The Light That Follows Darkness

Random Guard Pov:

The alarms blared with a screeching intensity, slicing through the stagnant air and yanking us into a state of high alert. My heart pounded in my chest as I fumbled to strap on my gear, hands trembling despite the years of routine. Rick's voice crackled through the intercom, urgent and commanding, but I could hear the faint tremor beneath his authoritative bark. "All units to your posts! Now!" he ordered, masking whatever fear lingered in his voice. The rebellion had reached its climax in the prison wing, and it was up to us to smother the flames before they consumed everything.

The room was dim, the low lighting casting ominous shadows on the walls as we scrambled to arm ourselves. Weapons were handed out, each one heavier than the last. I strapped on a flak jacket, feeling the familiar pressure against my chest as the cold steel of my rifle settled in my hands. But the usual arsenal wouldn't be enough this time. We needed more firepower. Rick had warned us about the growing unrest, but none of us could have predicted this. Hand grenades, RPGs—gear meant for the battlefield, not the corridors of a prison.

We marched out in formation, fifty of us in total, Rick and Carlo at the front, leading us toward the chaos. Every step echoed down the long, metallic hallways. My breath was shallow, my senses heightened. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and blood—remnants of the skirmishes that had erupted earlier. As we drew closer to the source of the rebellion, the tension wrapped around us like a noose, tightening with every second.

At first, it seemed manageable. We encountered small groups of rebels, some surrendering after a brief struggle, others less fortunate. The cold efficiency of our squad ensured that threats were neutralized quickly—swiftly, mercilessly. But just when we thought we had regained control, the atmosphere shifted.

The shadows seemed to lengthen, and out of the gloom, a figure emerged. My stomach twisted at the sight. He was tall, cloaked in a long black overcoat that billowed around him like a specter of death. Two glinting kodachis hung at his sides, their wickedly sharp blades catching the flickering lights. His face was obscured by a makeshift mask, but even through that crude disguise, the raw menace radiating from him was palpable. It was like staring into the abyss—and the abyss stared back.

A group of ten guards, perhaps emboldened by adrenaline or sheer desperation, rushed at him, weapons raised. They didn't even make it halfway. With one fluid, almost lazy motion, the figure cut through them as though they were nothing but mist. Their bodies crumbled to the ground, limbs severed, blood painting the walls in a gruesome display. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. The sheer power—the brutality—left me frozen.

Rick stood paralyzed for a moment, his face drained of all color. But then, with a snarl, he snapped back into command. "Impressive," he called out, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts. "But you're just one man. Let's see how you handle this. Bring out the RPGs and grenades! Take him down!"

We unleashed everything we had. The corridor erupted into chaos, explosions rocking the walls as RPGs fired off in quick succession. The air thickened with acrid smoke, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, we had done it.

But then he stepped out from the smoke, untouched.

Not a scratch. Not a burn. Nothing.

And he was singing.

The melody was soft at first, almost sweet, but there was something unnerving about it—something that made my skin crawl. His voice rose, the eerie tune echoing down the corridor, and then came the words. Words I will never forget.

“The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head. I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see. Because all this time, the monster has been me!”

The song twisted through the air like a curse, the sound wrapping around my brain, embedding itself in my very bones. My hands shook as I clutched my weapon tighter, but it felt like a useless piece of metal now.

Then, as the last note left his lips, it was as if some unseen force washed over us. The guards around me collapsed, lifeless, as though their souls had been plucked from their bodies in an instant. Only twenty of us remained, standing amidst a sea of corpses. The sheer magnitude of the carnage sent a wave of nausea crashing through me.

Rick’s face twisted into a grimace, but before he could speak, the figure's voice rang out, booming through the facility with an authority that rivaled even Rick's. "Surrender or die." His ultimatum was cold, devoid of emotion, and yet those words carried the weight of death itself.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could feel the collective hesitation among us. Slowly, I lowered my rifle, the reality of the situation sinking in. There was no fighting this. No winning.

But just as I prepared to let go of my weapon, Rick’s voice cut through the oppressive stillness like a knife. "Don't you dare!" he shouted, stepping forward with Carlo at his side. His eyes blazed with fury, his voice a growl. "If any of you surrender, I’ll kill you myself! You hear me?! You think this freak is bad? Wait till I get my hands on you."

The threat lingered in the air like a poisonous cloud, twisting our fear into something darker. The choice was no longer simple surrender, it meant a new kind of terror, one that Rick promised would be far worse than death.

Then, a low, sinister laugh filled the space. The figure threw his head back, the sound of his laughter reverberating off the walls like a thousand ghosts. His voice, dripping with mockery, sliced through Rick's threat like a blade. "Brave words from a coward who couldn’t save himself," he sneered. "Calling you an idiot was too kind. You still don’t understand who you’re dealing with. Let me show you."

With a slow, deliberate movement, the figure removed his mask. The sight that greeted us was worse than any nightmare. Rick staggered backwards, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You!” he spat, his voice cracking with fury and fear. “It was you all along, you piece of shit!”

Carlo, unfazed by the revelation, chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on his weapon. His gaze never wavered, the promise of violence hanging heavy in the air.

The figure’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper, his dark aura pulsing with barely contained rage. “You know, Rick, I’ve always hated that mouth of yours.”

In the blink of an eye, he vanished, reappearing inches from Rick. There was a sickening sound—a rip—and suddenly, Rick’s tongue was dangling from the figure’s hand. Blood poured from Rick’s mouth as he gurgled, eyes wide with horror.

The figure smiled, dark and twisted. Turning toward us, he spoke with deadly calm. "You have until the count of three to surrender," he said. "Anyone who so much as twitches after that will die. One… Two… Three."

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of Rick choking on his own blood. Our fate was sealed. The monster had won.