Unique Gate (10)
1150 Words
Zenon sprinted through the dimly lit corridor, his breaths coming in sharp, controlled exhales. The flickering torches on the walls cast shifting shadows, twisting the passage into an ever-changing maze. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something metallic—blood, old and clotted into the very walls of this forsaken place.
The snarls behind him never faded. No matter how fast he ran, how sharply he turned, they followed—relentless, patient. The Gate Boss wasn’t just hunting him; he was playing with him.
Zenon’s mind raced. I can’t keep running forever. His stamina was still limited in this body. His movements were sharp, refined from experience, but his strength—**his power—**wasn’t what it used to be. He needed time. A place to breathe.
His eyes darted around as he ran. The corridors branched into multiple paths, each one looking just as uninviting as the last. Left or right? He had no time to think.
Left.
He turned the corner and immediately regretted it.
The corridor stretched into an eerie hall, wider than the previous paths. The torches here were dimmer, their light barely reaching the high ceiling above. A crimson carpet lined the center, old and faded, leading to a set of massive, rusted doors at the far end. The weight of something unseen pressed down on him.
A dead end?
No. There was something beyond those doors.
He hesitated for only a second before sprinting toward them, his fingers already reaching for the handles—
A whisper of movement.
Zenon reacted purely on instinct, throwing himself sideways.
A clawed hand slashed through the air where his neck had been a second ago. It belonged to a figure that had emerged from the shadows—a vampire, its red eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. Its grin was wide, fanged, dripping with anticipation.
“Close,” it murmured, voice like silk.
Zenon didn’t wait for it to finish. He spun on his heel, shoving his back against the nearest wall. His mind reeled—they're fast. Too fast.
More movement. The flickering torchlight betrayed them. Dark figures melted out of the shadows, their gazes locked onto him like a pack of wolves.
Four. No, five.
He tensed. His body screamed for action, but there was no opening. No way out.
Then—
A slow, rhythmic sound echoed through the hall.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Zenon’s blood ran cold.
The Gate Boss.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze following the sound. At the entrance of the hall, half-shrouded in darkness, stood the vampire lord himself. His posture was relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world.
“You disappoint me, human,” the Gate Boss murmured, voice thick with amusement. “I had hoped for more of a challenge.”
Zenon remained silent, jaw clenched. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could fight him—not yet.
The vampire’s smirk deepened, his crimson eyes glowing faintly. “You’ve run well. But even the cleverest prey tires eventually.”
Zenon’s mind worked fast. He needed a way out—any way out.
Then, he saw it.
A narrow opening between the pillars on the left side of the hall, partially concealed by shadows. The vampires surrounding him hadn't positioned themselves to block it.
An opportunity.
But it had to be perfect. One mistake, and he was done.
The Gate Boss tilted his head. “Any last words, little human?”
Zenon exhaled slowly.
Then—
He moved.
A sudden burst of speed, his body twisting low, his foot slamming against the ground as he lunged sideways—
The vampires reacted instantly. A blur of movement.
Claws slashing.
Zenon ducked. The air screamed past his ear as a clawed hand missed him by a hair’s breadth. He twisted his body, using the momentum to propel himself toward the narrow gap between the pillars.
Another swipe but too late.
Zenon slipped through the opening, landing hard on the stone floor beyond.
A hiss of frustration from behind him.
He didn’t wait. He pushed himself up and ran deeper into the darkness, his heartbeat pounding like war drums in his chest.
“Run, then. Run as long as you like.”
Zenon didn’t look back. He had escaped—for now.
The Gate Boss, now no longer amused by Zenon’s continued escape, let his smirk fade. His expression turned blank, the glow in his crimson eyes dimming with disinterest.
“This is getting boring now.”
The vampires around him tensed. His tone carried no frustration—just finality.
Zenon, still sprinting through the darkened corridors, felt the shift in the air. The momentary reprieve from the chase was an illusion. Something was about to change.
Then—
A low, resonating pulse echoed through the walls.
The torches flickered violently, then went out.
Zenon’s breathing was sharp, his body tense as he stood frozen in absolute darkness.
Then—
A whisper of instinct. Something was coming.
But there were no footsteps. No shift in the air. No sound at all.
Nothing.
Yet, before he could react—
A hand clamped over his face.
A split second later—his body was slammed into the cold, unforgiving wall.
Pain exploded in his skull. Blood spilled from his lips, the metallic taste spreading across his tongue. His hands shot up to pry the vice-like grip off his face, but—
It didn’t budge.
The strength holding him down was monstrous, effortless.
Then—a sharp snap echoed through the darkness.
One by one, torches along the walls burst to life, their flames casting a flickering glow across the vast chamber. A massive chandelier overhead ignited, bathing the room in eerie golden light.
Zenon’s vision swam from the impact, but he forced himself to take in his surroundings.
A ballroom.
The high ceiling loomed over them, adorned with intricate carvings now faded by time. The walls were lined with tall, shattered mirrors, their broken reflections distorting the dim torchlight. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of something ancient.
And at the very center of the room—
The Gate Boss.
Floating midair, his crimson gaze locked onto Zenon with detached amusement.
But Zenon’s focus wasn’t on him.
It was on the one pinning him down.
A single vampire.
One hand.
Yet, the sheer power radiating from it dwarfed him entirely.
Zenon clenched his teeth. This wasn’t just any lesser creature. This one was stronger. Far stronger.
More powerful than he was.
“I’m growing tired of this hunt,” the Gate Boss mused, his voice echoing through the chamber. “Even predators, at times, tire of playing with their prey.”
Zenon’s fingers twitched. His body screamed at him to move. To fight back.
But he couldn't even lift the vampire's hand from his face.
This was bad.
- Writer
