Run, his mind screamed. His thoughts came in gasps. Don't stop. Have to get away. Sweat poured down his forehead, smearing into his vision. He fled as fast as his aching legs could carry him. No weapon swayed at his hips. All he had were threadbare clothes. It was the only protection he had in a fast-shrinking world which sought his demise.

A corner blinked into existence. His body slammed into the wall, decaying stones crumbling during the impact. Dark stems, veins of the shadow world, shot out from the wall, groping for him. Not wasting a second, he propelled himself away, leaving the grasping arms in his wake. They were growing faster. In time, they might snatch him in their tight grip. He dared not think on what they planned to do with him.

He raced down a series of never-ending stone corridors. The echoing sound of his pounding footsteps always ahead. Noises rang out around him, muffled through the corridor walls. Agonized groans of dying men, bloodied screams of lamenting women, final cries of weeping babes. His eyes stayed ever forward, not paying attention to the countless doors that flew by in his peripheral vision. Deep in his guts, he feared what he would see.

He did not look behind; he could not look on what followed him. It was ever at his back. No, not it. They. As to how many, he could not be certain. They padded along, footsteps following him, ever gaining no matter how fast he ran. Fear gnawed at his guts. In time it would consume him. Desperation pumped through his veins. I have to escape.

His flight slammed to a halt. The corridor opened up into a chasm, one where he could not see the other side. He stood on the edge of a mountain, tangled with the cruel veins, choking all life that once thrived amongst the cliffs. Darkness loomed beneath him; darkness lurked above. High above his head, a faint light flickered. A way out. Reaching it was impossible. The paths up the mountain were broken by jagged stones. Vines pulsed, waiting for unsuspecting victims to fall into their grasp. Dead end, he realized. Taking a step back, he thought perhaps he could double back. This could not be the only path left, but the footsteps drew closer. Time was running out. "What should I do?"

"Cast aside the façade," a hissing noise sounded in his ear. His breath cut short in a strained gasp. Who spoke to him? He was alone. Glancing back, all he found was empty air. Turning back to the tangled, rocky jungle above him, he pondered on what the voice meant. Reaching up to scratch his throbbing forehead, tired of thinking, he found a strange answer.

Beneath his fingers, his skin peeled. Horrified, he pulled his hand away, chunks of flesh clinging to the nails. His skin had an odd look. It was the sick skin of dead fruit. Wrinkled, putrid, and close to peeling right off. On a peculiar instinct, he gripped the sagging places on his face. In one clean motion, the flesh ripped off. He pulled it off as if it were a coat, letting his olive skin fall to his feet, clothes scattering into the abyss. Where his false skin was, a pelt of coarse black fur covered every inch of his body. "There," the scratching voice complimented. "Now, you can claw your way to paradise."

New strength surged through his body. A smile formed on his narrow face. Dropping to his hands and knees, a position that felt natural, he threw himself against the rocky mountain. The veiny vines waited for him. His senses cried out that danger was all around him. They were not wrong. The arms made a grab for him, but he was too quick for them. Moving with deft precision and speed, he scurried among the arms, scaling the rocky terrain as a squirrel does branches.

He never lost sight of the light, which became brighter by the second. The forest of arms grew thicker the higher he climbed. They kept striking out at him. He weaved through them as a fish does water. There was nothing they could do to stop him. The light changed, revealing an open door in the darkness. Hope rose in his furry chest. He scrambled higher, not breaking his pace, until the door stood in front of him.

Hurling himself through the exit, he hoped to find a world that he could only dream of. Eyes begged to see a clear sky with the sun baking his coarse fur. Ears perked up for the joyous cries of freedom. His nostrils sought out what pleasure awaited him. Bitter tears swelled in his eyes as putrid odors swarmed into his nose. From his vantage point, perched on the same mountain, he gazed on a world that could only be birthed in a twisted man's nightmares.

Fires rose high in the air. Furious winds spread them turning forests to ash. Hideous birds, appearing as women in brief flashes, flew about, leaving slain creatures in their wake. Three great horsemen rode across the land, each with a different color steed. They brought war, plague, and pestilence. A star flew from the sky, poising what water remained. Above all else, there was blood. Oceans of dark, venomous blood.

It was only then that he heard the high-pitched cries. Out in the valleys and hills, sleek, black creatures, with fur not unlike himself, scurrying through the destruction. Long tails whipped about behind them. Blood matted up in furry clumps on their bodies. Many swam in the bloody oceans, struggling to not drown under Death's currents. Rats. Hideous creatures. Better dead than alive.

"There must be a way out," he lamented. He could not have fought so hard to the surface for this to be his reward.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

At once, his heart dropped. None of it mattered. All he did was for naught. Out in the distance, long pillars, writhing as the vines, rose out of the blood oceans. They stretched high above the violence and death, meeting together, tangling into a strong knot. Shooting out from their sides, thick, thorny vines crisscrossed from one pillar to the next, creating a tight fence around the abysmal world. Nothing could come in. No one could go out. It was then that he realized the horrible truth.

He was in a cage.

Savage cries burst out from beneath him. Looking down the mountain, shadowy forms slouched toward him. His pursuers. They had found him. Each one was more horrifying than the next. Pincers snapped, ready to crush his bones to dust. Carnivorous teeth flashed, revealing fangs longing to rip into his flesh. One beast revealed cruel talons hidden in the crooks of its great wings. Monstrous tails lashed back and forth, anticipating when they would partake of his flesh. So many ravenous eyes. Soon they would be upon him.

There was no escape. Gaping on the world, he saw the destruction that murdered peace in its sleep and the monsters that sought to devour what remained. He realized the ugly truth. Doesn't matter what I do. My choice is always the same. Dropping to his belly, he bared his fangs at the monsters. If he must die, he would not go quiet as an old man on his deathbed. Could he destroy just one enemy, so that his death was not in vain? He prayed for this single victory against his fate.

"Why do you resist?" a voice asked. It was slow and grating as steel on stone. "This is your life. One living nightmare. Riches out of reach. No honor to gain. Shame coats you. You sow sorrow; disgrace is all you reap. Death lies in your shadow. Why not let it take you and be done with this merciless existence?"

The voice came soft, but not as if it were a whisper in the ear. It was louder than that, as if carried by a high wind. "I will not deliver myself into the maws of the enemy," he spat, refusing to give in to hopelessness. His bared teeth flashed at his foes as they drew closer.

"Such pride. How interesting," the voice mused. It was as if the voice spoke into his ear. His head whipped around, finding no one beside him. Was the voice coming from inside his own head? His enemies loomed ahead of him. The battle was at hand. His body tensed, ready to lunge forward, but his fur jumped on end as his muscles froze. A stabbing sensation made his eyes turn skyward.

Gazing into the sky once more, two piercing eyes gazed down at him. He found himself slipping into their vastness, being consumed by the shocking blue ocean. Fear overtook him. At once, he realized that it was not the shadowy monsters to fear, but the invisible being above. In the midst of those eyes, his foes seemed to vanish, though he dared not look away to know for sure.

In those eyes, he saw the truth, one the voice did not need to say. It is outside the cage. In the presence of awesome might, a rising admiration kindled. He longed to possess the same strength. Faris bowed down to the eyes, giving reverence where deserved. "What must I do?" he asked. He made no vows or vain attempts at a pact. What could he offer?

The being considered this in silence. In answer, the eyes blinked, disappearing. Bitter anguish overwhelmed Faris. "Wait," he cried out in desperation. "Do not leave me here." The eyes did not reappear. He was alone. His foes returned, surrounding him. They were ready to pick back up where they left off, knowing that nothing would interfere this time.

Faris did not bare his fangs, readying for a final fight. Despair had him in its grasp at last. There was no point in battling these monsters. The result was the same. His only hope at breaking with fate abandoned him. In utter defeat, all he could do was accept his miserable end. If his foes were not so preoccupied with warring over his flesh, perhaps they would have thanked him for giving him an easy meal.

The first bite wracked his entire body with intense agony. It had to be enough to kill him, but he remained conscious through the bloody affair. He watched his entrails ripped from his body. Limbs thrown every which way. Once the first fangs pierced his flesh, he felt no pain after that, feeling his demise as if an outsider, but the sight filled his eyes.

It was only now that the voice returned, hissing in his ear. "Such is the fate of those caged," it spoke. Faris did not see the eyes, but he heard the voice over the ravenous feasting. "Only a freed rat can hope to be anything else but prey."

"What must I do?" he asked again as jagged teeth filled his vision.

He feared that the voice would leave him again, but this time, an answer came. "Only one may open the door. The master of the cage holds the keys."

At last, the nightmare came to an abrupt end as the last bite was taken. He awoke with a start. A ragged breath burst from his lips while the dream clung to him, desperate to drag him back within its disgusting embrace. It was just a dream. He fought for calm. It tried to escape his grasp, but he wrestled it to the ground. He had to make it bend to his will. That was the only way he could survive.

His hand gripped the hilt of his silver blade, ready to destroy any that were too close. In the shadow of night, by the cold embers of a dead fire, he was alone. The visions from his dream lingered in his mind, threatening to overwhelm him again. Covering his eyes, he whispered, "Begone from my sight," but to no avail. They held him in a tight fist, just as they had so many times before. He lost track of how many times that accursed dream haunted his sleep. Old men believed that there was some great significance in one's dreams. He did not care. All he wanted was to be rid of them, but just like everything else in his waking nightmare, there was nothing he could do to break free.