Although the feral hunted them relentlessly, driven by the insatiable hunger for blood, one grim truth offered a shred of hope: they were heading in the right direction. Each frantic step took them closer to the mansion's escape route. But hope was fleeting.

The group's numbers had dwindled to fourteen. What had begun as a desperate dash for freedom now felt like a cruel game of survival. Nine slaves and five pets remained, each running on pure adrenaline and terror.

The feral was like a shadow of death behind them, swift and unrelenting. Its guttural snarls echoed off the stone walls, drowning out even their labored breaths. The group's collective fear was palpable. Every scream that cut through the air ended in sickening gurgles, the unmistakable sound of a throat filling with blood as the feral claimed another victim.

Luke forced himself to keep moving, his heart pounding in his chest. Beside him, Jake's face was pale, his jaw clenched in grim determination. The screams of their companions were becoming too frequent, too close.

"We won't make it," Jake gasped between breaths.

Luke nodded, his mind racing. "We make a stand."

Jake didn't argue. There was no point.

Running would only prolong their deaths.

They skidded to a halt in a wider corridor, the remaining survivors staggering to a stop behind them.

It was still feeding, crouched over the broken body of one of the pets. She was barely alive, her eyes wide with terror as tears streamed down her blood-streaked face. Her lips trembled, but no words came-only a wet, choking gasp as blood bubbled from her mouth.

The feral tore into her femoral artery, sending a jet of blood splattering against the walls. It ripped her leg clean from her body with a sickening crack, holding the severed limb like a trophy as it sank its teeth into the exposed flesh.

The pet's body convulsed once, then fell limp. It discarded the leg like a child bored with a toy, turning its bloodied gaze toward the remaining group.

Luke took a step forward, his voice sharp and commanding. "Pikes up! Hold your ground!

Don't break formation, or we all die!"

The group scrambled to obey, forming a tight semicircle with their makeshift wooden spikes. Their hands trembled, knuckles white as they gripped their only means of defense.

Luke pointed at the feral, his voice steady despite the terror clawing at his chest. "Let it impale itself. Then we rush it. Aim for the head and the body-don't get too close Stick together!"

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The feral let out a guttural roar, its hollow eyes glowing with a sinister light. Blood dripped from its teeth and claws, pooling on the stone beneath it. It crouched low, muscles tensing as it prepared to strike.

Then it charged.

It moved with terrifying speed, a blur of rotting flesh and jagged bone. Its claws scraped against the stone, sending sparks flying as it closed the distance.

"Brace!" Luke shouted.

The moment stretched into eternity. The feral collided with the group, its momentum slamming against the raised pikes. One of the spikes pierced its chest, driving straight through the decayed flesh and snapping ribs like twigs.

Elias was holding the pike. The force of the impact drove him backward, his boots skidding across the blood-slick floor. He cried out as the feral's weight bore down on him, the wooden shaft splintering under the pressure.

"Now!" Luke roared.

The group surged forward, their spikes stabbing into the feral's body. The air was filled with the sickening sound of flesh tearing and bones crunching.

One of the slaves drove a spike into the feral's eye socket, the wooden tip disappearing into the blood-filled cavity. The feral thrashed violently, its remaining eye rolling wildly as black ichor oozed from the wound.

Another slave aimed for its mouth, jamming a spike between its jagged teeth. The feral bit down instinctively, snapping the wood in half and nearly severing the slave's hand in the process.

The monstrosity lashed out, its claws raking across a man's legs. The slave screamed as one of his feet was torn clean off, the severed limb skidding across the floor in a trail of blood.

The stain on existence itself strength began to wane, its movements becoming sluggish. The group's relentless assault was taking its toll. Blood poured from countless wounds, pooling around the feral's twitching body.

Jake struck the killing blow, driving his spike deep into the feral's neck. The wooden tip emerged on the other side, spraying blood in a gruesome arc.

It let out a final, guttural growl, its body convulsing violently. Slowly, its remaining eye began to dim, the red glow fading into darkness.

The group staggered back, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. They watched in silence as the feral collapsed into the growing pool of blood, its body twitching once before falling still.

For a moment, no one moved. The only sounds were the crackling of distant flames and the soft drip of blood from the ceiling.

Luke dropped his spike, his hands trembling.

"It's dead," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"It's finally dead."

The survivors stared at the corpse, their faces pale and haunted. They had won-but the cost was etched into every blood-soaked inch of the corridor.

It layed in a mangled heap, its one remaining eye staring blankly into the void.

Blood and viscera surrounded it, the remnants of its victims scattered like grotesque decorations.

Jake spat on the corpse, his voice laced with venom. "Let's hope that was the last one."

Luke turned to the group, his expression grim. "We keep moving. No stopping until we're out of here."

The survivors nodded, their movements stiff and mechanical. They gathered their weapons and supplies, their eyes flickering toward the shadows as they prepared to move on.

The feral was dead, but the mansion was still alive with danger. And Luke knew, deep down, that their fight was far from over.