𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄.

very long chapter ahead.

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔
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These corridors were veined with every word you and Eleanor had ever spoken, echoing through your mind steady, unwavering.

You wondered if you could have saved her had you returned to Krimson months before you actually did. You wondered if even before the incident that led her to be hooked into STEM -whatever the incident was- she was already long lost, beyond comprehension or saving. You wondered what it was that got her into that situation. Did she really try to murder Jiménez? If so, you knew deep down that it'd be with good reason, it had to be; as chaotic and impulsive as she was, everything she did had a reason, even if you didn't understand or weren't brave enough to follow.

With a trembling sigh that you tried so hard to stifle, you advanced through the building's confounding layout, a labyrinth of concentric circles joined by narrow halls and doors that never stayed open once you crossed them. You grew exhausted by the second, your muscles becoming sore and aching for relief, and distrusting the hallway's open and wide atmosphere, you pushed the door that you recalled led to one of the classrooms.

It did not.

Instead of the rotting desks and disarrayed books and papers you expected to see, this door opened into a darker, long hallway that stretched deep into the impossible depths of the walls. In that moment you remembered that phrase about staring into the abyss and it staring back, or whatever, and it truly felt exactly like that; like true and unrelenting void with thousands of eyes that you couldn't see, watching your every movement and mimicking your anxious breathing but louder, rumbling. Your hand gripped the doorknob with such force that your knuckles were white, and suddenly you heard like a stampede of thin feet came running at you from the black of that place, growing stronger as they got closer. You quickly shut the door and stepped back, quickly as something behind it pushed strongly, trying to get out, trying to break the hinges and reach you, yet it suddenly stopped.

Before you knew it, a hand gripped your shoulder and brought you down to the floor with force, knocking the air out of your lungs. Above you was one of the Haunted, gripping a baseball bat with thick metal nails embedded on it, which seconds later was used to try and end your life with a hit to the head.

"Shit!"

You rolled to the side and successfully dodged the attack, before standing upright once again before your attacker could recover from the missed blow. Holding your crossbow with both hands on the foregrip, this time you knew there was no time to charge a bolt and fire so you swung it at the thing's head, hitting it right on the temple, and swinging it again, and again and again until it's screeches turned into painful gurgling, and it's head turned into a pulp of flesh, staining your white Beacon uniform with the deep and disgusting red of coagulated blood.

You rose from that position and aimed in front of you, scouting the darkness with your limited vision, and tried to hear around for any more Haunted that could come. Everything was silent, so silent you thought you could hear a droplet of water falling miles, kilometers away. A sigh of final relief left your throat as you slid down the wall and rested for at least half an hour. Was this building always this big? You tried your hardest not to succumb to sleep, and got up once you realized your exhaustion was getting too hard to resist. You took the bat left behind by the Haunted, thinking you might need it later to deal some serious bludgeoning damage.

As the corridors turned smotheringly dark and the floor turned irregular with puddles of green water that corroded the cement below, you grew nervous and desperate again. It had been hours? Maybe. The way that time felt endless here reminded you of your first days at Beacon, with the days whose seconds never passed and the eternities waited before you could go to lunch break. It reminded you of the days you had spent with Ruben, how time seemed to flow almost normally when you two talked. Ruben. You groaned. It was not a time to think about such a man, truly. You may be still fond of him... Not. You had almost died and could die at any second, so you didn't know what your brain was playing when his name popped up in your thoughts. Fuck him, you thought, the betrayal that had hit your heart when you heard the recording returning to make your organs feel like they were melting. But...