Then the intruder was seeping in: some black, wispy thing that floated in the air, reminiscent of a worn and dirtied rag, and yet far more massive. As it broke through, it unfurled itself to fill the narrow passage, blocking her view of the newly formed hole, as well as the way from whence she’d come. A knot formed in Lunafreya’s stomach. Her fears were soon confirmed. From the eerie dark mass stretched a huge pair of hands―if they could truly be called hands at all. Pale, bluish-white bone curved in great arcs, forming scythe-like claws. The havoc those claws could wreak was obvious at merely a glance.
If there was a god of death in the world, this was undoubtedly the form it would take. But in truth, she knew it for neither reaper or beast: it was a daemon. Some type she’d not encountered before, but a daemon nonetheless. She could faintly make out the telltale black miasma exuded from its billowing figure.
Even when she’d ascertained as much, her body somehow failed to react. She had to run. If she did not, the creature would prove reaper enough. She knew this, but her legs only trembled, failing to afford her even one step to safety. She stood transfixed by the daemon’s two glowing eyes, like holes gouged out of darkness. As her body shook, she felt a scream rise within her chest. It tore from her throat, and then Lunafreya’s curse of stasis was gone. She turned and ran, thinking of nothing but running as fast as she could.
Up the incline of the tunnel, through the dark corridors, running, running, without a spare moment even to look back at her pursuer. If she slowed even slightly, she would be overtaken, and once she was in the grasp of those curved claws, it would all be over.
Up. The only answer was up. Get to the surface, and if her luck was any good, it would be daytime and the daemon would be unable to follow. She still knew not whether the tomb was one she’d visited in the past, but it didn’t matter. The layout would be similar. There would be sloped tunnels, stairways, and small rooms cut into the stone, with crossroads running between them.
A daemon so large would not be able to squeeze through the crossroads. It might not even be able to push its way through one of the narrow stairways. As long as she stayed away from open spaces, she might have a chance. She might distance herself from the pursuer while still in the tomb.
Finally, she spotted a narrow corridor, just wide enough for a single human to pass through. She darted in, then dared to spare a second to flick a glance over one shoulder. Just as she’d hoped, the massive black form hung unmoving at the mouth of the passage, a curtain blocking her view of anything beyond. It must be stuck, she thought. It cannot pursue any farther.
She breathed a sigh, certain for a moment that she was safe. But her relief was premature. A roar shook the corridor. Bits of rock showered down from overhead. Lunafreya’s blood froze. This was the same monster that had ripped its way through a ceiling of stone. What desperation had allowed her to imagine a corridor any manner of refuge? The daemon seemed perfectly content to break the walls apart to reach her. If not shredded by its claws, she’d be buried under the rubble. Either way meant death.
She continued to run, hell-bent on escape. The corridor sloped upward. Beyond that, she neither knew nor cared about the tomb’s layout any longer. As long as she was moving up―as long as she was getting closer to the surface―nothing else mattered.
Dull thuds echoed from behind her. No corridor or wall was going to stop the monster. She had to get outside.
The ground at her feet shook violently. She tumbled but felt no pain. There was no time. Any pause invited death. The daemon’s thrashing brought still more stones loose. Jagged shards fell from above and the stairs began to crumble beneath her feet, but she pressed on, scrambling along somewhere between a run and a crawl.
Then the oppressive smell of stone and dirt was gone. A chill wind brushed across her skin. Outside. She’d made it. No sooner did her mind register the fact than another tremor, accompanied by the deafening thunder of falling stone, sent her facedown to the ground.
The roar subsided, and Lunafreya nervously glanced back. The stairway into the earth was gone. The entire tunnel leading down into the tomb must have collapsed from the intensity of the daemon’s rampage. Nothing remained to suggest she’d just emerged from an underground complex or that one had ever existed in this place at all.
No. That wasn’t quite true. This place was, without a doubt, a gravesite. A short distance away rested a water basin made of stone, and next to that grew a large, old tree and a plot of small flowers. This was a spot to rest for those who came bearing offerings to place upon the graves of those they’d lost.
Half of the tree’s branches were gone. They had been wrenched off and broken, and now they lay scattered among the roots as if telling the tale of some huge, rampaging beast that had passed by this place. Lunafreya picked up one of the fallen branches that appeared longer and sturdier than the others. She grasped it tightly in her hand. It was not much more than a stick, but its length rivaled her own height, and it would serve as a makeshift weapon for the time being. It was far better than walking through a nighttime gravesite unarmed.
She began to walk, intending to hurry toward some safer location, when she realized she was missing one boot. It must have been lost during her panicked flight from the tomb. Just one of a pair would hardly serve swift progress, so the only option seemed to be to abandon it and proceed barefoot. She would just have to find replacements somewhere along the way, preferably before some sharp stone or fragment of glass found its way into her soles. Perhaps by morning she’d have made it to some place well inhabited enough to offer shops.
The last thought prompted her to cast a casual glance upward. That was when the realization hit. Something was off. She slowly turned around, sweeping her gaze across the sky, straining her eyes against the blackness.
“Is it not night?” she wondered aloud.
The dimness overhead suggested otherwise. It was not the dark brought on by dusk. There were no stars. There was no moon. But neither was it the black of a moonless night. The entire world was bathed in a gloomy, unnatural gray. When she looked harder, she saw flecks swirling through the darkened sky. It was unnerving. They were far too similar to another black mist she knew: the particles of miasma that emanated from daemonic bodies.