Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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The green warrior
Liz spotted a narrow gap between the walls of the room—her only possible escape route. The march of death still thundered behind her, shaking everything in its path. She had no choice but to keep moving, hoping she could somehow evade the horrible fate creeping closer. In a wild panic, she squeezed into the gap, taking advantage of her slender frame. The walls pressed against her, and cobwebs brushed her skin as she edged forward.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Liz muttered to herself, closing her eyes as she reached the end of the tight passage.
The heavy footsteps paused for a moment, then resumed—closer and closer. She braced herself for the worst, her pulse quickening as she struggled to outrun whatever was closing in on her. It was a relief just to be able to move freely again, though the stomping echoed nearly beside her now. She switched on her flashlight, scanning the area, finding herself in a small, nearly empty space.
In one corner, her worst fear materialized. She couldn't help but recoil. The corpse of the creature from the poster lay before her, its rotting skin even more hideous up close. Next to it was a narrow crack, just large enough for a person to slip through. Black blood oozed from a bullet wound in its body. There was no doubt now—this was the source of the gunshot she'd heard earlier. Hoping the discovery would lead her to Max, Liz crouched down to inspect the scene, momentarily forgetting the danger stalking her.
She stopped in front of the body, next to the slit she'd identified as a potential escape route. But just as she took in the grisly sight, the silence was shattered by footsteps again. She glanced warily to her right. Then, with a deafening crash, the wall across from her collapsed, sending up a choking cloud of dust. Liz leapt backward, her heart slamming in her chest as the noise triggered her adrenaline to full throttle. She fell into a corner, her gun skidding out of reach.
The thick dust slowly settled, and through the haze, a hulking, black silhouette emerged—like something out of a nightmare.
Holzmann's executioner had smashed through the wall. His eyes, wild and dilated, radiated a ferocious hatred, a palpable hunger to destroy. In one hand, he gripped a massive silver sword, and in the other, a deadly hunting axe, both weapons glinting menacingly in the dim light.
"You again?" Liz gasped, glaring at him despite the fear rising in her gut. "You're a fucking stalker."
There was no time to waste. Her gun was just a few steps away. She stretched her arm, reaching for it, her body straining—and just as her fingers wrapped around it, the nightmare's boot smashed into her stomach, hurling her against the wall.
Liz hit the ground hard, a sharp groan escaping her lips. The pain in her ribs was searing—she'd never been hit so brutally. Struggling to her feet, she saw the killer raise his axe, preparing for a killing blow. With a desperate surge of strength, she rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the attack as the axe crashed into the concrete floor. She scrambled to her feet, her hands trembling as she aimed her gun at him. She wasn't sure if she even had a chance.
The stalker snarled, his blazing eyes locked on her, readying his weapons for another strike. He didn't speak—not a word. The only sound was his ragged, disturbing breathing, his entire focus bent on ending Liz's life. The hatred in his gaze was unmistakable.
Liz steadied herself, her hands still shaking, and fired several shots into his body. The bullets seemed to have no effect.
"Why won't you just die, you fucking freak!" she shouted, her voice filled with frustration as her efforts failed to stop him.
Holzmann's killer was now less than a foot away. Liz could feel the world closing in around her. Her mind raced, eyes darting frantically around the room for a way out, but all she saw was the collapsed wall.
The man in black was dangerously close. Liz suppressed her panic, unsure how to react, and fired two shots directly at his face. The executioner finally staggered back, letting out a guttural, hellish groan. His sturdy hands moved to his face, still intact despite the impact of the bullets. Liz seized the moment, scrambling to her feet and sprinting toward the hole in the wall.
The dark presence, barely fazed by the blow, sheathed his weapons and charged after her, his heavy footsteps causing the ground to tremble as if a stampede were on its way. Liz's heart raced as she ran, the eerie figure pursuing her through the dark, narrow morgue hallway, the vibrations of his steps echoing with her every move. Even though he wasn't armed anymore, Liz knew he didn't need weapons to finish her off. She thought about calling out to Chris and Bernard, unsure if they were anywhere near or if they could even help her in time.
The chase felt endless. Though Liz was usually agile and adept at evading danger, the pain in her body slowed her down, and the darkness of the corridor only made things worse. The stalker closed the gap quickly, and a wild punch from him slammed into the wall, shattering part of the concrete.
Overcome with agony, Liz spotted a door nearby. She used the last of her energy to dart toward it, trying to slam it shut, but the killer's massive fist smashed into her with brutal force, throwing her across the room and into a wooden table that crumbled beneath her. The pain in her ribs intensified, and a scream tore from her throat.
The monstrous figure entered the room, shoving the door so hard it nearly came off its hinges. In the suffocating darkness, only the scarlet-red glow of his eyes was visible. Liz pointed her flashlight at his towering frame. As the nightmare closed in, her chances of survival seemed to slip away. Despite the stabbing pain in her abdomen, she forced herself to her feet, trying to aim for his eyes. Just as she prepared to fire, his fist shot upward, smashing into her chest and launching her across the room.
Liz hit the floor hard, her vision blurring as she briefly lost consciousness. Her whole body throbbed with pain worse than anything she had felt before. The killer clenched his fist, the crack of his bones echoing through the room, ready to finish her off. Crawling backward, Liz braced herself against the cold tiles, her arms trembling, hope slipping away. Her eyes fell on a jar that had rolled off the table during the struggle. Grasping it in desperation, she hurled it at the hulking figure, and the jar exploded on impact, dousing him in a foul-smelling liquid, like ammonia.
The stalker recoiled, trying to wipe the burning substance from his eyes. Seizing the opportunity, Liz staggered to her feet. Her ribs screamed in protest, and every movement felt like torture, but she managed to limp into an adjoining room, clutching her side tightly.
Inside, she frantically searched for an escape, finding a set of bookshelves where she quickly hid, hoping the monster wouldn't find her. The sickening growl stopped; she closed her eyes, pressing her pistol to her forehead, wondering how much longer she could delay the inevitable. The monstrous footsteps grew louder, approaching the entrance.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her hard. Liz, too weak to resist, didn't fight back. But her attacker showed no sign of hostility. The grip softened, and a gentle touch replaced the rough tug. Through her blurred vision, she saw a figure draped in ancient green and brown robes, a hood concealing his face. In his hands, he carried a bow, with a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He looked like a medieval archer, athletic and lithe. Without saying a word, he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for Liz to stay quiet. Though confused and exhausted, she nodded, exhaling a shaky breath of relief mixed with anxiety.
The sound of heavy boots echoed as the dark presence entered the room. Liz froze, while her companion, to her surprise, remained calm, unaffected by the threat. She glanced toward the door, and there he stood—the killer, drenched in the acrid liquid, his body emanating the stench of ammonia. There was no telling if anything human could stop him. Liz heard the metallic scrape of his sword being drawn, and just as she prepared to raise her gun again, the figure in green reached into his tunic and pulled out a small device—a detonator.
He pressed it without hesitation.
The explosion was deafening. Half the bookshelves disintegrated as the nearest wall collapsed, and the blast sent Holzmann's executioner flying through the air, propelled by the shockwave.
