𝔻𝕚𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 ༺ Max Mayfield ༒ Male OC ༻

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕪𝕖𝕣𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕠𝕪

Harry's breath hitched in ragged gasps, his hand pressed tight against his chest as if to ward off the fear clawing at his insides. He silently pleaded with the universe that Will hadn't charged in like some reckless hero, a prayer tinged with hypocrisy considering his own impulsive actions. But none of that mattered right now. Only his survival.

He peered cautiously from behind the sheltering tree, a silent plea etched onto his features. A wave of relief washed over him as his eyes scanned the area, devoid of the Demogorgon's monstrous form. With a shaky exhale, he leaned against the rough bark, his body giving way as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him. His eyelids fluttered closed, a subconscious surrender to the encroaching darkness.

The distant, guttural roar of the Demogorgon ripped through the silence, a chilling reminder of the danger lurking nearby. Adrenaline surged through his veins, igniting a spark of defiance. He couldn't run forever. No, he wouldn't. His father wouldn't have raised a coward.

Hypocritical.

"Come on," he muttered, a light help to his self-esteem. He slapped his cheek, the sting a jolt back to reality. This time, instead of his usual instinct to flee, a different resolve bloomed within him.

He approached the lifeless form of the man he and Will had encountered earlier, his face contorted in a grimace of sorrow. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, a choked apology hanging in the air, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you or Dale." Gently, he closed the man's eyes, a final act of respect before reaching for the discarded shotgun.

Even with his athletic build, the shotgun felt impossibly heavy in his trembling hands, the weight amplified by his depleted energy.

"How the hell..." he mumbled, his voice barely a breath as he worked the pump, a crimson shell ejecting from the chamber with a sharp click. The Demogorgon's roars intensified, the snapping of twigs beneath unseen feet growing closer.

Harry swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. He gripped the shotgun with white knuckles, aiming it towards the source of the terrifying sounds. His arms shook violently, fear and fatigue battling for control, but he fought to maintain a semblance of steadiness. The growls and footsteps ceased abruptly, leaving behind an unnerving silence, broken only by the frantic pounding of his heart. He thought he could even hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

Seconds stretched into an eternity, a tense, deadly pause. Then, with a deafening roar, the Demogorgon erupted from the shadows, launching itself at Harry with terrifying speed. In a flash, Harry pulled the trigger, the shotgun blasting a thunderous boom that echoed through the woods, the recoil throwing him back with a grunt.

He rubbed his aching shoulder, his eyes widening in disbelief as he gazed at the Demogorgon. It was shrieking, its grotesque face petals contorted in agony. But the respite was fleeting. With another roar, the creature lunged at him once more. Harry scrambled, shouldering the shotgun again. He pumped the action, his heart hammering against his ribs, and fired a final, desperate shot, this time aiming for the creature's gaping maw.

The Demogorgon let out a high-pitched shriek, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain and terror, before collapsing onto its back with a resounding thud. It was still, unmoving. Harry, his entire body trembling, hoped against hope that it was truly over.

He cautiously inched closer, poking the creature's grotesque foot with the tip of his shoe. He braced for a retaliatory growl, any sign of life, but there was nothing. "Did I..." he whispered, a mixture of disbelief and exhaustion lacing his voice. He made his way to the Demogorgon's head, a gruesome scene that greeted him. Its once monstrous face was now a shattered mess, scattered across the forest floor, its teeth scattered amidst the debris.