The snowstorm thickened, turning the world around me into pure white. Clouds of vapor formed at my mouth as I panted, and the icy wind painfully began to cut into my skin.

  “I can't stop…”

  I forced my legs to push through the pile of snow forming on the ground.

  “I can't stop…”

  No matter how much the air burned my eyes, making my eyelids beg to close. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it.

  “I can't stop…”

  “Hey.” Ilen called out, drawing my attention.

  “That's enough.”

  He said it with a serious expression on his face.

  “It's my turn to carry him.”

  There were only three of us now.

  Rafe was breathing poorly. Each exhale came late, as if his body had forgotten the right rhythm. Ilen's hood—now stained with blood—was tied around his head, an improvised bandage.

  He couldn't walk properly anymore, so one of us had to carry him on our back along the way. We took turns.

  “Sorry, guys… I ended up being nothing but dead weight.” Rafe said, forcing the words out.

  “Don't talk right now. You need to rest.” I cut him off.

  I tightened my grip on the broken sword's hilt. The blade still cut—but not for long.

  “West.” Ilen said. Not as a suggestion. As a sentence.

  I nodded.

  The wind shifted for a moment. And then I saw it, far away—

  Too large to be mistaken for rock.

  A deformed silhouette, standing against the absolute white of the storm.

  It was… watching.

  I felt the weight of it before I understood. It wasn't hunger. It wasn't urgency. It was patience. As if it knew it wouldn't need to run.

  Rafe noticed too. His fingers twitched weakly, clutching my coat.

  “It's…” his voice faltered. “It's waiting?”

  “That's what it looks like.” I replied.

  When I took a step forward, the silhouette dissolved. It didn't retreat. It didn't attack. It simply vanished, swallowed by the storm as if it had never been there.

  The sky slowly began to brighten. It wasn't a beautiful dawn—pale, sickly, without any warmth. Still, light was light. And after a night like that, it meant something.

  We spotted a small hollow ahead, cave-like. Not too large, not too small—perfect for an improvised shelter. We didn't even need to discuss it. We just moved.

  Rafe was the first to sit down. Or fall. He leaned his back against the stone and let the air out all at once, as if he'd been holding it since the night before.

  “I never liked closed spaces.” he muttered.

  Ilen stayed silent, adjusting the torn hood over Rafe's head. The fabric was already stiff with dried blood.

  “If I were going to die…” Rafe continued. “I imagined something more dramatic. You know? Screaming, fire, something epic.”

  No one answered.

  “Yeah…” he gave a crooked smile. “I know. Shut up, Rafe.”

  The broken sword rested between my knees. I stared at it for far too long.

  “It wasn't your fault.” I said, finally.

  Rafe looked at me, confused for a moment.

  “It was everyone's.” he replied. “Including yours.”

  It didn't sound like an accusation. It sounded like a fact.

  Ilen stepped a few paces away and leaned against the cave wall.

  “If we had run earlier…” he began.

  “It wouldn't have changed anything.” Rafe interrupted. “This place was decided long before we ever stepped into it.”

  The silence returned, heavier than before.

  “Funny…” Rafe murmured. “We grow up thinking we're going to leave something behind. A name. A mark.”

  He looked at me.

  Ilen remained standing, arms crossed. I sat facing Rafe, the broken sword resting against the ground.

  “I screwed up a lot.” Rafe continued, half-smiling. “A lot. Enough to fill three lifetimes of regret.”

  He raised a hand to his head, then gave up halfway.

  “But this…” he let out a weak laugh. “This one wasn't my fault.”

  The wind outside howled, as if agreeing.

  “If either of you makes it out of this alive…” he opened his eyes a little wider, forcing focus. “Do me a favor.”

  I waited.

  “Punch the nobles. Hard.” he said. “The ones who caused all this shit.”

  Ilen let out a short breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh.

  “Life's unfair as hell.” Rafe added.

  He rested his head against the stone.

  “I'm sleepy…”

  Silence filled the space once more.

  For a few seconds, I thought he was just resting. His breathing slowed. Irregular…

  Until it stopped.

  I knew that face well. None of us needed to explain.

  His eyes remained closed. And this time, there was no effort to open them again.

  Ilen looked away.

  I stayed there, staring at Rafe, as if the world had forgotten to move forward for a moment.

  We buried him in the snow outside the crypt. A cruel fate, to be buried in that frozen hell—but it was the least we could do.

  The creature's silhouette grew larger. The reason was obvious: it had grown tired of waiting. With one less, it was finally time to attack.

  We were tired of waiting too.

  We moved on—because it was all we could do—until we reached an area… strange.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Probably a consequence of the geological deformation caused by the sudden arrival of the portals over the years. They didn't just take our world. They altered it.

  The terrain ahead looked violently torn apart.

  The ground vanished into deep fissures, forming a tangled mess of narrow ravines, irregular holes, and broken passages that intertwined like giant roots. Some drops were shallow. Others were too deep to see the bottom. Sharp rocks jutted from the walls and ground at wrong angles, like natural spears waiting for something large enough to misstep.

  There was no clear path. Only detours, choke points, and blind spots.

  Wind rushed through the cracks and cavities, creating a constant whistle—a long, hollow sound echoing from every direction. Vibration. Noise. Confusion.

  I understood immediately.

  Ilen did too.

  That place wasn't safe for us. But it was a perfect hell for something blind and gigantic.

  The Crawler's silhouette emerged once more behind the storm. Too large. Too slow. Too close.

  The echoing wind seemed to intensify, as if the terrain itself reacted to its presence.

  I took a deep breath.

  “This…” I murmured, feeling the weight of the decision settle in my chest.

  “This will be that abomination's grave.”

  A sharp whistle cut through the air.

  Ilen.

  The sound echoed through the ravines, distorted, multiplying into false directions. For a moment, silence seemed to hold its breath.

  Then—

  The tek answered.

  Heavy. Furious.

  The creature charged forward.

  Snow was thrown aside as the beast hurled itself ahead, guided only by sound. There was no hesitation. No caution. Only raw impulse.

  We moved into the terrain at the same time.

  We split up. I kept my distance, weaving through smaller cavities, using the uneven terrain to my advantage. Every step measured. Every foothold tested before committing my weight. Ilen, on the other hand, made sure to be noticed.

  Thrown stones. Heavy strikes against rock. Forced footsteps. The beast constantly corrected its course toward the loudest sound.

  The Crawler—that was the name we gave it—was a robust hunter, unstoppable and relentless when it came to advancing.

  But that was our greatest advantage.

  It followed its instincts completely, charging blindly toward wherever the noise was loudest. Unable to see, it advanced until it felt something caught in its arms. That way of acting was utterly sabotaged by the terrain.

  Its screech of pain echoed.

  The theory was right. Just trying to move through that terrain sabotaged it by itself.

  Every advance came with dry impacts against narrow walls, its exoskeleton scraping and cracking as the creature forced itself through spaces that couldn't contain it.

  Natural spikes rose from the ground and walls, piercing its carapace. Not enough to kill it—but enough to make it bleed. A dark liquid seeped from freshly opened fissures, staining the snow.

  It tried to retreat—but couldn't. Like a prison that forced it forward.

  The same applied… to us.

  To Ilen.

  A distorted screech—now rage—like air being forced through something torn. Not just pain. Frustration. The terrain hurt it, trapped it, forced it forward without ever letting it reach what it wanted.

  And it wanted Ilen.

  The whistle still echoed through the ravines.

  The loudest sound. The closest target.

  Ilen already knew.

  He stood too still. Watching. Measuring the distance between spikes, the ravine's slope, the erratic rhythm of the creature's advance. Every step tore more dark liquid from its body—but brought it closer.

  There was no room for error. No retreat.

  Ilen took a deep breath—one long inhale, too long for someone who still intended to leave whole.

  “If it gets past here…” his voice faltered for half a second. “…there's no holding it back.”

  Before anyone could answer, he moved.

  He didn't run.

  He advanced diagonally, straight toward the narrowest point of the ravine—where natural spikes crossed like stone jaws. The Crawler reacted instantly, arms extending, scraping, crushing everything ahead.

  Ilen didn't try to dodge.

  When the ground gave way under the creature's weight, he jammed his leg between two jagged formations, using his own body as leverage.

  The impact followed immediately.

  The Crawler's body locked in place.

  Its head—too large—became wedged between the uneven walls. Its neck twisted at an impossible angle, the exoskeleton groaning like metal being slowly crushed. There, exposed between shattered plates and torn flesh, its vital organ pulsed—wet, alive… vulnerable.

  That's when I acted.

  There was no battle cry. No noble resolve.

  Only fury—raw, filthy—and a trembling body still moving in front of me.

  The creature screamed. Not a threatening roar—but a sharp, broken sound, almost childish, mixed with the irregular tek it had made from the beginning. Its body thrashed, trapped, tearing more of its own flesh with every movement.

  I didn't focus on a single point. I attacked every exposed area with brutality, stopping only when I realized the blade—already damaged—no longer cut as before.

  I only stopped when the crying ceased. When the tek fell silent. When the massive body no longer reacted, even crushed, even mutilated.

  In the final spasm, I drove the sword into its neck. Not out of necessity—but because I needed to be sure.

  When I let go of the blade, my hands were shaking.

  The creature was dead.

  And nothing about that scene felt like a victory.

  Without warning, the message appeared. Just like before.

  “What…? Now… right now?”

  “What the hell…?”

  Before I could organize a single thought, an uncomfortable sensation spread through my body.

  Not pain. Not pleasure.

  Something like anxiety—a wrong, constant excitement that made my muscles tremble uncontrollably.

  I didn't need long to understand.

  The mark.

  I don't know how, but I imposed my will. That was all.

  And the system responded, as if it had been waiting.

  New lines appeared.

  “Restless…? So this is the feeling of—”

  Something cut my thoughts short.

  Nothing else. No explanation. No answers.

  It simply delivered what needed to be delivered—when it needed to be.

  “I see…”

  I took a deep breath, the tremor still echoing beneath my skin.

  “So this is what it means to move forward in this hell.”

  With the abomination defeated and its victims finally avenged, we could move toward our objective.

  But when I turned toward Ilen, all I saw was a trail of blood leading to his body. More specifically, to his leg—now torn away by the creature.

  I approached slowly and realized he was still alive. Still trying not to scream.

  “Yeah… pretty ugly, huh?” Ilen said. “Looks like this is it for me. I can't keep going.”

  I tried to protest—but knew it was useless.

  “Except…” he continued. “For you. You… can still go on…”

  He said that while gripping my shoulder.

  “I'll bleed out soon anyway. And even if I kept going, I'd just be a burden.” he said, as if it were obvious.

  I tapped his chest with my fist.

  “You don't need to say anything else.”

  “I know…”

  He laughed. Then said—

  “Go on ahead, alright?”

  “…I will.”

  He nodded. I stood up and began to walk away. I didn't look back—I was sure that wasn't what he wanted.

  And once again, that tingling sensation on my skin intensified.

  

  As I watched that man walk away—the nameless boy, always so restrained, almost without tears—something caught my attention.

  There was something different about him now. A dense, dark energy that seemed to emanate from his body and spread through the air around him.

  A mark. Slowly forming, climbing from his neck to his shoulder, pulsing as if recognizing the blood spilled, the suffering endured.

  Before I could focus on it—or warn him—my vision darkened.

  Then… I blacked out.