Dylan's POV
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Dylan jolted awake, his eyelids heavy and crusted shut.
He struggled to open his eyes but found only darkness. As his consciousness returned in waves, he realized he was restrained. His hands were raised above his head, bound by cold chains that bit into his skin. But what concerned him most was the absence of solid ground beneath his feet.
He tried to move, but every attempt sent a burning pain ripping through his battered body. Every nerve screamed with electric agony, sharpening his senses and pushing away the fog of unconsciousness.
When he tried to speak, only ragged, guttural sounds escaped his throat. A searing pain prevented him from forming any words. His throat felt crushed — as if it had taken a series of brutal blows.
Panic clawed its way into his chest, tightening his lungs and knotting his stomach. One question pierced through his fractured thoughts, darkening the fragile balance of his mind.
"How could I be so stupid to get caught?" he thought, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the oppressive darkness around him.
Bit by bit, he made out the rough contours of a cavern. Humidity ruled the air, and the rhythmic drip of water hitting stone echoed in the stifling silence: plink… plonk… His breath quickened as he tried to turn his head. A sharp, searing pain twisted his neck, but he pushed through it.
And that's when he saw them.
He wasn't alone.
Bodies hung just like him — mutilated and torn apart. Some bore bite marks; others had gaping wounds that exposed muscle and bone. The chains holding them were rusted with dried blood, but Dylan quickly noticed a crucial difference: they were dead.
He, however, was still alive.
For now.
His stomach growled with hunger. His throat screamed for water. His mind wavered between agony and terror. The sight of the corpses didn't bring an instinctive fear. He'd seen worse horrors over the past three years. Since the outbreak of World War III, terror had become routine.
He still remembered his eighteenth birthday, three years ago. The year he lost his parents — sent to the front lines, never to return. Blinded by rage, Dylan had enlisted in the army, climbing the ranks to become a lieutenant. But never, even in his worst nightmares, had he imagined ending up like this — hanging like a sacrificial animal.
He tried to piece his memories back together. The night before, he had been celebrating a victory with his unit. Alcohol flowed freely. Women surrounded them. The mood had been euphoric. As always, he had kept an eye on the windows — a soldier's habit — knowing that anything could happen in a world at war. But he didn't remember any attack.
How had he ended up in this dark, grotesque hole surrounded by corpses fit for a crime documentary?
The pain in his wrists, the pressure of the chains, and the stench of decomposing bodies grounded him in one chilling certainty: he had no idea what was coming next.
"The enemy doesn't resort to this kind of atrocity," he thought, desperately searching for an explanation. "This looks like animals tore these bodies apart… but humans are capable of the worst. I know that too well."
Dylan briefly closed his eyes, fighting down his panic. He needed to keep his mind clear. His body was broken, but his mind was still intact. If he wanted to survive, he had to figure out where he was and, most importantly, who — or what — was responsible for this horror show.
A massive silhouette entered the room, casting an oppressive shadow against the jagged walls of the cavern. Dylan hung his head, feigning unconsciousness, but his barely parted eyelids allowed him to track the intruder's movements.
The creature moved with unsettling ease, brushing past the hanging bodies as if they were clothes on a rack. A guttural rumble — almost like a dark melody — vibrated in its throat as it meticulously inspected the corpses.
Dylan could only see its back — broad, hunched, covered in a strange texture. Now and then, a rough hand entered his view as the creature tiptoed to unhook a body hanging too high. Every movement was calculated, precise… almost ritualistic.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The figure slowly turned its head in his direction.
Dylan's heart skipped a beat. He held his breath and shut his eyes, praying to become invisible in the dark.
A moment later, he felt warm, rancid breath wash over his face. A nauseating, acrid smell filled his nostrils, making him gag. The intruder sniffed loudly, its calloused fingers brushing against his battered chest. Then, a rough, slimy tongue dragged across his cheek, leaving a cold, sticky trail on his skin.
Dylan knew he couldn't hold out much longer.
In a sudden burst of panic, his eyes shot open.
The creature recoiled, stumbling clumsily before crashing to the floor. Dylan blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing in the darkness. His blurred vision revealed a grotesque silhouette — smooth, hairless skin, a single enormous eye in the center of its face, elongated ears, and a twisted grimace that distorted its features.
Its face looked like a nightmare.
A guttural laugh echoed through the cavern. The creature slowly got back to its feet, its single eye fixated on Dylan with a palpable hunger.
"Well, well," it growled in a low, mocking tone. "Looks like one of them is still alive."
The deep, gravelly voice, combined with its grotesque grin, sent a shiver down Dylan's spine.
He tried to gather himself, his mind racing desperately for a way to survive.
"What the hell is this thing?" he thought, his mind foggy with growing fear. His broken, suspended body refused to obey him, but he tried to move anyway, awkwardly tugging at the metal chains slicing into his wrists.
"Don't move, don't move," the creature growled, raising a hand to stop him. "You'll ruin the meat."
Those words hit Dylan like a cold blade. A creeping dread filled him. He tried to open his mouth, ready to scream and shatter this absurd nightmare, but no sound came out. His crushed throat produced only a choked whimper.
"Very lively," the creature murmured with a satisfied chuckle.
It stepped closer, its heavy footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. A massive, rough hand brushed against Dylan's injured chest, sending an uncontrollable shiver through his body. Then, in a disturbing gesture, it grabbed the waistband of his pants, pulled it slightly, and peeked inside.
Dylan felt his dignity crumble under the weight of humiliation and visceral fear.
"Well, well," the creature hissed, its single eye gleaming with a vile light. "Looks like this one hasn't been cut. Oh… he'll do nicely for breeding seed for the Matriarch."
Dylan's blood ran cold. Those words only worsened the horror of his situation.
"Come with me," the creature finally said, its twisted smile widening. "I'll take you to her."