Unique Gate [8]
1033 Words
The day was bright, and the wind carried a gentle breeze through the bustling city streets. Life pulsed all around—cars passing, people chatting, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the air.
Zenon sat by the window of a small café, casually stirring his drink as he enjoyed his breakfast. The warmth of the sun filtered through the glass, casting a golden hue over the table. His morning exercise had left him feeling refreshed, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to slow down and savor the moment.
Taking a bite of his food, he gazed outside, watching pedestrians move along the sidewalk. It had been weeks since he started raiding Gates regularly, and though his skills had sharpened, the weight of his past still lingered in his mind.
Just as he reached for his cup, his phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at the screen. A message from Darius.
"Meet me at the Guild HQ. There's something important we need to discuss."
Zenon raised a brow. It wasn’t like Darius to send vague messages.
Draining the last of his coffee, he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and left the café.
Whatever this was about, it had to be serious.
In a dark alley where the sun’s rays couldn’t breach the towering buildings, space itself rippled.
A distortion twisted in midair, swirling into a vortex—a Gate. But unlike the others, this one was unnaturally small, as if designed to remain unnoticed.
A whisper echoed through the empty alley, soft yet unnatural, as if the voice had drifted from beyond the cosmos.
"It’s time."
Zenon walked toward the bus stop, his mind still on Darius' message, when something strange happened—his foot landed in a warm, sticky puddle.
He froze.
Blood?
His gaze followed the crimson trail, leading toward the alleyway beside him.
A prickle ran down his spine.
“…Hello?” he called out. “Is someone hurt?”
No answer.
The alley was dark, the shadows stretching unnaturally deep. His instincts screamed at him—something was there.
Cautiously, he stepped forward.
“Hello? Are you okay?” His voice was calm, but his muscles tensed, ready for anything.
Silence.
Then—
A faint whisper.
"Hel…p…"
Zenon’s breath hitched. He barely heard it, but it was there.
"I'm here!" he called back. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"
He strained to listen, trying to pick up the source of the voice. The alley was deathly quiet, yet—
A chill crawled up his spine.
He felt it.
A presence.
Something—or someone—was watching him. And they were smiling.
He turned sharply, but there was nothing behind him.
Then, a sound.
A voice he never should have heard again.
"Help… Mar…cus."
His mother’s voice.
Zenon’s blood ran cold.
His mind blanked, his body moving on instinct. He ran toward the voice, desperation taking over.
“Mom?” he muttered, his heart hammering.
The alley twisted before him like a maze, the walls closing in. But he didn’t care—he had to find her.
At the end of the passage, he skidded to a stop.
A dark red Gate stood before him.
Unlike the others he had seen, this one pulsed as if it were alive, its outline formed from decayed, rotting flesh.
And then—
A hand.
A human hand, slowly sinking into the Gate.
Zenon’s breath caught in his throat.
"Mom!!"
He lunged forward, grabbing the hand, his fingers wrapping tightly around it.
He pulled.
It wouldn't budge.
“Come on…!” He gritted his teeth, straining with all his strength.
Slowly, the hand began to emerge.
Then—
His world shattered.
As the face came into view, Zenon’s eyes widened in sheer terror.
It wasn’t his mother.
It had no eyes. Only empty, hollow sockets staring back at him.
Zenon recoiled, his grip loosening. But before he could pull away—
Hundreds of hands shot out from the Gate.
A grotesque mass of twisted, eyeless beings surged forward, clawing at him, dragging him toward the Gate.
Panic surged through him. He thrashed, struggling with everything he had. But it was useless. He was powerless.
The last thing he saw was the endless abyss beyond the Gate swallowing him whole.
Then—
Darkness.
Zenon's body plunged into the abyss.
A suffocating darkness swallowed him whole, pulling him deeper and deeper as if the very void had come alive. He thrashed, but the hands gripping his body held firm, dragging him through the unseen depths. His ears rang with distorted whispers, voices overlapping in a cacophony of suffering.
Then—
Thud!
He hit the ground.
Zenon gasped, his hands pressing against the cold, damp floor. His vision blurred, adjusting to the dim surroundings. The air was thick with the stench of iron, decay, and something else—something hungry.
He pushed himself up, his heart hammering. The first thing he saw was the floor beneath him.
A sea of dried blood.
It stretched endlessly, dark crimson staining every inch of the stone beneath him. Bones—some broken, some still attached to decayed flesh—were scattered like discarded remains of prey.
A shiver ran down his spine.
He wasn't alone.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Towering stone pillars lined the cavern, their bases carved with grotesque faces, their mouths twisted in silent screams. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but instead of candles, pulsing crimson orbs cast an eerie glow across the room.
Then, at the far end of the lair, he saw it.
A throne.
Ornate and jagged, made of obsidian and lined with human skulls.
And sitting upon it—
A figure draped in blood-red robes, their eyes glowing an unnatural shade of crimson.
Zenon tensed.
The figure slowly leaned forward, resting their chin on one hand as a sinister smile spread across their lips.
"Ah… a visitor."
Their voice was smooth, velvety, yet carried an undeniable weight of malice.
The air around Zenon grew colder.
His instincts screamed at him.
This was no ordinary Gate.
And the being before him…
Wasn't human.
[ You have entered a Gate ]
[ Vampire's Lair ]
- Writer
