Chapter 3: Chosen

Cal slipped onto his belly, pulling his knees to his chest as he lay in his own vomit. His sobs echoed in the dark space. He had never felt so alone in his life. Back home, he imagined his little sister waiting for him to pick her up.

She probably thinks I forgot about her.

Cal didn’t have much going for him—no girlfriend, no job, dropped out of college. Everyone in his family hated him except for his sister, Abby. He didn’t have any real friends. His landlord would probably miss him the most, and...

I’m so sorry, Abby. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.

He felt like giving up. Alone, scared, and confused, he saw nothing he could do. And now? With the weird blood and statues...

I might as well be dead.

Something stirred inside him at that thought—something deep within his being. A warm light ignited, an order, a declaration. His sobs stopped, and his tears dried up.

No, I’m not. I can’t die. I have to live. No matter what.

The thought came suddenly, unflinching. He shoved memories of his family and past out of his mind. He had to stay alive. Cal stood up, his eyes fixed on the stone hands. The sphere glowed with a dim red light, growing brighter by the second. Cal could now see the hands and arms in their entirety, jutting out of the wall as if someone was reaching through holes on the other side. The strange part was that each hand had seven fingers. Cal made his way back up toward the basin. The sphere roiled in the blood, creating a veritable storm of crimson waves inside the plate. He reached in and grabbed the sphere. Holding it tightly, he did what felt natural—he twisted it.

The sphere split into two halves and popped open. A loud, resounding boom shook the entire room, illuminating it as the orb released a blast of red light. Cal’s skin sizzled and popped as a wave of heat passed over his hands and arms. A small red gem fell from the sphere and into the blood of the basin. Then everything went dark once again. Ignoring his wounds and following that feeling inside him, Cal dropped the two halves and reached into the basin. After feeling around for a few seconds, his burnt fingers found the gem.

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"Hello little crystal, what are you?"

Something struck Cal—not physically, but mentally. His mind recoiled, and the world spun. Before he realized it, his hand was at his mouth, and the gem had slipped down his throat. Lights flared in his vision as pain tore through his body. He collapsed to the floor, screaming as he writhed against the stone. After what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided, leaving him panting on his back.

Something’s different. I don’t know why I swallowed it, but... what’s inside me?

Cal tried to focus inward, though meditation had never been his strong suit. He sensed something new within him, not in his stomach, but like an entirely different sense. It felt strange, unnatural. He laughed.

“HELL YEAH! If I’m stuck in a cave with weird blood magic and stone hands, I MIGHT AS WELL GET SOME DOPE MAGIC OF MY OWN!”

His laughter echoed, but then something else joined in. From across the cave, he heard a giggling sound, like a frog being forced onto a saw blade. Chills ran down his spine.

“Hello?”

The giggling was his only answer. Cal stood and slowly edged down the stairs.

“I said, HELLO!”

An invisible wave of energy washed over him, resonating like a bell with whatever was now inside him. It felt like someone had splashed water on his face or slapped him awake. Intrigued, Cal focused on the spot where the energy had reacted. But before he could investigate further, the giggling creature made another sound—like nails scraping down a chalkboard, echoing around the space as it moved to his left.

Cal's heart pounded as the creature's grating laughter echoed through the pitch-black cave. The air grew colder, and a faint, musty odor filled his nostrils—a stench of decay and damp stone. He strained to hear the creature’s movements. The creature’s presence weighed on him like a thick fog, pressing down on his senses. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it—a dark, twisted hunger pulsing through the air, each beat in time with his own racing heart. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but something deep inside held him steady.

A low growl rumbled from the darkness, followed by the sound of something heavy dragging across the stone floor. Cal’s breath hitched, his fear spiking, but he forced himself to stay calm. His hands trembled, but he clenched them into fists, trying to focus.

The creature shifted, and Cal caught the faintest hint of movement—like a whisper of wind brushing past him. It was massive, its presence filling the cave with a suffocating dread. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense its every movement, the way it seemed to glide across the ground, circling him.

He took a deep breath, listening to the rhythmic scrape of the creature's approach. His fear remained, but it no longer paralyzed him. Instead, it sharpened his senses, making him hyper-aware of the space around him.

The creature snarled, its breath hissing through unseen fangs. Cal widened his stance, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode into action.

Cal had always been a fighter, though never in the traditional sense. Back in high school, he’d joined the wrestling team on a whim, looking for an outlet, a way to channel the restless energy that constantly bubbled beneath the surface. The mats became his refuge, a place where the chaos in his mind could be silenced through sheer physicality. He wasn’t the strongest or the fastest, but he had grit—a stubbornness that made him relentless, always coming back harder after every takedown.

Those years on the mat taught him more than just technique. Wrestling was about control—of your body, your opponent, your fear. It was about anticipating the next move, knowing when to strike and when to hold back. Cal had learned to read his opponents, to feel the shift in their weight, the tension in their muscles. It was a dance of pressure and release, and he’d become good at it, even if he’d never been the best.

Now, in the pitch-black cave, those instincts came rushing back. He might not be able to see his enemy, but he could feel it—sense the way it moved, the weight of its presence. He crouched slightly, grounding himself, his mind slipping back into that familiar focus. The fight was coming, and he’d be ready.

"Come on, pussy! What are you waiting for?"