was back. The bodies of the lizards, the blood-soaked ground. He stopped, staring. No. No, this wasn’t right, right? He’d left this place. He’d run. He ran, his legs moving again, faster this time.
But he was back again. The same place. The same blood. The same bodies. He didn’t understand. He had to run, didn’t he? That was what he was supposed to do. So he ran again.
Time lost meaning. Each step felt heavier than the last. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he couldn’t stop. He was running.
His body wobbled. The energy was slipping, fading. He could feel it—the strength from that unnatural burst, draining away.
Not enough. He needed more. More! He reached deep inside himself and tore off an even larger chunk.
This time, the pain was muted. The hollow space grew wider, but the energy was back. His legs dragged him forward. Faster. He needed to be faster.
The walls twisted—no, the ground twisted. Or was it the light? Everything bled together—flickering like they were alive. His vision pulsed, shaking loose colors that didn’t belong. Each step felt disconnected from the last, as if he was watching flashes of someone else’s memory. Time stretched, and Jeremy lost track of how far he’d gone—or how long he’d been running.
Minutes? Hours? Days? Any sense of time was lost, leaving only the sound of his steps and his own ragged breathing. His legs moved as if they had a mind of their own. Left. Right. Straight. He wasn’t even sure he was choosing anymore.
Hunger gnawed at the edges of his mind—but no, not hunger. Not exactly. He tried to focus on the sensation, but it was distant, like it belonged to someone else. He wasn’t thirsty, either. Food, water, rest—all had dissolved into the same void in his chest.
Was he even still human? The question prickled at him, sharp and cold. His heart—a faint echo, not a drum. Human hearts drum, don’t they? The cold, hollow space was also there. It wasn’t pain—not exactly—but it was worse. Like a reminder of something missing.
Jeremy’s shoulder clipped the rough wall. His hand scraped something rough, sharp. Every step felt heavier now, and his chest heaved, each breath shallower than the last. He couldn’t tell if the burning in his lungs was from exhaustion or the icy ache spreading through him.
He kept moving, even though he wasn’t sure why anymore. The energy, the thing inside that had pushed him this far, it was fading. He could feel it slipping away, slower and slower, like water draining through cracks. And when it was gone, what then? What would he even be?
He stumbled to a halt. He pressed his fingers against his chest, against that awful emptiness. His legs trembled, barely holding him up.
He couldn’t stop. Not yet. He needed to run. That’s all he knew. He had one more choice. The thought swirled in his mind. One more piece. He could feel it there inside him, so faint and fragile. The last of it. He could use it, then he could run.
His fingers curled, ready to reach inward. Just one more time. One last—
He stopped. The air… it was… different. His eyes flicked up. Shadows. Something moved—did it? No, it was just… but it wasn’t.
Something was there. Maybe. It didn’t matter. No, it did matter. It wasn’t a lizard. It couldn’t be. Could it? His mind spun. Everything spun. A shape. Not a shadow. Something else. His breath caught in his throat. Move? Stay? His legs didn’t listen.
He blinked hard. Once. Twice. A figure. Closer now, stepping through the flickering dark, slow and deliberate. The edges—soft, not jagged. Too soft. Too human. No claws. No snarls. But that wasn’t possible. Nothing here could be human.
It wasn’t moving. Just... waiting.
Run. His thoughts screamed louder now. This was it. A new monster, something smarter. It would wait, let him falter, and then it would strike. Move. Move now. Move before—
Red.
He froze. Not blood, not theirs. Hair? Hair? That didn’t make sense.
His eyes narrowed, his vision pulsing, shaking loose the image before him. Hair. Bright and vivid and… real. No, it couldn’t be. His grip faltered. His arms trembled.
It’s just another trick, another enemy. It’s not real. It’s not real. The spear wavered in his grip, his arms trembling as he steadied it. One step closer, just one, and he’d strike. He’d—
The shadow spoke. “Jeremy!”
The voice slammed into him, ripping through the fog in his head like a knife. His whole body flinched, jerking back as if the word itself had struck him. The sound—sharp, clear—cut deeper than the lizards’ claws ever could.
His breath hitched. His chest burned. His vision blurred. That voice. That tone. Desperate. Familiar.
“Jeremy, it’s me!” The voice came again, clearer this time. Desperate.
No, no. His mind spun too fast, too loud. Nothing made sense. He blinked, his vision struggling to focus on the shadow as it stepped into the faint light. Red hair. Blue eyes.
His throat tightened. His legs felt like jelly, trembling as he took a halting step back. A trick. A lie. It had to be. The dungeon messing with him again. The air felt thicker, colder, the ache in his chest pulsing harder. His lips moved, but no sound came.
The shadow—no, not a shadow—was closer now. Closer. His name. He heard it, softer this time, pulling at him, wrapping around his mind. “Jeremy... it’s me.” Worry. Why did it sound like worry?
“Andrew?” The name fell out of him, hoarse and broken, barely a whisper. His lips felt strange, dry, like they didn’t belong to him anymore. The word—wrong. Foreign. No, real. Real.
The red hair. The eyes—not glowing, not monstrous. Just blue. Just Andrew. His brother. But no, that couldn’t be right. Not here. Not now. Why would Andrew be here? He blinked, again and again. Still there. Still... him? His mind tried to make sense of it. Andrew. Why? How? When?
“Jeremy!” The voice was sharp and familiar, yet distant, like it was coming from underwater. Andrew. That name. That face. It shouldn’t be here. Couldn’t be here. But it was. And for the first time, something in him—something human—stirred. His expression was so raw, so genuine, filled with a worry that cut deeper than any claw, sharper than the spear Jeremy couldn’t remember letting go of.
“Andrew...” Jeremy’s voice cracked, a rasp more than a word. His mouth felt strange, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. Andrew. His name. Why did it sound so... strange?
Something fell. Was it his spear? His arms? They didn’t feel like his arms anymore, hanging there, limp and useless. He couldn’t feel them. Couldn’t feel anything, really. He sank to his knees, slamming them against the sharp stones on the ground. Or maybe they didn’t. Did it even matter anymore? He couldn’t tell.
“Jeremy, you’re okay. You’re alive,” Andrew said, his voice trembling, but the words barely registered. They sounded strange, distant, like a whisper carried on the wind.
His head tilted, his body too heavy. Or was it too light? Nothing felt right. “Andrew?” he whispered again, the word barely audible, as if testing it. Was this real? Was Andrew real?
The ache in his chest—dragging him, pulling him down. Deeper. Cold. Empty. He tried to focus on his brother’s face, but his vision spun, the colors bleeding together into a swirling mess. Red, blue, red, blue—Andrew’s face twisted and blurred until Jeremy wasn’t sure if he was seeing his brother or another lizard.
Hands—strong, steady—grabbed him. Was that... real? “Jeremy! Stay with me!” Andrew’s voice tore through the darkness, but Jeremy’s mind couldn’t hold onto it.
He clawed weakly at the ground, his fingers dragging uselessly across the stone. “Andrew...” The mouth spoke, softer this time. Was that his voice? His body tilted, heavy, too heavy. Arms, strong and steady, catching him before he hit the ground. His breath hitched, shallow, but not alone. No claws. No snarls. Just Andrew. The thought flickered, faint and fleeting, but it didn’t matter. Not now. He wasn’t falling anymore. No stone. No hollow. Just Andrew. Safe.
