The Alpha Prisoners Obsession

Chp 21

Zyra POV

The darkness is absolute.

I can feel it pressing against me, cold and alive, smelling of wet stone and something faintly metallic, like old blood. Every footstep I take echoes against walls I can’t see, and the air is thick, heavy, suffocating.

I grip my bag tightly, knuckles white. My mind races faster than my legs. The message glows faintly in my hand:

LEVEL ONE: INSTINCT. RUN.

Run. Simple. Deadly.

I take a deep breath, forcing it into my lungs, and step forward.

The first trap finds me immediately.

A wire stretched across the passage at ankle height. I stumble, almost falling face-first into the rough stone, my heart jumping. I catch myself on the wall and force my legs into a sprint, weaving left and right, every sense straining. I don’t know how many of these corridors there are, but instinct tells me one thing: they are watching.

Shadows move along the walls, some real, some illusions. My breath comes in short bursts, panic clawing at my chest. I force myself to focus, counting steps, watching the floor, the walls, anything.

Another trap, thin blades swinging down from above, catching the torchlight with a metallic screech. My hair whips across my face. I duck and roll, scraping my shoulder against the stone. Pain radiates, but adrenaline keeps me moving.

This is no ordinary game.

Every trap is calculated, precise, designed to test fear, reflex, and strength. I feel something in the darkness, watching. I know I’m being measured. Every misstep could cost me more than just bruises.

A low growl reverberates behind me. Not human. Not fully.

I freeze. My pulse spikes.

Something lunges.

I dive sideways just as claws scrape the stone where I stood. Heart hammering, I scramble to my feet, gasping, and run. The passage curves, narrowing. My shoulders scrape the walls, leaving faint streaks of blood on the stone.

Instinct. Move. Survive.

The corridor opens into a larger chamber. My eyes adjust to the faint red glow of torches embedded in the walls. The air smells sharper here, iron and smoke. The floor shifts beneath me: stones that tilt, forcing me to balance precariously.

Another wire. Another swing of blades. Another near-miss.

And then I see it.

A figure.

A masked wolf, painted entirely black, steps into my path. Its presence is deliberate, blocking any easy escape. I freeze for the briefest moment, trying to calculate my options.

The black wolf tilts its head. No words. Just the silent promise of violence.

I run.

It moves like water, silently following, closing distance with ease. Every instinct screams: this isn’t a physical fight I can win. Outsmart it. Outspeed it.

The chamber shifts again. Suddenly, pressure plates trigger: arrows shoot from the walls. I duck, roll, feeling one graze my leg, pain searing like fire, but I don’t stop.

My legs propel me forward, heart threatening to burst from my chest.

I glance back for the briefest second. The black wolf hasn’t faltered. Haven’t missed. Haven’t slowed.

And then I see movement above. Rope nets swing down from the ceiling. I leap, catching one handhold, pulling myself up as spikes rise beneath me. I’m airborne, heart in my throat, hanging from the rope as blades snap shut below.

I swing to the next platform, then the next. My arms scream. My fingers burn. But I keep moving.

The chamber shifts again. Smoke rises, thick and choking. Torches flicker, shadows twisting into monstrous shapes. I stumble, gagging, clawing at the floor for grip.

A trap triggers beneath my foot, a pressure plate. A pit opens. I leap with every ounce of strength I have, barely catching the ledge. My legs dangle over the abyss. Heart hammering, I pull myself up.

And then I feel it.

A presence behind me. Not one of the masked wolves from before. Something else.

Instinct tells me it’s closer than I thought.

I swing around and freeze.

The crimson wolf mask.

Dael.

I don’t see him clearly, the torchlight doesn’t reach his face but I feel the heat radiating off him, even through the darkness. His eyes are fixed on me through the slits of the mask. Not friendly.

Not safe. Observing. Calculating.

I swallow. Why is he here?

And then I understand—he isn’t here to hurt me.

But he isn’t here to protect me either.

Not openly.

His movements are subtle, positioning himself between me and certain death traps that I can’t even see yet. A rolling spike, a swinging axe, a pressure plate I didn’t notice, all avoided without me realizing.

Every instinct screams: someone is saving you. But why?

I press forward, glancing over my shoulder. The black wolf is still there, stalking me relentlessly. The crimson wolf stays behind it, just out of my peripheral vision, keeping the creature at bay with movements that aren’t obvious.

My pulse pounds. Every step is a gamble. Every breath could be my last.

The passage narrows into a corridor that twists sharply. Arrows shoot, swinging blades come again. I feel tired, muscles screaming. My mind flashes back to my pack burning, to the woman who carried me from the fire, her arms strong even as everything around us fell apart. I survived then. I can survive now.

I leap, roll, crawl, and sprint, barely staying ahead of the black wolf. My lungs burn. My arms shake. My hair sticks to my sweat-slicked forehead.

And then the floor gives way.

I plummet into darkness, screaming, and slam onto a cold stone floor. Pain radiates through my back. I struggle to rise, heart hammering so violently I feel like I might vomit.

A hand grabs my wrist.

I freeze.

Crimson wolf mask.

Dael.

“You’re reckless,” he murmurs, voice low, impossible to place, echoing in my skull. “Don’t. Stop. Fighting carelessly.”

I try to pull away. “I—”

“Not your fight,” he snaps, eyes burning red behind the mask. “Not alone.”

He pushes me forward without touching me aggressively. Just… guiding. Controlling. The next trap triggers: swinging blades, spikes, fire jets.

Somehow, he positions himself between me and them without me noticing, moving with almost supernatural precision.

My mind reels.

Why is he doing this?

My pulse quickens. Fear. Anger. Confusion.

The black wolf leaps at me again. I dive to the side, scraping my arm. Pain radiates, blood mixing with sweat. And then before I can look something stops the attacker in midair.

A shadow. Crimson wolf.

Dael.

I gasp, staggering backward, heart threatening to explode.

“Why?” I whisper, more to myself than him.

He doesn’t answer. His gaze burns into me, unreadable. Protector? Predator? I can’t tell.

And just as the adrenaline fades, a voice booms from the darkness:

“Level One complete. Or…almost.”

The floor beneath me trembles. Smoke swirls. Figures in wolf masks emerge from the shadows, new, taller, more dangerous.

The black wolf retreats for a moment, watching. Dael doesn’t move forward. He just stands there. Watching me.

A trap triggers beneath my feet, spikes rise violently. I stumble back, screaming, and Dael lunges instinctively, pushing me aside. The spikes graze his arm. Pain flashes across his body, sharp enough to make him hiss under the mask, but he doesn’t move away from me.

Something cracks inside me.

Confusion. Terror. A strange, suffocating gratitude.

He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t apologize. He just watches. Protects. Kills everything that comes near me, without revealing himself.

The shadows close in. I realize the second level begins already.

And just before I can catch my breath, the voice returns, distorted and chilling:

“Level Two: Instinct isn’t enough. Only one survives. Choose wisely… or die.”

And the chamber goes completely dark.

My phone dies. The torches flicker out.

I hear claws scraping the stone. Growls. Whispers. Footsteps.

And I realize: the game has truly begun.