12. A Demon in the Dark #2
I drive my knee into his stomach, pinning him down. The breath is knocked from his lungs, his smirk faltering for a brief second as he grits his teeth against the impact. I don’t let up. I press harder, locking him in place.
Dante chokes out a laugh, dark and rasping. His eyes gleam with something twisted.
“You really think this is over?” he breathes.
I don’t answer. I don’t waste time with words.
My grib the knife tight in my hand. I raise it high, my entire body coiling with the need to finish this. To end him.
I plunge the knife into his chest.
But no blood came out of the wound.
Dante tilts his head, his smirk stretching wider, his dark eyes gleaming. Not with fear. Not with anger. With certainty.
Then He starts to dissolve. His body disintegrates, unraveling into thick, black smoke. I jerk back, my grip on him slipping as his form turns to mist beneath me. His laughter doesn’t stop.
If anything, it gets louder.
The sound echoes through the warehouse, bouncing off the walls, seeping into the cracks of my mind. It’s everywhere—taunting, endless, pressing in from all sides like a presence that refuses to leave.
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
His voice slithers through the darkness, disembodied yet suffocating. He’s gone, but he isn’t. I watch, my fists clenched tight, as what’s left of him dissipates completely—leaving behind nothing but shadows.
The air is still, eerily quiet.
He’s gone.
But this isn’t a victory.
It’s a reminder. A warning.
This nightmare was never about Dante.
It’s about fear.
And fear doesn’t die that easily.
The space where Dante had been is empty now, but the nightmare isn’t done with us yet.
A deep, guttural rumbling shakes through the walls, the floor beneath my feet vibrating with the force of it. Dust and debris rain from the ceiling, drifting through the dim light like a warning.
Nichole is still trembling in my arms, her breath shallow against my chest, but we don’t have time to stand here.
Because the room is coming apart.
The nightmare is collapsing in on itself.
The metal beams above us groan under invisible pressure, twisting, bending, splitting apart. Cracks race along the concrete floor like spiderweb fractures, splitting open like deep wounds, revealing nothing but darkness beneath.
I pull Nichole closer, securing my grip around her waist.
“We need to move. Now.”
She nods, her fingers clenching onto my jacket, but before I can take a step, a massive beam crashes down behind us, slamming into the ground with a force that makes the floor lurch beneath our feet.
There’s no way out.
No doors. No escape.
Just chaos.
Then a light. Bright, blinding—cutting through the destruction like a beacon.
A door appears from nowhere, its golden glow stark against the decaying nightmare.
Nichole gasps. “The exit—”
I don’t hesitate. I grab her hand and run.
The ground trembles beneath us, splintering apart as we dodge falling debris. Concrete and rusted beams crash down around us, the air thick with dust, suffocating and heavy.
We’re almost there.
The door is only feet away, the light pouring from its edges so blinding that I can barely make out what’s beyond it.
Then Nichole screams.
I whip around—just in time to see something latching onto her ankle.
A black, clawed hand—twisted and unnatural, rising from the cracks in the ground—drags her backward.
Her body jerks, her nails scraping against the floor as she fights to hold on.
“Damian!” she cries, her voice raw, desperate.
I drop down instantly, my hands locking around her wrists.
I pull. The nightmare pulls back.
Nichole kicks wildly, her breath ragged, her face twisted in fear as she struggles against the grip.
“You can’t have her,” I snarl through clenched teeth, planting my feet against the crumbling floor for leverage. I won’t let this nightmare take her. I won’t lose her.
I yank her forward with everything I have, and finally—she breaks free.
The force of it sends us both stumbling backward, our bodies colliding just feet from the door.
The nightmare screams.
A distorted, inhuman wail shakes through the collapsing walls, as if the very essence of this place is furious that we’re escaping.
The cracks in the floor widen, swallowing the last remnants of the nightmare.
The ceiling begins to cave.
We run.
The moment we reach the doorway, a final, deafening boom shudders through the world—and we throw ourselves forward.
The second we cross the threshold, the door slams shut behind us.
The silence is instant. No more crumbling walls. No more falling debris. No more nightmare.
Nichole and I collapse onto solid ground, panting. The air around us is warm, real—safe.
Slowly, I push myself up, turning toward the door. Because before my eyes, the wood begins to disintegrate. Not violently, not with an explosion—but softly, quietly. Like it was never meant to exist in the first place. Like it only existed because we needed to face it.
Nichole breathes out shakily beside me. I glance at her, taking in the way her shoulders relax, the way her fingers still clutch at the fabric of my shirt like she’s not quite convinced we made it out.
I reach over, taking her hand in mine.
“We’re out,” I say, my voice steady.
She exhales. Then, slowly nods.
We made it. The Nightmare Room is gone. And for the first time since stepping into this hell, there is peace.
But even as the reality settles in, as the nightmare fades into nothing, I know this isn’t over.
Not yet.
I still need to save Alessandra.