A dry crack—a rib snapping against jagged rock. The creature writhed, spitting a thread of black blood. Around it, the abyss breathed, damp and warm, humming with sounds that didn't belong to its world.
Humans.
Their voices echoed from above, clattering with the creak of armor and the scrape of drawn swords. They reeked of metal and fire, of something the creature couldn't name but that made its muscles coil, ready to flee.
"Another empty nest," one muttered, spitting on the ground. "These worms are just kindling for the pyre."
Laughter. Cruel. Sharp.
The creature watched from the shadows, motionless. It had always feared humans. It had always run.
But this time...
This time, something in that laughter made its chest burn.
Not hunger.
Rage.
A new, unfamiliar impulse shoved it forward. Its claws dug into stone, muscles tensing. Not a plan. Not a strategy. Just rage, pure and bright.
The nearest human didn't even scream when it lunged.
Its fangs found his throat—warm and soft under the skin. Blood gushed, sweet and thick, flooding its mouth. The others shouted, blades flashing, but it was too late.
The creature fled, carrying away more than flesh.
The taste of victory.
And the first spark of a thought:
"Why... do they decide who lives?"
The taste of human blood burned in its throat like an unquenchable fire.
The creature dragged itself into a narrow crevice, its battered body trembling with adrenaline. The humans' shouts still echoed in the distance, but they weren't chasing it. Not this time.
It looked at its claws.
They were stained red.
Something inside it shuddered. Not fear. Not hunger. It was... something else.
Why does this feel different?
Before, killing had been mere survival—an instinctive act, like breathing. But now... now there was intention. A flicker of something it didn't understand.
It raised a claw to its mouth, slowly licking the dried blood.
It tasted of iron. Of fear. Of power.
The nights in the abyss held no moon or stars, but the creature began to dream.
Fragmented, senseless images: bright lights that didn't burn, voices with no source, a deep ache in places where it bore no wounds.
Once, it dreamed it could fly.
Another time, that it could speak.
It woke gasping, muscles taut, scanning for invisible enemies. But there was only darkness, and the echo of something no longer there.
What is this?
It had no words to name it. Yet every night, the dreams returned. And every morning, it lingered a little longer, a little more still, before the hunt began.
In a forgotten cave, it found a pool of stagnant water.
It approached cautiously, sniffing the air. No danger. Only stillness.
For the first time, it saw its reflection.
A gaunt figure, draped in pale scars. Eyes like two drops of liquid moonlight. A mouth of jagged fangs.
It lifted a claw. The reflection did the same.
Is this... me?
Something about that image stirred a strange sensation. As if something were missing. As if something were... wrong.
It slashed at the water, shattering the reflection.
But the question remained.
Days later, as it crept through a narrow tunnel, a sound brought it to a sudden halt.
It wasn't the crack of bones or the shriek of prey. It was... music.
Slow, distorted, as if the abyss itself were singing.
It followed the sound, shadow-quiet, until it reached a chamber where the air thrummed. There, in the center, lay a creature far larger than itself—wounded, its scaled body oozing a luminous fluid. From its throat spilled that mournful song, a lament that echoed off the walls.
The creature didn't understand. But it stayed. It listened.
And for the first time, it felt something that wasn't hunger or rage.
It was sorrow.
The singing ceased at dawn. The larger creature died in silence, its eyes dimming.
But before leaving, the protagonist saw something on the ground: marks carved into the stone by the dying one's claws. Shapes. Symbols.
It didn't comprehend them. Yet it touched them, tracing the grooves with its sharp fingers.
A word surfaced in its mind, unbidden:
"Loneliness."
It didn't know what it meant. But the word was its own.
And for the first time, it possessed something that wasn't flesh or bone.