His body bubbled with the overflowing and tantalizing desire to scream out for aid. And yet as his mouth cracked open to expel said boiling over emotion did once more those spider-webbing fractures in his thin veneer of sanity bring themselves to the fore.

Suspicion! Mistrust! They tormented with vivid imagery and searing pain, with scenes of ambush and capture, of alien faces and cruel smiles. And so with sweaty palms once more welded to the still slightly bleeding sides of his skull did he scamper to the hinges of the door, pressing himself to them like a mould, an unwanted filthy taint on the ashen, sterile finish of the room.

Guttural grunts glid ghostly to the other side of the wooden threshold where they did stop and pause momentarily. The man heard the desperate regaining of husbanded breath so common in the unfit and made efforts to still his own gasped clutches at the air in a painfully conscious anxiety at discovery.

His tension was palpable as muscles pulled taught to breaking by both clenched away pain and present circumstance readied him for a frantic scuffle and unlikely escape.

The door handle creaked round in a clunking and metallic drawl, a slowness which further widened the eyes and impregnated the throat with a pronounced and unswallowable lump. The door swung open with a lazy sigh and smattering of disturbed grit and the man became ensconced in shadow as it wrapped him in a triangular embrace of cover. He readied himself in his concealment for a potential fray of ugly shortness and biting intensity.

There was an elderly and drawn out pause as the two figures entered the room. At least he assumed they were a pair from what little he gleaned in their quick pass through his thin window of shafting light that sat between the now open door and the wall.

The pause was ended with a scoff and a quick heeled turn as one figure chuckled to himself. The other in response and once again in the incomprehensible and harsh tones of throaty grunting seemed to try to, in a garbled jumble, explain himself. It fell on deaf ears however as the laughing simply reached a hearty crescendo before curt words were exchanged and the turned figure tore out of the room.

The man’s bones turned to ice and his blood to sludge as he felt the floor of his stomach fall deep and down into an unknowable blackness for the exiting figure, in his briskness, had grabbed the door and swung it closed behind him and while he hadn’t noticed the nakedly visible and quivering man the other soon would.

It was a queerly laid out scene indeed, with the man all erect and bug eyed in the corner of the room, back pressed so hard to the stones as if trying to phase into them through osmosis and join the brick work in uniform anonymity. And the other, crouched low on titanic and bowlegs face and snorting nose held down to the acrid stink of rune scarred ground.

The creature itself was a rotund and grotesque being, all leathery hide and utilitarian clothing with hooves that squelched periodically in the muddy floor as it pivoted in an amateurish squat attempting to keep its balance.

The man had long since calcified into a statue, eyes forever frozen in morbid infatuation on the pockmarked yet gleaming blade which hung lackadaisically, tip dipped into the mud, on the creatures hip.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Kill! Fury! Screamed the atavistic choir with reckless abandon, beaming their desire for a hate filled, violent and crimson frenzy into his mind until he had to grind his teeth to the point of cracking to keep from either screaming out in pain or joining them in an involuntary and sadistic grin. But for the first time since his encumbrance with them he managed to fight the voices back down to silence and, with baited breath and feather feet he slunk to the door, hands grasping blindly and vision refusing to move from the wiggling blade as its owner leant closer to the ground in his examinations.

Fumbling fingers found the unyielding metal and to it they melded, turning it at a snail’s pace in hopes of dissipating the mechanical grind which had before heralded the door’s opening. It was for naught however, as with a resounding clunk did the mechanism turn open.

They paused in the barren wake of the sound, both yet unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of their car crash of a predicament, and yet in their apparent stillness was not complete idleness to be found. For the crouching creature’s hand slid slowly to the leather rapped and worn handle at his belt and the man’s eyes darted furiously back and forth between the crowdedly muscled legs and the fully revealed and wickedly tapered point of the short sword. He realised he wouldn’t be able to outrun this thing right as his potential assailants hand touched down on its lethal destination.

They exploded into a whirling ball of panicked motion with the man scampering for the door side left corner of the room. The other replied with the martial keen of a sword being birthed from scabbard and the sharp intake of breath preceding motion. The man’s hands reached for the lamp, scratching at its black iron bottom in futile attempt to reach up and dislodge it from its hanging on the wall. Then his enemy charged.

With the unyielding indomitability of a stampeding bull it rammed a shoulder into the thin and bony form of the man, squishing him up and against the wall and then crumpling him to the floor after. However not before the extra height had allowed him to free the lamp which clattered down a short ways away.

The being chuckled in strained amusement as with steadied hands did he reach the sword back down to his belt. The man, crushed against and facing the wall as his fall had left him however saw none of this and wheeled around hard, using the motion to slingshot the lamp he clutched white-knuckle tight into the lowering and armed wrist of his attacker. The blow caused the sword to careen off to the other side of the door, a dull and meaty crack to sound out from the creature’s wrist and a vengeful, predatory smile to be elicited onto its face.

The man looked up into those orbs of scowling fire with the expression of a contrite child after he had realised his enemies intentions had not before been murderous. They definitely seemed it now and the creature opened a tusk filled and rotting set of fangs to roar out a bone rattling and blood curdling bellow. The man then decided to make like a fired bullet for the now masterless sword on the other side of the room.

The creature would not be so easily dodged however and with one hand it reached out and wrapped a monstrous grip over a rail-thin ankle and with the other, broken, hand it thumped a meteoric blow into the bare and unarmoured kidneys of the sword scrabbling for man causing him to hack up both a mouthful of bloody phlegm and a pained gasp. He had however reached that silver fang of promised violence which he clung to like a lifeline.

He contorted his battered body from stomach to back as he turned to face that wincing and gangrenous, boil encrusted face which was still a visage of desired retribution. Then, with untrained and sloppy motions, did he begin to hack at arms, face and whatever other scraps of tough hide he could reach with the progressively stained and slick blade, his hole body shuddering as his strikes bit deep into bone.

The creature collapsed in retreat and the man pursued, mounting his perforated and squealing quarry before biting down deep between the neck and shoulder and into the chest cavity to bring about a comforting silence, at least it would have been if not for the rapid pounding of his heart beat in his ears.

He took a deep and shuddering breath as he failed to steady hummingbird still hands and return feeling to numb limbs. He assured himself it had been kill or be killed; it didn’t help. Then he heard the bounding thud of oncoming footsteps and vomited slightly into his mouth as he remembered the creature’s partner. He flew to the door and swung it open, hands fumbling with the handle. Before him was an expansive and singular passageway that had no forks nor turns in sight, simply a straight shot into the void beyond and the oncoming enemy. He had another decision to make, run down the hall and pray he found a turn before meeting his fate in much smaller and foreign ground, or make a stand here?

Author Note:

Type 1 in the comments to stay.

Type 2 to run.

The option with the most votes wins.

If no-one votes than I will make the decision myself.

Voting is now over, option 1 wins unanimously