Darkness.
Not the kind that crept in with dusk or settled over a forest at night—this was the kind of darkness that swallowed light, memory, and sound alike. Adrian stirred against cold stone, breath catching in his throat as he opened his eyes. Nothing. Just black.
His body screamed at him in pulses of dull pain, like drums beating underwater. He coughed, sat up slowly, and took stock of himself.
His winter jacket—once sturdy and patched with bits of metal and leather into makeshift armor—was in shreds. Flayed and burned. The sleeves were torn to ribbons, and dried blood had crusted into the fibers, stiff and dark. The right side of the jacket hung loosely, singed and stuck to his skin in places where his wounds had partially healed over it.
His hand—his right hand—was still a mangled mess. The thumb and pointer finger were gone entirely, the stump wrapped hastily in dried bandages, some of which had fused with the flesh during the chaotic cauterization. The rest of the hand trembled faintly, weak but still functional.
His black hair had grown out, brushing the tops of his cheekbones in uneven tufts. Dirt, sweat, and blood matted it like tangled roots. His skin was pale from blood loss, but his red eyes glowed faintly, casting a dim light across the void.
He let it expand—his glow. A soft, red luminescence spread from his body like a foggy halo, casting eerie shadows around him.
A large half-circle cave. The ceiling stretched high above, dome-like and rough. In front of him: a crude "door" of solid rock, jammed into place like a plug.
Adrian exhaled slowly.
"I'm a prisoner, huh..."
"Rude," a voice chimed in behind him.
He didn't even flinch. "I was hoping to be rid of you," Adrian muttered dryly, glancing back.
May stood there, leaning against the wall like she'd always belonged in the gloom. Her arms were crossed, one eyebrow arched. She looked less like a hallucination and more like a ghost that had decided to be helpful—for now.
"Nice to see you're still ugly," she said, smirking.
He scanned the rest of the cave. Then paused. His eyes narrowed.
Bones. Piles of them. Long decayed. Human. Skulls stared up at him with hollow sockets. Rib cages, shattered femurs, jaws with teeth still intact—evidence of countless past prisoners.
"I seem to be food," he muttered under his breath.
May frowned. "Lovely décor."
"Others were here. Maybe some still are... I've seen so little of this island," he thought aloud, rubbing his temple. "What else is beneath it?"
"So. What's the plan?" she asked, tone light but eyes sharp.
Adrian sat down cross-legged, closed his eyes, and focused. He extended his Soul outward like a sonar pulse.
He gasped.
The sensory map flooded his mind with pressure points—hundreds of them. Outside the blocked entrance, moving along tunnels, clustered in chambers. Those creatures. Wrinkled flesh, twitching limbs, gnashing teeth. A hive.
"We're deep," he murmured. "Really deep. And this isn't a prison. It's their nest."
He clenched his fist. "I don't have my weapons."
"Unless," May offered, "you use their weapons. Blood. Fire."
Adrian nodded slowly. "Right. Their blood burns. I just need enough of it. But fire takes time. Focus. I need an attack that makes blood. And then... buys me time to ignite it."
May tilted her head. "Ever think of the stealthy route?"
Adrian gave her a flat look. "Their tracking abilities were already brutal back in my territory. Here? Underground? I doubt I'll last five steps without something sniffing me out."
He stood again and pressed his hand to the cave wall. The stone was thick, but not solid. There were tunnels beyond. Chambers. Cracks and faults. He followed them like threads in his mind, charting the structure.
Then, finally, his eyes opened.
"Alright," he said, voice sharp now. "I have a plan."