Shadow Slave: Ghost

Belial navigated his way through the maze.

He ate only when necessary, and drank only when he found moss soaked with enough water to wring it into his mouth. The waterskins had been empty for a few days now, and he didn't risk the stagnant pools of rain water again—not after he watched a patch of still water ripple from nothing at all.

The days had begun blurring together as he learned more about the maze. How to survive it. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but the thirst was worse. His tongue was dry, lips were cracked, and his head hurt.

Belial moved in silence. Not because he feared being seen—he understood that the wraiths had no sight. They didn't care about light or motion, just scent and sound.

That knowledge had kept him alive for over a week. Every time he heard something shuffle behind the walls, every time he saw fingers spider-walking across walls, he stayed still and let them pass, their joints clicking with every 'step' forward.

However, the wraiths weren't the only creatures in this god-forsaken maze. Something else had started following him.

He first noticed it when he passed a second set of footsteps in the mud, it's feet bare, and it's toes spread out. It was too recent to be from the dead.

Then came the moments when he'd find his markings scratched out, replaced with strange smudges he hadn't made, as if to sabotage him. It had some form of intelligence. And at night, he sometimes woke with the feeling that something had just ducked out of sight.

The bodies changed too as he went further into the maze. Wraiths left carnage, blood, and bits of bone. Always violent and gruesome, like it was killing out of anger.

But this new thing… it just killed efficiently. One of the corpses he had passed had its face crushed flat. Not torn, not shredded, just caved in like a flat basketball. Another had his entire body cut in half from head to crotch.

He hadn't seen the creature, not yet, but he knew it was different. And it was watching him. Tracking him.

He didn't know why. Maybe it was curious on how he survived the wraiths, or maybe it just liked watching. He didn't care. He only knew it would kill him once it got bored of him.

***

Belial crouched low and pressed his palm to the moss-slick stone. It was wet—too wet. Fresh droplets had gathered recently. That meant open sky somewhere close, or rain. Either could save him.

He wiped his hand on his tunic and moved.

He didn't follow his original markings anymore since the creature kept erasing them or altering them, so now he left no signs behind. Instead, he relied on his memory, every turn etched deep into it.

As he was rounding a corner, he suddenly froze.

There was no sound. Even the constant dripping he had gotten used to had stopped.

His left hand drifted to his dagger while his right dipped into his satchel, closing around a small dried strip of flesh. He tossed it forward.

Silence. No wraiths jumped out to grab the strip of flesh.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A figure stepped into the corridor ahead, thin black cloth hanging off it's body. Tall, thin, human-like but wrong. The thing had no eyes, just smooth skin where a face should've been, and a mouth dripping a thick black liquid. Its arms hung down past its knees, hands twitching, sniffing the air with sharp, jerking motions.

Belial slowly stepped back, boots brushing against the wall. The creature snapped it's head towards him with a shriek.

'Damn it all.'

It heard him. It's hearing was better than the wraiths.

He clenched his jaw, and as the creature darted forward, Belial sprinted, his heart racing.

He took three turns, then veered sharply left, doubling back. It followed, fast and low, like a spider. Not once did it make a sound. No growl, no scream, just quiet breath through its teeth and the slap of its bare feet against the stone floor.

He twisted right into a narrow path and didn't stop running.

His lungs burned and his throat ached for water, but he kept going. He knew where he was headed.

As he ran, he quickly hopped with one foot, taking each of his boots off as fast as he could. His steps were even quieter than the creature's now with his socks dampening the noise.

He had passed more runes yesterday.

He hadn't gone near them, knowing his fate if he did. Until now, at least.

He took a left, then vaulted over a fallen slab of stone. The creature behind him never missed a beat. He glanced back—its fingers dug into the wall as it turned, dragging itself along the stone faster than what should've been possible.

Almost there.

He spotted the faint blue tint ahead. The runes. Dozens of them, all faintly pulsing even without being touched.

He sprinted toward the wall even faster, and the creature lunged.

He dove forward and rolled to the side, slamming his foot into the wall. A sharp crack sounded out, and an even sharper pain assaulted his foot, but he kept completely silent as he buried his head into his arms.

'Don't make noise, don't make noise, don't make noise.'

The runes flared bright, coloring the world blue.

A scream erupted, but not from him.

Dozens of thin cracks split open along the wall, and the bony limbs crawled out.

The creature froze.

Too late.

The wraiths descended.

One arm wrapped around its waist. Then another snared its ankle, dragging it toward the wall. The creature thrashed, clawed, kicked, and screamed, but it was no use.

Its fingers reached for Belial as it was pulled into the cracks. Long, white, twitching fingers. One reached shoulder, digging into it like a knife. Still, he was forced to keep quie as ghostly blood flowed down onto the stone.

Then, it was gone. Belial heard it's bones snapping as it was forced into a crack in the wall, it's wails waning.

The runes dimmed, but Belial didn't move. For several minutes, he sat on the cold ground, eyes on the wall. If not for his [Breathless] attribute, he knew he'd be heaving right now.

The blood on the stone wasn't his, but it could have been if not for his split second plan. He wasn't even sure if the wraiths would attack a fellow nightmare creature.

When he finally stood, he was forced to limp, and his shoulder felt like cutting it off would be a better alternative.

***

Three days passed.

He hadn't slept much, and the water in his waterskin had run dry again. It hadn't rained in weeks. The moss he found was dry now, not even sparing him a drop of water. Every swallow felt like it scraped his throat.

He leaned against walls to keep himself upright, and looked at his foot. It had been completely purple and bloated for a while now, and his shoulder was no better.

If he didn't escape the nightmare soon, he'd have to amputate.

Paired with the unbearable pain in his shoulder and foot and the effects of dehydration, he felt like a walking corpse. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his skin was paler than usual, lips were cracked, and the ache behind his eyes wouldn't leave.

But walking corpse or not, he kept walking.

Because that thing hadn't killed him, and neither had the wraiths, but the nightmare still continued.

Which meant he was still supposed to make it out of the maze.

However, as he limped forward, his foot got caught on a jagged stone. He fell.

His cheek hit the floor and his skull shook, but he didn't get up right away. He just laid there, and for the first time in a while, he breathed out. A ragged, dry, and weak breath.

He lost all of his motivation to move forward in only a few seconds.

But then, wind.

He blinked his dry eyes, and lifted his head.

A breeze.

Cold. Real.

He turned his head and saw it. A faint shimmer of light. Not torchlight, but real sunlight.

He forced himself up, and stumbled forward.

The corridor opened wide, and the black stone gave way to pale, rougher, older stone, cracked from time. The moss here was thicker. Greener. Life tried to grow here.

He could hear wind now, not just feel it. And he could see clouds above through the open gap.

The exit.

He laughed. He laughed and laughed, and couldn't stop laughing.

He ran.

The stone underfoot shifted as he neared. The gap was narrow—he twisted sideways and forced his way through, cutting his arm on the jagged edge.

Sunlight.

It hit him like a slap. His eyes stung. His skin burned. He dropped to his knees.

The maze was behind him, and with it, the first voice he'd heard in weeks spoke. The spell.

[You have slain a corrupted devil, Prophet.]

[Wake up, Belial. Your nightmare is over.]