Endless Simulations: Survival in the Eerie Space

Chapter 8:A Pact with Shadows

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat as the door behind him creaked open. The low, menacing growl reverberated through the room, sending a fresh wave of fear crashing over him. He stood frozen, his hand hovering over the emergency box in his pocket. The syringe felt like a lifeline, but he still didn’t know when—or if—he should use it.

The door swung open slowly, the darkness beyond it yawning like a mouth ready to swallow him whole. The growling grew louder, more guttural, as though whatever was on the other side was getting ready to lunge at him. Dorian gripped the emergency box tighter, sweat beading on his forehead.

His eyes flicked to the stone dog statue at the center of the room, its mouth open in a frozen howl, as if echoing the terrifying sound from behind him. He realized with a sickening certainty that this was no coincidence. This statue, the warnings, the howling—it was all connected. The statue wasn’t just a relic—it was part of the dimension’s twisted design. A symbol of the transformation it threatened him with.

The growling intensified. He had only seconds to make his choice.

Dorian’s pulse raced as his fingers tightened around the syringe in his pocket. The note had been clear: “In case of transformation—inject immediately.” But he wasn’t transforming—yet. Was this the moment, or was the Haunting Dimension tricking him into using the antidote too soon?

His mind screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The stone dog loomed before him, its hollow eyes staring him down, and behind him, the growling creature waited, inches from the door.

Dorian clenched his jaw. He needed to act, and fast.

With a sharp exhale, he stepped forward, toward the statue. If this place followed any logic, then the statue was key—just like the dog-masked guards and the howling. The rules of this dimension had to be unraveled, and standing still, waiting to be devoured, wasn’t an option.

He knelt in front of the statue, running his hands over its cracked surface, searching for some kind of clue. There had to be a mechanism, a hidden trigger—something that would get him out of this trap.

The growl behind him turned into a snarl, and Dorian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Whatever was coming through that door—it wasn’t human. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands shaking as he searched the statue, his fingers running over every groove and ridge.

And then he felt it—a small, almost imperceptible indentation on the side of the statue’s mouth.

Dorian’s eyes widened. It was a button.

Without hesitation, he pressed it.

Back in Drakenia, the expert team watched in stunned silence as Dorian’s broadcast feed flickered. The statue of the stone dog loomed large on the screen, and the moment Dorian pressed the hidden button, the camera angle shifted abruptly, the image distorting for a second.

“What is that?” one of the analysts asked, frowning. “A hidden mechanism?”

“Looks like it,” another replied, his voice tense. “But why would the dimension offer him a way out? It’s never that simple.”

The leader of the team remained silent, his eyes fixed on the screen. He knew the Haunting Dimension well enough to know that nothing it offered came without a cost. Whatever Dorian had triggered, it was part of the dimension’s twisted game.

The moment Dorian pressed the button, the room plunged into darkness.

The growling stopped.

Dorian’s breath hitched as the heavy silence settled over him, suffocating in its intensity. For a moment, he thought he had made a mistake, that pressing the button had only made things worse. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hand instinctively reached for the syringe in his pocket.

But before he could move, a voice—a deep, rasping voice—spoke from the shadows.

“You’ve come to make a pact.”

Dorian froze, his pulse quickening. He strained his eyes, searching for the source of the voice, but the room remained pitch-black, save for the faint glow of the stone dog’s eyes, which now gleamed a sickly green in the darkness.

The voice spoke again, this time closer, almost directly behind him.

“You press the button, you choose the path. Now, you must face the choice.”

Dorian’s heart raced. The voice was coming from all directions at once, surrounding him, suffocating him. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, but fear held him silent.

“Do you seek to remain human, or will you embrace the beast within?” the voice whispered, low and menacing. “Choose wisely, for the path you take cannot be undone.”

Dorian’s mind raced. He could feel the weight of the syringe in his pocket, the cold metal pressing against his palm. The antidote was his only hope of stopping the transformation—but what if the voice was lying? What if this choice was another cruel trick, designed to push him into a corner?

The voice hissed again, growing impatient.

“Time is running out, mortal. The howling grows closer. If you do nothing, the beast will take you.”

Dorian swallowed hard. He had no idea if this “pact” was real, but he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to become one of the creatures he had seen in his simulations. He couldn’t let the Haunting Dimension take his humanity.

Slowly, he pulled the syringe from his pocket, his hand trembling. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, every instinct telling him that this was the moment. The voice, the growling, the stone dog—all of it pointed to the same terrible conclusion.

“What will it be, mortal? Will you fight, or will you fall?”

With a deep breath, Dorian gripped the syringe tighter. He didn’t trust the voice. He didn’t trust this place. But he had to act.

Without another moment of hesitation, he plunged the needle into his arm.

The experts in Drakenia watched with bated breath as Dorian injected himself with the antidote. The room was silent, tense, as they waited to see what would happen.

“Did he... make the right choice?” one of the analysts asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” the team leader replied, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Dorian felt a sharp sting as the needle pierced his skin. The blue liquid shot through his veins, cold and burning all at once. He gritted his teeth, his body tensing as the antidote took hold.

For a moment, nothing happened.

The voice from the shadows chuckled softly, a deep, unsettling sound that echoed through the dark room.

**“Foolish mortal,” it whispered. “You think you can stop the beast? You think this will save you?”

Dorian’s eyes widened as the room began to spin, the darkness swirling around him in a dizzying blur. His heart pounded in his chest, his vision growing fuzzy. Was the antidote working—or was it killing him?

His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath as the weight of the transformation bore down on him. His skin burned, his muscles spasming violently. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped.

Dorian collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, his body drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, but the burning sensation was gone. The transformation had... stopped.

He was still human.

The experts in Drakenia let out a collective sigh of relief as they watched Dorian recover. The antidote had worked—at least for now.

“He did it,” one of the analysts said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He stopped the transformation.”

But the team leader remained silent, his expression dark. He knew the Haunting Dimension wouldn’t let Dorian off so easily.

Dorian lay on the cold floor, his chest heaving with each breath. His body ached, his mind foggy, but he was alive. He had avoided the transformation. For now, he had won.

But the voice in the shadows hadn’t left him.

**“You’ve chosen to remain human,” it whispered, a note of disappointment in its tone. “But the dimension does not forget. Your time will come, mortal. The beast will find you again.”

Dorian pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaky but steady. He knew the voice was right. The antidote had bought him time, but the howling would return. And next time, he might not be so lucky.

As he turned to leave the room, his eyes fell on the stone dog one last time. Its gleaming eyes seemed to watch him, as if mocking him for his choice.

He shoved the empty syringe back into his pocket and headed for the door, his mind already racing with questions.

But one thing was clear—the game was far from over.

And the beast was still hunting him.