There exist historical records of deep catacombs, dug to escape the light of past Mad Moon incidents. Even the deepest have failed to shield their occupants from madness and mutation. Darkness is no shield from the Mad Moon’s light.

- “Historical Records of the Mad Moon, Compiled”

Dust choked the air as Gaspard tried to breath. Even as he gagged on the taste of rot and debris, Gaspard struggled to keep his breathing measured and steady. He had no idea how much air he had. He could see no light in the small chamber, so he had to assume there was no airflow either. In retrospect, he probably could have come up with a better plan than collapsing a building with himself inside it. He was lucky any of this structure was still standing.

Though he could not see in the pitch black chamber, Gaspard still knew exactly where the corpse of the hound was. It was giving off a surprisingly large amount of heat -as well as the sickly scent of decay. If it stank this much fresh, Gaspard could only imagine the horrific stench once it actually began to rot. He would have to get himself out of here, and soon. An escape plan could not be his first priority, however.

Peeling the cloth and padded armor away from his wounds caused Gaspard no small amount of pain, but he grit his teeth and endured. The darkness prevented him from seeing the full extent of the injuries, which was perhaps a blessing, but they felt shallow. That slightly reduced his chances of bleeding to death, but did nothing to prevent infection, which was Gaspard's real concern. He'd rather bleed out than slowly rot from gangrene. Unable to do much about either at the moment, Gaspard tore his shirt in half and used the cleaner half to blindly bandage his wounds. It was an ordeal, as his dominant right hand was limp by his side, but Gaspard managed. He unlaced a leather cord from his armor and bit down on it as he did the painful work of managing his wound.

When the bleeding had been staunched to the extent of Gaspard's blind ability, he shifted his focus to finding a way out. He ran his left hand along the walls, searching for loose bricks. It was a long shot, especially since disassembling the walls too much could collapse the building around him, but if he could open a small hole, it would be possible to squeeze his way out -or at least grant him enough light and air to find a better path to freedom. Gaspard pressed his knuckles against one stone and gave it a light push. He heard the scrape of stone against stone. It didn't come from the brick.

By force of habit alone Gaspard turned his head towards the sound. He saw nothing in the darkness. Gaspard began to think himself a fool just for looking. He held his breath and relied on other senses, namely hearing. Gaspard heard nothing. He turned back to his work, and no sooner had he turned than he heard a short but distinct series of clicks. He froze in place, and the clicking stopped.

With his one good hand, Gaspard checked every buckle and belt on his armor, thinking some improperly secured clasp might have clicked as he turned. He finished his check by tugging at his belt, and just as he released it, he heard the clicking once again.

Gaspard stood in place, motionless but for one hand that drifted slowly towards the sword at his belt. He took deep, slow breaths, ears perked for the slightest hint of noise. There was no sound, not until Gaspard put a hand to his blade and slowly dragged it out, breaking the silence with the slow draw of metal against leather. Gaspard waved the blade at the unseen threat as his mind raced with possibility.

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Man was not the only creature to be warped by the Mad Moon's light. With every passing of the Moon, every other species shared a similar fate. Madness consumed most of the land's creatures, and those that weren't claimed by madness were often twisted into abominations much like the ones Gaspard now fought. They became horrors in the shape of what they had once been, from the flying birds down to the crawling insects. It was the latter that concerned Gaspard now. He swept the point of his blade towards the floor. It could be that some manner of mutant arachnid or beetle had tunneled its way through the wreckage and was now watching Gaspard through the darkness. He would not be prey to an insect, even one changed into a monster.

With a cautious step back, Gaspard moved towards the corner. There was only so much he could do to stop the approach of a creature that could crawl up walls, or possibly even fly, but having stone to his back would comfort him. He took one more step back towards the corner and felt something sharp dig into his ankle.

Gaspard turned and slashed at the ground behind him. The scrape of the blade against stone kicked up a single spark and made a horrid noise, but accomplished little else. Gaspard imagined he saw a shadow move in the light of that single spark, but it was more than likely his imagination. He kicked out with his foot and hit a small piece of debris from the crumbled wall. Hopefully the edge of that loose stone was what had stabbed him in the ankle. He kicked the stone again and let it roll across the darkened room. The click of stone against stone echoed through the darkness, followed by the rhythmic clicking in the darkness.

In that moment, Gaspard would’ve traded all his swords and armor for a single match -for anything to illuminate the darkness and reveal his unseen enemy. He headed for the sickly rot of the hound’s head. The collapsed archway was the closest thing Gaspard had to a way out. He would rather face the risk of collapse than be preyed upon by some unseen insect.

Groping at the rubble, Gaspard pulled away some of the looser stones. To his surprise, they came free fairly easily, and the wall showed no signs of fully collapsing yet. He reached out into the darkness and felt a large crossbeam overhead. Perhaps most of the rubble had been braced into place by its collapse. He pulled a few more stones loose, and to his delight, a single beam of daylight stabbed through into the dark.

Gaspard moved with frantic energy now, pulling the stones away and tossing them over his shoulder one handed. More light rushed in, and he could now see clearly that a large wooden beam had braced itself against the hounds skinless corpse and was holding further collapse at bay. Gaspard pulled the stones away ever faster, letting them clatter loudly against the ground behind to muffle any chittering sounds from his unseen enemy. At last enough daylight poured through that Gaspard could clearly see the burned streets outside, and Gaspard forced his way through the hole. He grabbed a protruding bone on the hound’s spine and used it as leverage to pull himself fully into daylight.

With a triumphant step forward, away from the broken building, Gaspard stepped into the ruined streets. He had never been more pleased to see the corpse of the city he had once called home. He was even delighted to see the pools of thickening blood that still coagulated in the streets -though he was less delighted at the sudden shower of fresh blood that joined it. Gaspard looked to his wounded shoulder as the world started to spin ever so slightly.

The bite from the hound was a shallow wound, but it had apparently cut into a sizable vein. The front of Gaspard’s armor was stained a deep red. Even his makeshift bandage did little to staunch the bleeding -although the tightness of his poorly made tourniquet had numbed him enough to not notice the bleeding. Gaspard noted his own incompetence, and then fell forward into his own blood.

In the darkness he had left behind, something chittered and retreated from the light.