Second by second, they creep closer.
Their heavy boots scrape against the ground, the sound dragging through the air like a blade against stone.
Their laughter is low, guttural, dripping with malice, stretching into the night like the whisper of sothing foul and rotting.
Their grins widen, yellowed teeth flashing, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.
They're predators.
And I'm the prey.
I glance around frantically, my heart pounding, a drumbeat of panic hamring against my ribs.
No escape.
No miracle.
Just .
Just them.
Still—
I stand.
My legs feel like lead, the weight of terror pressing down, threatening to buckle beneath .
But I force them to stay firm.
My grip on the sser sword is slick with sweat, my knuckles trembling so violently that the blade wavers.
But I don't drop it.
I can't.
Even though I'm shaking.
Even though my heart is beating so wildly it feels like it might burst.
Even though a suffocating darkness claws at the edges of my mind, whispering that it's already over…
I refuse to let go.
Because I know what I must do.
I have to fight.
Yes.
I will fight.
The thought is almost laughable—almost.
After all, what chance do I have?
I'm outnumbered. Outmatched.
I have neither the strength nor the magic to tip the scales in my favor.
But—
I refuse to crumble.
I'll fight, even if it's futile.
Even if the only thing I achieve is a fleeting sense of defiance before the end.
Because I won't let them take .
Not my body.
Not my dignity.
Not my soul.
I will not let them drag into their pit of depravity.
If I can, if I'm lucky, I'll cut down one. Maybe two—the more, the better.
If I fail, I'll leave them with scars, wounds that will remind them of .
Even a tiny scratch will be enough.
I'll make them bleed.
I'll make them rember !
And when the inevitable cos—when their filthy hands of fate close around my throat—
I'll deny them their prize.
I'll turn this blade inward, spill my own blood before they lay a single hand on .
I'll ruin myself before they can.
Because death doesn't scare .
Not anymore.
Not when I've already crossed that line once.
And just like that—
A cold thought, razor-sharp, slices through the haze of fear.
For a single mont—
My trembling ceases.
My breath steadies, just enough for to think.
But then—
A pain far worse than fear clenches around my chest.
Eris.
What will happen to her when I'm gone?
The n's jeering, their leers, their laughter fade into the background as a darker, deeper dread chokes whole.
My mind conjures horrors I can't unsee.
They'll lay their dirty hands on her.
They'll tear her apart.
Piece by fragile piece.
Rage floods my veins.
A venomous fire, boiling through my limbs, erasing the fear, erasing the doubt.
I bite down on my lip, hard enough to taste blood, forcing the images away.
I don't know what I can do.
Because I'm more than useless.
But—
Until my final breath, I will do whatever it takes to protect her.
It may not make a difference—
But at least I'll know I did everything I could.
After all—
She's done so much for .
She saved from the dungeon.
She gave shelter, food, kindness.
She didn't have to.
She owed nothing.
But she did it anyway.
She's the nicest person I've ever t.
And the ti I had with her?
Too short.
Far too short.
I wanted more.
I wanted to stay by her side longer—
To hold her hand.
To laugh and share als together.
To see the world inside the dungeons.
To explore the unknown with her.
But—
That dream will remain a dream.
Even so—
I am grateful.
eting her.
Knowing her.
It was enough.
So—
I'll give her one last gift.
My life for hers.
I tighten my grip on the sser sword, its edge gleaming—
Like the blade is responding to the fire burning in my chest.
The laughter grows louder.
The n draw closer.
Their shadows tower over —
And still—
I stand.
Then—
With a feral scream, raw, unrestrained, I hurl my voice into the void:
"CO!!! GET IF YOU CAN, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!!!"
The force of my voice rips through the night, a primal cry that drowns out their laughter for a fleeting mont.
And goddamn—
That felt good!
That felt right!
This—this is what it ans to stand your ground.
To spit in the face of death.
HELL YEAH!
I drag the last remnants of mana from my core, forcing it to ignite.
As expected—
The burning pain erupts in my chest, white-hot, so sharp it nearly drives to my knees.
My vision darkens at the edges, my body screams in protest.
But I don't care.
Let it hurt. Let it tear apart!
This is my final stand. My final mont!!!
And just then, sothing changes.
The n freeze mid-step.
Their movents halt so suddenly, it's as if they've slamd into an invisible wall.
I blink, confused.
They take a few hesitant steps back, their confident smirks lting away.
Their faces twist, morphing from gleeful malice into sothing I never expected to see.
Confusion.
And—
Fear.
What?
Fear?
I swallow hard, my heart pounding—but not from panic this ti.
Did my war cry actually strike terror into their hearts?
Am I that intimidating?!
Hell yeah!
A slow, savage smirk curls onto my lips.
I straighten, my chest swelling with defiance, and snarl, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"What's the matter? Afraid of a little kitty?
CO ON, THEN!
CO AND GET IF YOU DARE, YOU COWARDS!!!"
The words roar out of , raw and furious, vibrating in my chest like the growl of a cornered beast.
And then—
They stumble.
Their retreat is more pronounced this ti.
Their eyes flicker with sothing primal, their pale faces contorted in disbelief.
"I-I… impossible!"
The bearded man stamrs, his voice quaking like dry leaves in the wind.
"H-how can you…? W-what are you?!"
Huh?
What am I?
I'm just a catgirl.
A catgirl who refuses to be taken.
A catgirl who refuses to break.
I don't know why they're so scared—
But I don't care.
Because hope surges inside , wild and electric.
Maybe I have a chance.
Maybe my display of sheer badassery is working!
Should I double down?
Make an even scarier face?
Bare my pointy fang?
Maybe hiss a little louder for dramatic effect?
But before I can act—
The burly man snaps out of his daze and roars like a wounded animal.
"G-GET HER! PATRICK!!!"
At his command—
Patrick—the slender, wiry bastard—charges straight for .
His scream is blood-curdling.
"RAAAAAAAGGHHH!!!"
HE'S COMING!
HE'S ATTACKING!
FUCK!
I thought they were scared!
Why the hell is this guy still charging ?!
I grit my teeth, shifting my stance, my grip tightening around my sword.
Fine.
If this bastard wants a fight—
I'll give him one he won't forget!
Raising my blade, I brace for impact, every muscle in my body taut like a drawn bowstring.
This is it.
One strike.
I just need one good strike.
But then—
WHOOOOSH!
Sothing tears through the air behind —
Faster than my eyes can follow.
A blur of pure black, slicing through the dim light like a shadow given form.
And then—
SPLAT!
A wet, sickening sound echoes through the night.
Patrick's head—
His entire head—
Splits open in half.
Blood erupts in a violent arc, painting the ground a grotesque splash of crimson.
His body collapses instantly, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Lifeless.
Motionless.
A single, wet thud marks the end of his existence.
It's over.
He's dead.
Just like that.
Silence.
A chilling, suffocating silence.
The remaining n stumble back, their bravado shattered, terror carved into their faces.
Gone is their smug confidence.
All that's left is wide, trembling eyes and quivering lips.
I stand frozen, my breath caught in my throat, my pulse roaring in my ears.
What?!
What just happened?!
My heart races as I whirl around, desperate to see—
To understand.
And then—
BA-DUMP!
My chest tightens.
My eyes widen.
Relief.
Awe.
Disbelief.
All collide inside at once.
"ERIS!!!"
She's awake.
And she looks furious.
No—
FURIOUSLY COOL.
Her glowing eyes lock onto the n, blazing with a fierce intensity that sends a shiver slicing down my spine.
Her lips curl into a snarl, fangs glinting under the dim light.
And her aura…
It's suffocating.
Thick. Dark. Heavy.
It churns around her, shifting like a storm on the verge of breaking loose—
A tangible pressure, pressing against my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.
And then—
She speaks.
"You bastards."
Her voice is low, rasping—
Deadly cool.
"I'll kill you all."
She says it like she's passing judgnt.
Like the words themselves are death sentences.
And then—
I can only watch in stunned silence as she raises one hand to her side.
The air around her shimrs, warps—
As though reality itself bends at her presence.
Then—
Black mana gathers at her fingertips.
A swirling, churning vortex of darkness.
It twists, condenses, hums ominously—
Shadows pulling together, drawn into a single, deadly purpose.
And then, it solidifies.
The blackness takes shape, forming…
A sleek, pitch-black sword.
A weapon born from darkness itself.
And in that mont—
I realize.
The real nightmare isn't .
It's her.
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