Dorde's blood dripped onto the stone floor.
One drop.
Two drops.
Each sound rang clearly, echoing between the narrow corridor walls like the noise of something sharp being dropped into an empty room. Something in the air shifted. Not wind. Not temperature. More like a thin pressure curling around the back of the neck, making each breath a little heavier than before.
Clive looked at the small blade still stuck in Dorde's arm. The wound appeared shallow at first glance, but the blood was flowing faster than it should.
And Clive knew they had just lost the fraction of control that separated life from death.
"Dorde, fall back," Clive said. His voice was low, not loud. It did not need volume to be obeyed.
Dorde nodded. His shoulder tightened as he pulled himself toward the center of the formation. His movements were not quick, but there was no panic. He pressed his right hand against the wound, trying to slow the stream of blood leaking between his fingers.
Ted stepped forward half a pace, swinging his sword in a defensive arc, opening space for Dorde to reposition. Zorilla took the outer edge of the formation, locking their stance.
Clive moved forward to close the gap.
He said nothing.
But he felt something.
In the air.
In the walls.
In the shadows.
The small monster had vanished from sight, but its presence had not gone. Just like the scent of blood that lingered even when unseen.
Ted cursed under his breath. "He didn't run."
Clive did not turn. "No. He is hunting."
Zorilla narrowed his eyes, staring at a dark spot along the left side of the corridor. The shadow did not move, yet it felt like it was holding its breath.
Dorde took a long breath. "I think I am the prey now."
Ted was about to retort, but Clive spoke first. "He will target you again."
There was no sympathy in his words.
Only fact.
They tightened their formation. No wasted words. Their shoulders nearly touched. Swords raised at defensive angles. Their heavy breathing overlapped in the dark.
Ted spoke first. "We can't keep this up. We're exhausted, Dorde is injured. If we stay and wait for him to strike again, we'll die before we can even react."
Zorilla shook his head. "If we retreat now, that core is gone forever. He will hide. We will never see him again."
"Better lose the core than lose our heads," Ted snapped.
"If we leave," Zorilla said more quietly, "he can follow us. Attack us in a narrow hallway. Strike when we are half-dead."
Ted glared. "You think we can win like this?"
Zorilla did not answer. He simply looked at Clive.
Ted eventually looked too.
So did Dorde.
Clive's decisions were always the axis.
And this time was no different.
Clive fell silent for several seconds. His face showed no hesitation, only measured tension. Then he nodded once.
"We continue."
Ted exhaled sharply, half frustrated, half resigned. "Fine. But make sure we know when to stop."
"We kill the small monster." Clive looked at the three of them. "That is our goal. If we hesitate even one step, we do not go home."
Zorilla tightened his grip on his sword.
Dorde lifted his sword with one hand. "I can still fight."
Clive checked their formation again. "Dorde in the middle. Ted on the right. Zorilla on the left. I take the front."
No one protested.
They began moving again.
The corridor grew colder. The torchlight looked smaller, as if swallowed by an endless dark. There were not many monsters here, but they moved faster than they should have, as if some of them had already scented Dorde's blood.
The first monster lunged at Ted, fast and wild. Ted blocked it with a harsh clang that made his arm tremble. A claw swept past his face by a mere inch.
The second monster slammed into Zorilla's side. The impact was hard enough to break bone if he had not twisted his body at the last second. Even so, his steps faltered by a full pace.
"You good?" Ted shouted.
Zorilla only grunted, though blood ran down his temple.
Clive saw everything.
He deflected a strike, slicing the monster's arm, then herded them back to a safer distance. He fought without looking away from the gaps of shadow along the walls.
"Stay defensive," he shouted. "Do not chase. Do not break formation."
The small monster needed only one opening.
One breath.
One misstep.
And someone would die.
The battle dragged on in a slow, chaotic rhythm. Not because they were moving slowly, but because each movement felt heavy. Each swing added more fatigue to their shoulders. Each impact stiffened their arms.
Dorde grew slower.
Ted was bleeding from his shoulder.
Zorilla limped slightly on his left leg.
Small cracks began to form in their stance.
And like water slipping through fractured stone, the small monster emerged.
It appeared like a thin shadow splitting from the wall. Its left eye gleamed faintly. The small knife in its hand rose in a curve that was barely visible.
Clive blocked.
Ted deflected.
Zorilla struck it back.
The small monster did not land another fatal blow, but it still managed to injure all three.
It grew faster.
Wilder.
More dangerous.
It no longer sought openings.
It created them.
The sight of Dorde's blood on the floor made their skin crawl. It was not simply the smell of blood. It was a beacon. A signal the small monster read as an invitation.
Clive sensed an odd rhythm emerging from its attacks. Not something fully readable, but enough to make him understand one thing:
If they kept defending, they would die slowly.
So Clive forced his mind to work.
And at last, an idea surfaced.
Not safe.
Not sane.
But perhaps the only one left.
He moved closer to his three companions, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"I will be the bait."
Ted cursed immediately. "You are insane."
"I will open a gap. A small one. Something that looks like a mistake. You kill him when he comes."
Zorilla frowned. "He is smart. He can see through traps."
"That is why I won't pretend," Clive said. "I will actually be cornered."
Dorde took a painful breath. "I hate this plan. But if anyone can draw him out… it is you."
Ted closed his eyes briefly. "Fine. But listen. If you die… I will resurrect you just to yell at you."
Clive gave a thin smile.
"Kill him first. Then you can yell at me."
They took their positions.
The monsters came again.
Two from the right.
One from the left.
One from the front.
Clive blocked.
Dodged.
Twisted his body.
And slowly created a gap.
A gap that looked like exhaustion.
Breathing slowed by a fraction.
His waist turning slightly too late.
His sword swing delayed by a hair.
And when that gap appeared…
The small monster moved.
A shadow flashed forward.
The small blade rose.
Clive felt the air shift.
He felt the killing intent.
"He is here," he said.
Ted turned.
Zorilla turned.
Dorde turned.
But the other monsters locked their movement.
Clive was alone.
He held off four attacks at once.
One from the monster in front.
Three from the sides.
Including one from the small monster.
He began to stagger.
Blood dripped from his arm.
His shoulder was cut.
His back was slashed.
But he remained standing.
And in the end…
The plan failed.
The gap opened, but they could not kill the small monster in time.
Clive forced out a breath.
"We need another way," he said. "Something more extreme."
And at that moment…
Something shifted inside him.
Something that had not surfaced during the entire fight until now.
His focus tightened.
The world narrowed into a single thin line.
The small monster.
He no longer calculated risk.
He no longer thought about survival.
He only wanted to kill it.
He lowered his stance slightly, like a lion dipping its head before pouncing. His eyes locked on the shadow where the small monster had vanished.
Then…
The other monsters lunged again. Three at once. They came from the sides, from the front, from the narrow cracks along the stone walls. Clive's breathing grew heavy. His movements began to slow. His muscles tightened every time he blocked another relentless strike.
This time he wasn't pretending to be cornered.
He truly was.
And somehow, that was exactly when his mind sharpened. Clear. Too clear.
He waited for the same pattern.
The small monster would come from the blind spot. If it was still the same creature as before. If anger and injury hadn't destroyed its basic instinct. If the predator's mindset still lived behind its dim eyes.
The air behind his head shifted.
So faint. Like a breeze that had no business existing in a place like this.
Clive moved instantly.
His body twisted, breaking contact with the three monsters in front of him. His head jerked to the side. His left hand rose, covering the empty space where his face had been a fraction of a second before.
The sound of metal piercing flesh rang clearly.
The knife sank deep into Clive's palm.
Blood burst out immediately, warm and thick, running down to his wrist. The pain was sharp, but strangely, it didn't cloud his mind. It sharpened it, pulling his focus into a single, taut thread.
The small monster's face appeared close. Too close. Its breath was ragged. Its eyes widened in shock. Its ambush had failed and its blade was trapped inside Clive's palm.
Finally caught.
Clive didn't say it aloud. Just a small movement of his lips, a whisper without sound.
His right hand snapped forward, grabbing the monster's wrist. His grip locked in place like an iron clamp. The creature tried to pull away, but Clive refused to budge. He didn't even bother to remove the knife stuck in his own hand. Blood kept pouring, but he didn't care.
Behind him, the other monsters attacked again. They saw Clive's back turned. They saw an opening.
Clive didn't move.
He didn't have to.
Fast footsteps approached. Slashes and thuds followed. Zorilla smashed one monster into the wall. Ted drove his sword into another's chest. Dorde, wounded as he was, held off the third. Together, they formed a living wall behind Clive.
No one needed to tell them.
They simply knew Clive must not fall in this moment.
Clive kept his eyes fixed on the small monster.
Its breathing grew quick and shallow. Its snarls turned into panicked whimpers. Its shoulders trembled as it tried to escape, but it had no strength left. No room to run.
Its gaze shifted from hatred to pure terror.
Clive leaned his head back slightly.
Then slammed his forehead into the monster's face.
The impact was sickening. Its nose shattered instantly, spraying fresh blood. It shrieked, but Clive gave it no time.
He drew his head back again.
And smashed it forward.
Harder.
The vibration shot through his skull, making the world spin for a heartbeat. But adrenaline drowned out every complaint from his body. Ted, Zorilla, and Dorde glanced back. Something in the scene froze them for an instant. Something brutally human, yet entirely inhuman at the same time.
Clive did not stop. A third strike. A fourth. A fifth. Until the skin on his forehead tore and blood streamed down his brow. Until the small monster's face became unrecognizable.
The tiny body began to go limp.
Its breathing turned ragged. Its eyes drooped, barely holding onto consciousness.
With one harsh tug, Clive ripped the knife from his own palm. Blood sprayed, but he didn't react. Instead, he used the blade, smeared with his own blood, to yank the small monster downward and slam it onto the stone floor.
The small body hit the ground with a dull, heavy crack.
Clive stood over it, chest rising and falling fast. His face was smeared with monster blood and his own. The small knife was clenched in his right hand.
The small monster looked up at him in total terror.
Clive crouched slightly. His eyes locked deep into those dark, trembling pupils.
Silence.
His next movement was slow.
He dragged the edge of the knife across his own neck, just lightly, leaving a thin red line.
A mark of vengeance.
A mark that the account was settled.
The small monster tried to rise, but it couldn't. Its whole body shook.
Clive raised the knife.
And drove it into the monster's throat.
Blood exploded outward. The creature's body tensed. Clive pulled the blade left, then right, cutting through muscle and sinew with deliberate, steady, merciless motion.
At last, its small head slumped sideways.
Clive pulled out the knife, then grabbed the monster's head with his blood-soaked hand.
He lifted it.
And the corridor sank into a heavy silence.
Not the silence of victory.
Not relief.
A silence that made Ted, Dorde, and Zorilla shiver from their toes to the back of their necks. A silence that told them a boundary had just been crossed. That a line no one should cross had been stepped over, shattered, and abandoned completely.
Clive stood still, holding the small monster's head.