Second by second, they creep closer.
Their heavy boots scrape against the ground, the sound dragging through the air like a blade against stone.
Their laughter is low, guttural, dripping with malice, stretching into the night like the whisper of something foul and rotting.
Their grins widen, yellowed teeth flashing, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.
They're predators.
And I'm the prey.
I glance around frantically, my heart pounding, a drumbeat of panic hammering against my ribs.
No escape.
No miracle.
Just me.
Just them.
Still—
I stand.
My legs feel like lead, the weight of terror pressing down, threatening to buckle beneath me.
But I force them to stay firm.
My grip on the messer sword is slick with sweat, my knuckles trembling so violently that the blade wavers.
But I don't drop it.
I can't.
Even though I'm shaking.
Even though my heart is beating so wildly it feels like it might burst.
