Chapter 14: The Dungeon of Nightmares

The hallway stretched long and narrow into darkness. Damp stone walls closed in tightly on either side, flickering candlelight offering only brief glimpses of what lay ahead. Shadows danced with each flame, casting warped silhouettes that crawled across the ceiling like specters.

Val crept forward, her breath shallow. She held the helm tightly in one hand, slightly out front like a protective shield. The other hand was in a strained fist, ready to strike whatever lurked in the shadows.

Every few metres, a single candle sputtered in a rusted wall sconce, barely illuminating the uneven stone beneath her boots. On either side of the corridor, iron-barred doors lined the walls—cells, dark and empty, their interiors cloaked in shadow. Most were open. Some were still locked. All were silent.

She moved carefully.

The air was heavy and stagnant, suffused with the smell of old blood and mildew. Whatever this place had once been, it felt ancient. Where was she?

Off in the distance, another heavy metal door stood closed—much like the one she had just torn from its hinges. Its surface was stained and dented, but still intact. Val slowed her pace, the silence pressing in around her. Each step echoed faintly off the stone, and with the quiet came thoughts she hadn’t had time to face.

Ellie. Sam. Were they still on that rooftop? Had they made it out? Or were they here—somewhere in this maze of horrors? Or worse.

"I'll find you," she told herself, picking up speed. Helm in hand, she jogged faster down the corridor, cautiously checking each barred cell as she passed. Most were empty, the shadows behind them still and silent.

Then—“Wait…”

The word was faint—almost too soft to catch. An old man's voice? she thought. She froze mid-step and turned back, peering through the bars of the nearest cell.

Only darkness stared back.

“Don’t leave me,” said the faint voice—more woman than man, Val realized now.

She stepped closer to the bars, squinting into the pitch-black cell. Nothing. Just a void beyond the iron.

Val’s hand moved instinctively to her pocket. Her fingers brushed metal.

They missed it.

Relief bloomed in her chest as she pulled out the lighter, the one she pulled from the bus, the one engraved with the eagle. She flicked it open with a snap the flame sparked to life. Warm light flickered across the rusted bars, casting long shadows down the corridor.

Inside, in the far corner of the cell, sat the silhouette of a young woman. Her features were swallowed in shadow, but her hunched, trembling shape was unmistakable.

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Name The Woman Occupation Unknown Health 100% Gear Tattered Clothes

“Hey, I’m Val,” she said gently. “Everything’s going to be alright. What’s your name?”

She glanced back down the corridor, toward the heavy metal door. Still quiet. Still alone.

The woman shifted in the darkness. Her voice came softly—fragile, but strange.

“...Alethea.”

“Thank you for helping me,” she added, her tone deeper now—more aged now, ancient.

Something about it sent a chill down Val’s spine.

“Stay back. I’m going to try and open the door,” Val said, masking her unease with determination.

She snapped the lighter shut with a flick of her thumb and tucked it back into her pocket. The shadows returned instantly, pressing in around her, but she kept her focus on the cell. Holding the helm tightly in one hand like a shield, Val reached out with the other, fingers curling around the cold iron bars.

The moment her skin made contact, pain erupted behind her eyes.

It wasn’t physical—not exactly—but it struck her with the force of a sledgehammer. Her knees buckled slightly as a vision crashed over her like a wave: fire roaring, chains groaning, wood crackling beneath the weight of flame. A woman, bound to a stake, shrieked as flames climbed her legs, consuming her dress, her skin, her life. Her screams tore through the air—raw, agonized—until they warped, twisting mid-breath into something unnatural.

Laughter.

It rose from the flames, high and shrill at first, then deeper. A wild, hysterical cackle that reverberated through Val’s skull like iron on bone.

Val gasped and tore her hand away, stumbling back a step. The vision shattered like glass, leaving only silence and the faint, dissonant hum now pulsing from the helm in her hand.

Val took a half step back, her heart pounding.

The woman shifted again, her face still hidden in the gloom. When she spoke, her voice had changed—lower now, guttural, like something was speaking through her.

“Open it,” she snapped.

Val froze, then instinctively backed away further down the corridor, the helm held tight to her chest.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice trembling despite herself.

A soft giggle echoed from the cell.

It warped quickly—stretching, twisting—until it became the same laughter Val had heard in her nightmarish vision.

Val took another step back. Then she turned and ran.

“Come back, Valkyrie... come back!” the voice howled, its laughter growing louder until it filled the corridor in a shrieking chorus of madness.

Val reached the heavy door at the end of the hall, wrenched the latch open, and slammed it shut behind her, the echo ringing like a bell tolling for the dead.

End of Chapter Stats

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 100% Hunger 40% Thirst 70% Gear Helm of the Valkyrie, Lighter Skills Battlefield Medicine, Standard Weapons Trained, Enhanced Strength Kills 14