Yet it still knocked me down. The cold flare tumbled aside, and the light dimmed instantly…

Its bloodthirsty maw snapped wildly. An overpowering stench of rot and blood hit my face, making me queasy…

I roared, shoving its head back with all my strength. Instinctively, my other hand drove the short knife into its skull…

I stabbed frantically—five, six times. The monster just clumsily took every single blow…

Its blood reeked with a nauseating foulness. If it weren’t crimson, I’d never believe it was blood…

Maybe its species was just rotten inside and out.

It let out a piercing shriek—sharp, ear-splitting—then wisely retreated…

I scrambled up, shouting insults at it. I was already losing my cool…

But then I felt it: my arms trembling, limp from overexertion.

The monster backed off. I pressed forward, ready to finish it. This world didn’t forgive hesitation—if I didn’t kill it, it’d eat me.

I’m not that kind of fool!

Then, in the fading flarelight, my peripheral vision caught movement on the rock wall. Several more creatures were crawling slowly toward me. They looked like mutated geckos—but far more horrifying…

Right then, the second cold flare died out.

_

A dense rustling closed in. My earlier shouting must’ve drawn them.

So these things weren’t alone…

_

The wounded monster panted softly ahead—like a dog’s low growl. If it stayed still, I could roughly pinpoint it.

During the fight, I’d seen its face: just a gaping maw, two tiny nostrils… no eyes.

So in darkness, it might have an edge—but after nearly having its skull shredded, it couldn’t fight back hard.

I gripped the knife tighter. Had my noise reached Mom?

The rustling drew closer. Should I finish this one now?

…In the end, I chickened out.

A fiery sting flared on my arm—claw marks. Its nails looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in decades.

_

Doing nothing felt like waiting to die. I don’t know where the courage came from—maybe pure survival instinct. I lunged forward.

My hand grabbed its greasy fur. I yanked hard while the knife thrust upward without pause…

It shrieked. Jaws clamped down on my arm—agonizing pain, like flesh tearing loose.

Panic surged. Near the bite, I guessed the neck below its jaw. I plunged the blade deep and sawed violently.

With my trapped hand, I kept yanking its hair up. After a few savage cuts—*lift*. The jaw went slack.

I’d decapitated it.

My arm was wrecked. No light needed—I knew it was a bloody mess.

No time. I snatched the head and smeared its blood all over my clothes, my skin—anywhere I could.

_

Not madness. Logic.

No eyes meant they hunted by other senses.

If sound-based, staying still worked.

If scent-based, staying still was suicide.

So I masked myself in its blood—to confuse their noses, to smell like *them*.

Coated in the revolting gore, I sat quietly, scanning the dark, pressing hard on my wound.

Eyes closed. Listening. Rustling continued… but none approached. I exhaled.

Exhaustion and hunger fogged my mind. Pain numbed. Minutes blurred. Silence settled. My theory held.

Only then did I quietly pull out gauze and wrap my arm tight.

Checked the time. Nearly midnight. Almost four hours since the fall.

How utterly desperate. Was this… tomb raiding? Did that make me a tomb raider? Forced into a tomb—did it even count?

I tapped my temple. *Stop. Useless thoughts.*

Time ticked. Drowsiness crept in. Drained. Thirsty. Hungry. The air turned icy.

But sleeping here was suicide. I shook myself awake. *Focus. Assess.*

_

If Dad told Mom everything about this place, she’d have planned for every risk.

Mom would never let me face true danger…

But surviving the bridge fall? Pure luck.

Even Mom couldn’t predict luck. So this situation—beyond her calculations.

She was probably frantic right now…

I wiped the knife clean on my shirt, rummaged through my bag. Two cold flares left. Compressed biscuits. A flat water pouch.

Darkness was death. I had to go back—to where I fell. Retrieve the broken flashlight. Maybe a shake would revive it?

…