"Ah, what's happening?! Let me go!" I woke with a start in a strange cave, a choked cry caught in my throat. Darkness enveloped me, thick and oppressive, but my eyes, slowly adjusting to the gloom, made out blurry silhouettes around me. Bodies. Bloody, mutilated bodies, scattered across what seemed to be damp, cold earth. A metallic smell, the unmistakable scent of blood, permeated the air. "How did I get here? What...?" The question hung in the void as a torrent of memories, sharp and brutal, hit me like a wave.
It was a... normal morning. The alarm clock shrieked as usual, a strident melody tearing me from a deep, dreamless sleep. Alex, my name, Alex Star. Seventeen years old, an only child, living with my parents in a cozy house on the outskirts of the city. Another school day, another math test that, of course, I hadn't studied for. Bah, whatever. I always pass them, I thought, with the carefree arrogance of youth, remembering the previous night lost in video games and laughter with my online friends.
I shuffled out of my room, heading to the bathroom to follow my daily routine. I stopped in front of the mirror. A young man with jet-black hair and intense green eyes stared back. He had an angular face, with a well-defined, almost sculpted jaw, and a straight, slightly upturned nose. My skin, pale as porcelain, contrasted with the darkness of my hair, which fell in rebellious, messy locks over my forehead, framing my eyes. I wasn't too tall or too short, with an athletic but slim build, the result of years of playing sports casually. Not bad, I thought, with a hint of youthful vanity. I inspected myself, almost like a morning ritual, before carefully brushing my teeth. The tempting aroma from my mother's kitchen, a promise of a delicious and comforting breakfast, guided me downstairs, quickening my steps.
As I went down, I remembered the history teacher had asked us to bring a chess set for tomorrow's class. Good thing I remembered, I thought. I'd have to find mine before leaving.
In the living room, my father, a sturdy man of 1.80m (about 5'11"), with ash-blond hair and fair skin like a typical American (he sometimes joked he had Captain America's physique, though, of course, not as defined), watched the news with a frown. On the screen, a news anchor spoke with an alarmist tone about strange "energy anomalies" being detected across the planet. Scientists, with their logical explanations, talked about tectonic plates and subterranean movements, but the conspiracy theorists... well, they always have their wild theories about aliens and interdimensional portals. I paid it no mind, dismissing it as another unimportant event.
"Mom, is breakfast ready?" I asked in a sing-song voice, heading to the kitchen, where the aroma grew even stronger.
My mother, a beautiful Mexican woman of 1.60m (about 5'3"), with skin white as snow and hair black as night, possessing a slim, elegant figure that defied the passage of time, turned around, smiling sweetly.
"Yes, dear. I'll serve in a moment. Call your father, please."
"Yes, Mom." I returned to the living room with a smile. "Dad, Mom says the table's ready."
"Coming, Alex." His characteristic deep, hoarse voice resonated as he rose from the sofa with a slow but firm movement.
I sat at the table, drumming my fingers on the wooden surface, waiting impatiently. In a couple of minutes, the steaming plates arrived, filled with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and buttered toast, and with them, my parents, the center of my universe.
"Alex, how's school going?" my father asked, in his usual serious tone, while serving himself a generous portion of eggs.
"Well, today are the math exams... Let's see how it goes," I replied, a little nervous, trying to hide my lack of preparation. I hadn't studied, and I knew it.
My mother sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, and rolled her eyes with a mix of exasperation and affection.
"You surely stayed up late playing those video games and with your chess matches, right?"
My father looked at me intently, one eyebrow arched.
"Is that true, Alex?"
"Uh... a little, yes. But don't worry, Dad, I'll pass. I've got this under control. And we have to bring a chess set to history class tomorrow, by the way."
"You'd better pass that exam, or you'll be grounded from video games for a month," he warned, in a stern tone, though we both knew he probably wouldn't follow through on his threat. At least he pretends to care, I thought, with an internal smile.
We finished breakfast in a warm, familiar atmosphere, and my mother, as always, sent me to wash the dishes with a mischievous smile.
"Mom!" I protested, in a whining tone, but a look from both of them, my father and my mother, a look combining firmness and love, was enough to silence me.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." I snorted, heading to the sink with resignation. It was part of the daily routine, so the complaint was more out of habit than real annoyance. I finished quickly; I was already practiced; years of washing dishes had made me an expert.
I went up to my room briskly to change into my school uniform, a boring set of dress pants and a white shirt. I took a quick, refreshing shower and, while drying my hair in front of the mirror, allowed myself a moment of youthful vanity. Not to brag, but I'm good-looking... or so I like to think. After getting dressed, I looked for my chess set. It was an old set, made of dark wood, with hand-carved pieces representing medieval figures. I found it at the back of a closet, inside a cardboard box. I took it out carefully and put it in my backpack, along with my books and notebooks.
I went downstairs again, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. My father was already ready to take me to school, car keys in hand. My mother would come with us, as they owned a furniture store, a successful family business that gave us a comfortable and stable life.
The car started, and the engine's purr filled the silence. During the drive, I noticed something strange in the sky, something that caught my attention. The clouds, which normally spread out like a white blanket, swirled unusually, forming a perfect circle, almost... a giant eye watching us from above. Must be just a curious formation, I thought, quickly dismissing it as a coincidence. It wasn't the first time I'd seen something like that, and my teenage mind was more worried about the math test than the sky's peculiarities.
The conversation with my parents, trivial and everyday, about the day's plans, pending tasks, and the latest news, filled the time, creating an atmosphere of normality and warmth. We stopped at a red light, right in the city center. We were talking about the activities I had planned for the afternoon, when... screams. Heart-rending, sharp screams, filled with a primal terror that chilled the blood.
We turned around, instinctively, searching for the source of those shrieks. Horror paralyzed me, cutting off my breath like an invisible claw squeezing my throat. At the entrance of the bridge we had just crossed, a portal had opened, a tear in reality, a black hole that seemed to absorb the light. And from it, came... rats. Not normal rats, small and harmless ones that hide in sewers. No. These were giant, monstrous, aberrations of nature, the size of lions, perhaps two meters long and tall, or even more. Their fur, thick, dirty, and matted, bristled as they advanced on all fours, showing yellowish teeth, long and sharp as knives, capable of tearing flesh and bone with ease. Their eyes, small and red like burning embers, shone with a predatory malice, a cruel intelligence that froze the blood in my veins.
The shock petrified me, rooted me to the seat. I could only stare, wide-eyed and mouth agape, unable to utter a word. I saw the same fear, the same terror reflected in my father's eyes, but he, being the strong, protective man he had always been, reacted in a fraction of a second, before panic could completely consume him.
"Maria, don't look!" he yelled at my mother, his voice hoarse and desperate, as he floored the accelerator, making the car's engine roar.
"Alejandro, what is that?! What's happening?!" my mother asked, terrified, her voice trembling, as she clung to her seat.
"I don't know, Maria, but it's nothing good! We have to get out of here!" my father replied, his voice thick with urgency, as he expertly maneuvered the car.
Around us, chaos erupted like a storm. Cars crashed into each other, as if collective hysteria had robbed the drivers of all common sense and driving ability. The sound of horns, screeching tires, and people's screams mingled in an infernal symphony. The car in front braked sharply, abruptly and unexpectedly. My father did the same, slamming on the brakes with all his might, but it was inevitable. Impact. The world spun around me, as if I were inside a giant washing machine. I only felt a dull blow to my head, a sharp pain spreading through my body, thanks to the seatbelt that kept me strapped in.
My father, with great difficulty, breathing heavily and his face covered in sweat, got out of the overturned car, prying the door open, and dragged me out, still stunned and disoriented from the impact. Then, with the same speed and determination, he pulled out my mother, who was pale and trembling but, fortunately, unharmed. The backpack I was wearing cushioned part of the blow, although I felt a dull pain in my lower back.
"Maria, this is really bad! Something terrible is happening! We have to run!" my father said, his voice choked by effort and fear, looking back where the giant rats were approaching rapidly, like an unstoppable horde.
"Alejandro, we have to go! Now!" my mother replied, recovering from the initial shock, with surprising determination in her voice, as she wiped tears from her eyes.
I was still blank, paralyzed by fear, unable to move, as if my legs had turned to lead. But my father, without hesitating for a second, grabbed my arm forcefully, also taking my mother's hand with his other, and we started running, running as if our lives depended on it, because, in reality, they did. I glanced back over my shoulder, driven by a morbid curiosity. A giant rat, larger than the others, tore a person's head off with its powerful jaws, as if it were a ripe fruit. Bile rose in my throat, a bitter, acidic taste that burned, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins like a raging river kept me from vomiting. I could only run, run without looking back.
Instinctively, as if a primitive, ancestral part of me knew what was going to happen, I looked back again, disobeying my father's implicit command. One of the rats, faster and more agile than the others, was pouncing on me, its red eyes gleaming with inhuman ferocity. Just as it was about to strike me, just as its sharp claws were about to reach me, my father, in an act of supreme love and sacrifice, pushed me with all his strength, shoving me out of the beast's path. He took the full impact, the brutal blow from the rat throwing him to the ground.
I fell, rolling on the asphalt, scraping my knees and elbows. My father, with all his might, with unshakeable determination, tried to get the rat off him, but its weight and strength kept him pinned down. The rat managed to scratch his arm with its claws, leaving deep gashes in his skin from which blood spurted. With a superhuman effort, an effort that seemed to defy the laws of physics, my father managed to push the rat away and, in a desperate move, kicked it with all his might, sending it flying aside. My mother, despite the fear paralyzing her, despite the tears blurring her vision, ran to my father and helped him up, with a strength she didn't know she possessed. I quickly got up, feeling a sharp pain in my knees and elbows, but completely ignoring it.
"Dad, I'm sorry... I didn't know what to do..." I stammered, my voice choked with fear and guilt, feeling useless and cowardly.
"It's okay, Alex. It's not your fault. We have to get out of here, now," my father replied, his voice broken by pain and effort, as he staggered slightly.
My mother supported him on one side, I on the other, trying to help him walk. It seemed he had injured his leg in the fall; a sharp pain prevented him from putting weight on it correctly. But in our desperation to escape, we didn't realize that the rat that had attacked him wasn't dead, only stunned, disoriented by the blow. It rose slowly, shaking its head, and charged again, with renewed fury, its eyes bloodshot.
My father, being my father, the man who had always protected us, the hero of my life, pushed my mother and me to the ground with a choked cry. The rat lunged at him, this time without mercy, without giving him time to react. With its long claws, sharp as blades, it began tearing at his face, sinking them into his flesh, ripping away pieces of skin and muscle.
I watched in horror, with a disbelief that froze my soul, as blood spurted from my father's face, staining his white shirt red. I saw how one of his eyes, his right eye, popped out of its socket, dangling by a thread, a grotesque image that would be burned into my memory forever. But he, driven by adrenaline, by survival instinct, by love for his family, or by something else, something inexplicable and powerful, persevered, fighting with a strength that seemed to defy human limits. With a blow, a supernatural blow, a blow that resonated in the air like thunder, that even I felt despite the distance, he immobilized the rat, crushing its skull against the pavement. I don't know how he did it. It was... strange, impossible, unreal.
I wanted to run to him, help him, lift him up, but he, with his last breath, with the little strength he had left, raised his hand, bloody and trembling, in a warning gesture.
"Run!" he yelled, his voice broken, barely a whisper, but filled with desperate urgency.
I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave him. I couldn't leave him there, alone, wounded, surrounded by those beasts. I was about to protest, to disobey, to run to him, but I felt my mother's hand, cold and damp, on my shoulder, gripping tightly. She looked at me, her eyes red and swollen from crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, but with an iron determination in her gaze.
"Alejandro, please... don't die. Do it for him. Do it for us," she pleaded, her voice broken by pain and desperation.
My father, from the ground, gave a weak smile, a smile that tried to convey calm and love but only reflected the suffering he was enduring, nodded his head.
"It doesn't matter if I die, Maria. What's important is that you two are safe. Run with Alex and protect him. Take him somewhere safe. I'll try to hold these monsters off, for as long as I can..."
My mother, between stifled sobs, helped him up, barely, supporting him with all her strength. They shared one last hug, a long, tight hug, a hug that said everything words couldn't express, a farewell hug. My mother's clothes, previously immaculate, were stained with blood, her husband's blood, my father's blood. The pain, now that the adrenaline was slowly fading, began to show on my father's face, a face disfigured by wounds, a face I no longer recognized.
I felt... impotence. A dull, cold, dark rage grew inside me, like a flame feeding on my pain and desperation. Rage against those disgusting rats, rage against cruel fate, rage against myself for being so weak, for having been unable to do anything, for thinking, even for an instant, that my father would die. I turned to look at my mother, hoping she would say something, order me to help him, tell me we wouldn't abandon him. But no. She just looked at me, infinite sadness in her eyes, and took my arm forcefully, dragging me, forcing me to run.
My father remained behind, alone, in the middle of the street, smiling, a smile both brave and sad. I saw how the giant rats approached, attracted by the blood and the smell of fresh meat, how he tried to stop them with his last strength, how useless it was. I saw them tear off his head, dismember him, fight over his remains as if he were a piece of rotten meat.
Sadness and rage completely flooded me, drowning me, consuming me. Something I didn't want to feel, something I shouldn't feel, an emotion so intense and destructive it terrified me. My body grew hot, as if burning with fever. I turned to see my mother, crying, running without looking back. That only increased my fury, not because of her crying, but because of my own inability, for not having been able to protect her, for not having been able to protect my father, for having been so useless.
I looked back again, one last time, defying the pain, defying the horror. Only pieces of my father remained, scattered on the ground, mixed with the blood and remains of other victims. A pool of blood spread around me, like a macabre lake. My mother, with admirable willpower, refused to look. She dragged me, literally, forcing me to run, to get away from that hellish scene.
Growls. Behind us. The guttural sound of the rats, approaching, chasing us. But this time, I didn't feel fear. Only rage. A pure, intense rage, a rage that burned inside me, driving me forward. I turned sharply, to face the rats, those beasts that had taken everything from me. I was ready to fight, tooth and nail, with all my strength, even though I knew it was useless.
I felt a hand on my back, pushing me, with unexpected force. Not again... Mom, no. Time seemed to stop. I saw how my mother, just like my father, sacrificed herself for me, putting herself between the rats and me. But she didn't have my father's strength, or endurance, or luck. One of the rats, the largest one, the leader of the pack, lunged at her with impressive speed, biting her neck with its powerful jaws, tearing her flesh, revealing its disgusting and sharp teeth.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, like in a nightmare. Something broke inside me, something fundamental, something I could never repair. There was no point in living anymore. A part of me, the part that loved, the part that laughed, the part that dreamed, died with them, with my parents. But, paradoxically, that internal "release," that rupture, accelerated. If before it was like a glass about to fill, now it was a dam bursting open, releasing an unknown energy, an energy that coursed through my body like an electric shock.
I was about to throw myself at those rats, to avenge my parents, to tear them apart with my bare hands, when... I felt it. Something absorbed me, an invisible and powerful force, like a whirlwind. I fell into a strange portal, an opening in space-time, a wormhole that sucked me into the unknown. That was the last thing I remember, the image of my mother being devoured by the rats, burned into my mind, and the weight of my backpack on my back.
"...before waking up in this strange cave," I finished saying aloud, my voice broken by tears, looking around, lost in my thoughts, feeling the cold ground beneath my body.
Tears flowed uncontrollably, hot and salty, slipping down my cheeks, falling onto the dry earth. I remembered everything. My father's death, my mother's death, those disgusting rats, the chaos, the destruction... Everything, in an instant, but at the same time, an eternity. I wanted to wake up, for it all to be a horrible nightmare, a bad dream I could wake from with a scream, but I couldn't. Reality was harsh, brutal, inescapable.
I stayed there, lying on the ground, crying inconsolably, my heart broken into a thousand pieces, filled with impotent fury and unbearable pain. I punched the ground with my fist, again and again, with all my strength, until my knuckles bled.
"Why...? Why did they do it? Why did they sacrifice themselves for me? Why did they leave me alone?" I screamed, my voice torn, a cry that echoed in the cave, a cry expressing all the pain and rage I felt.
I slowly got up, feeling a dull ache all over my body. It was then that I saw my backpack, lying a few meters away, half-open. Some of my books and notebooks had fallen out, scattered on the ground. And there, next to them, shining faintly in the light filtering through a crack in the cave ceiling, was my chess set. The pieces, intact, seemed to be watching me.
And then, I felt it. A jolt of information, like an electric shock, hit my mind, flooding me with images, sensations, and knowledge I couldn't fully comprehend, but that felt strangely familiar. Chess... pieces... bond... creatures... power.... Loose words, vague concepts, like fragments of a fading dream. I knew, somehow, that chess wasn't just a game. That the pieces represented something more: pawn, knight, bishop, rook, queen, king. That I had the ability to bind beings to them, to merge with creatures, to obtain their power. But not how. The information was incomplete, fragmented. Evolution...
I fainted, losing consciousness, sinking into darkness. I don't know if it was from the shock, the pain, the rage, the energy I'd felt, the information received... or all of it together. But in the final moments, before losing consciousness completely, before the darkness enveloped me, I wished with all my soul, with every fiber of my being, that it was all... just a bad dream, a horrible nightmare from which I would soon wake up.