The Cursed Extra-Chapter 149: [3.22] Something in the Dark (And It’s Not Friendly)

Chapter 149: [3.22] Something in the Dark (And It’s Not Friendly)

"When you’re trapped underground with an injured friend and no way out, the universe likes to add monsters. Just to keep things interesting."

***

Petra wiped blood from her forehead with the back of her hand. She stared at the dark smear across her palm for a moment before answering. "Maybe. Depends on the stone. Depends on how much I have left." She paused. Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"If we can weaken the slab, create fracture lines, we might be able to break it into smaller pieces." Rhys ran his fingers along the stone’s surface. Felt for natural weaknesses.

His father had taught him about rock. How it broke along certain lines. How different types responded to different forces. The slab was old limestone. Layered. Potentially brittle if heated and cooled rapidly.

"Heat it up, then cool it fast. Thermal shock."

Petra closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging slightly as she reached inward.

Her face settled into that distinctive mask of concentration he’d come to recognize over their time at the academy.

In that moment, she looked less like the vibrant, sharp-tongued classmate he knew and more like one of the weathered stone statues that lined the academy’s great hall.

Rhys counted heartbeats while he waited, unconsciously matching his breathing to the slow rhythm.

One... two... three... His fingers traced a hairline fracture in the limestone, memorizing its path, planning their attack.

"I’m running maybe half capacity," she said finally, her eyes fluttering open with a slight wince. Dark circles had formed beneath them, stark against her pallor.

"Used a lot fighting those goblins. Used more trying to shield us when the ceiling came down." She looked at the massive slab pinning Jorik, her hand trembled slightly as she flexed her fingers, testing the remaining magic that coursed through them.

"I can try. Can’t promise anything. Stone this thick... it’ll take everything I’ve got left."

Jorik shifted slightly. Tried to find a more comfortable position. He bit back a curse as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through his trapped leg. His face went even grayer, and for a moment Rhys thought he might pass out.

"Do what you can." Jorik’s voice was strained but steady. "I’m not going anywhere regardless."

The joke fell flat.

None of them laughed.

Rhys continued his examination of the slab. Looked for the best points to apply heat. The torch’s flame danced in his peripheral vision.

That’s when he heard it.

A sound like claws dragging across stone.

Coming from the darkness ahead. Where their tunnel continued into the unknown depths of the mine. Not the random settling of loose debris, which made its own distinctive sounds that Rhys had learned to filter out.

This was something else.

Something rhythmic. Intentional.

Rhys went still. His hand froze on the stone slab. Every muscle in his body locked into place. His borderland instincts screamed warnings. The same sixth sense that had kept him alive during goblin raids on his village. The feeling that came when predators circled in the dark beyond the torchlight.

Something was moving in the darkness beyond their small bubble of light. Something that had heard their voices.

Something that was coming to investigate.

Oh come on. As if things weren’t bad enough.

"What is it?" Petra had noticed his tension. Her own body went rigid as she strained to listen. Her hands were starting to glow faintly as she gathered what magic she had left.

The scraping sound came again.

Closer now.

Not just claws on stone, but something else. Something being dragged. Something heavy that scraped and bumped against the tunnel floor with each movement.

Rhys reached for his father’s spear. The familiar weight of the weapon provided cold comfort.

Whatever was out there had survived the collapse that had nearly killed them. That suggested either incredible luck, in which case it might be something small and frightened, or something far more dangerous than the goblins they’d faced earlier.

Something that lived in these depths. Something that called them home.

Please be a lost cave rabbit. Please be a lost cave rabbit. Please be a—

"Petra." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "How fast can you get that fire magic ready?"

She was already reaching for her mana. Flames began to dance around her fingertips despite her depleted reserves. The fire cast orange light that warred with the torch’s yellow glow. Strange shadows jumped and flickered across the walls.

"Fast enough. What are we dealing with?"

The scraping stopped.

In the sudden silence, Rhys could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Jorik’s labored breathing, each inhale accompanied by a small grunt of pain. The soft crackle of the torch flame as it consumed dry material.

From the darkness ahead, nothing.

Whatever was out there had gone still. Listening just as intently as they were.

Hunting.

Rhys gripped his spear tighter. The leather wrapping on the shaft was slick with sweat from his palms.

His father had taught him to read the signs when hunting became being hunted. The shift in the air that came when a predator stopped moving and started planning. The weight of attention pressing against the back of your neck like a cold blade. The moment before violence when everything seemed to hold its breath.

They were no longer alone in their stone prison.

And whatever shared the darkness with them had just realized they were trapped. Injured. Running out of options.

Perfect. Just perfect.

The torch flame guttered slightly. As if something had disturbed the air currents in the tunnel ahead. Some movement too subtle to see but not too subtle to feel.

Rhys counted his breaths. Counted heartbeats while he waited for whatever lurked in the darkness to make its move.

Petra’s fire crackled and spat.

Jorik had gone silent. One hand reached for his hammer even though they all knew he couldn’t use it. The gesture was automatic. Instinctive. The reaction of a fighter who refused to die without a weapon in his hand.

The darkness seemed to grow deeper beyond the edge of their light.

Whatever was out there, it was patient.

It had all the time in the world.

They didn’t.

Rhys adjusted his grip on the spear. Planted his feet. Let out a slow breath.

Alright then.

Come and get it.