Jin's breath was sharp and shallow, his chest heaving with the weight of fear and adrenaline. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he bolted past the writhing corpses, hands outstretched, shoving them away as he struggled to push through. Their gurgling whispers were rising, echoing in the stale, suffocating air.

He was running on pure instinct now. Survival was his only thought.

The eerie sound of bones cracking, bodies jerking violently, was a constant backdrop to his flight. Each step was a struggle to keep ahead, the weight of the endless whispering growing heavier with every second. It wasn't until he passed a particularly disfigured body—its jaw hanging loosely—that he froze in his tracks.

The voice that came from it was ragged, weak, but the words... were unmistakable.

"He... returns..."

Jin's legs shook. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he stumbled back, and in that moment, his mind whirred—caught in a jagged, unwelcome memory. The voice of the corpse was familiar, hauntingly so. He remembered a laugh. A friend. A betrayal.

"Ron..." The name escaped his lips before he could stop it.

The flashback hit him like a sledgehammer. He remembered the days when Leonard—his past self—had been full of hope, full of ambition. He had a friend then. Ron. They had laughed together, shared stories, helped each other with their studies. But that had been before Ron had turned. Before the cult had reached out to him with their promises of power, promises that no one in their right mind would ever turn down.

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Jin's heart twisted in his chest as he realized the brutal truth.

Ron had been the one to lure Leonard into their trap. He had been the one to drag his friend to that cursed ritual, offering him the false hope of a new life—only to throw him into the hands of the cult. He had been a sheep, led astray by greed and power, all while thinking his friend had his back.

Betrayed. Leonard had been betrayed by the one person he trusted most. And now, that same person—his friend—was lying in a pool of his own blood, reduced to a mindless, reanimated corpse.

The grief surged, but it was quickly replaced with a raw, primal need to survive.

As Jin snapped back to the present, a cold chill spread down his spine. He wasn't sure what to feel anymore—only that he couldn't let these corpses catch him. He couldn't let himself die again.

He pushed forward again, his feet pounding against the stone floor. A flicker of movement caught his eye—an open staircase leading downward. It was his only chance.

Without hesitation, Jin rushed toward the stairs, desperate to escape, his heart pounding faster with each step.

He had no time for sentiment. There was no time for regret. The only thing that mattered was surviving.

The corpses were still slow, still regaining their cursed senses, but he could feel them closing in. He didn't have much time. He launched himself toward the stairs with everything he had, shoving another corpse out of his way. The twisted thing's hand reached for his ankle, but he kicked it off, heart hammering in his throat.

"He returns..." the whisper followed him.

"The cycle repeats..." another echoed.

Jin's breath became erratic as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his legs trembling from the exertion.

But in his mind, only one thought remained. Survive.