NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 15: We're Being Followed!
The underground tunnel stretched out before them like a darkened artery, winding through the bowels of the mountain.
Creed and Dagga, moving cautiously, felt the air grow colder with each step as they ventured deeper.
The passage narrowed until it felt like they were squeezing between two jagged teeth, the sound of their footsteps muted by the stone walls.
The deeper they traveled, the more suffocating the darkness became—until, suddenly, flickers of light began to pierce the gloom.
These weren't regular fireflies. These insects glowed much brighter, almost like miniature stars, crawling all over the cave like tiny living torches.
Their light flickered in and out, creating eerie shadows that danced around them as if they were alive. The sight made the place feel magical—and terrifying at the same time.
Creed, his eyes adjusting to the light, glanced sideways at Dagga, whose pace remained steady despite the eerie surroundings. "Where are we headed?" he asked, his voice hushed but carrying in the stillness.
Dagga's lips curled into a grim expression. "If we follow this path, it will lead us out of this cursed region," he said, his tone carrying a note of urgency.
"It'll buy us some time to escape the Blades of Aragoth, but we have to keep moving. The further we go, the less likely they'll be able to track us."
Just as Dagga finished speaking, the ground beneath them rumbled. At first, it was barely noticeable, like a slight vibration.
But then, the whole cave seemed to shake. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and small stones tumbled along the walls.
The rocks above them groaned like a sleeping giant being woken up. Creed grabbed the wall to steady himself, feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet.
The sheer power of the Blades of Aragoth army was terrifying, their movements so strong they shook the mountain despite being miles away.
Creed's chest tightened. "They're still so far, but it feels like they're right on top of us."
"Keep moving," Dagga growled, his tone sharp. "If we stop, it won't matter how far they are."
The tremors passed as quickly as they came, and the cave grew quiet again, but the tension was thick in the air.
They kept walking, each step echoing in the silence. The tunnel began to slope downward, the path twisting deeper into the mountain.
They walked for what felt like hours, the further they went, the more claustrophobic the cave became.
The glow of the insects on the walls barely gave enough light to see, and the air grew damp and heavy with the smell of mold.
Creed and Dagga's legs ached from the constant descent, but neither of them said a word. They just kept moving, focused on the path ahead.
Finally, the slope began to level, and Dagga slowed his pace. The tunnel widened into a small cavern, and there, high up on the wall, was a hole—just big enough for someone to climb through.
The surface of the hole was rough, worn, and scattered with debris—a clear sign that it hadn't been used in years, perhaps centuries.
The stone around it was cracked and chipped, as though time had gnawed away at the rock.
Dagga examined it, his wings twitching. "This hasn't been used in years. It's a tight climb, but it leads to the surface."
Without waiting for a response, he moved. His claws, sharp as blades, extended from his fingers as he crouched and began to climb the rough surface, his body moving with fluidity despite the struggle.
Creed watched, impressed, but he knew that for him, this would be much harder. Dagga climbed for a whole hour before he finally stopped.
"Up," Dagga grunted when he reached the top, turning his head to look down at Creed. "It's your turn."
Creed stared at the jagged climb and felt a wave of doubt. He didn't have claws, wings, or anything else to help him.
Just his hands and sheer determination. With a deep breath, he grabbed the rough edges of the hole and began to pull himself up.
The climb was brutal. His fingers scraped against the jagged rock, and his arms trembled with effort.
Several times, his grip slipped, and he barely managed to catch himself. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes.
"Move faster," Dagga called down, impatience clear in his voice.
"I'm trying!" Creed snapped, his voice strained.
It felt like forever, but eventually, Creed made it to the top. Panting, he pulled himself over the edge of the hole and sat on the ledge for a moment, catching his breath.
Dagga didn't wait. He pushed the rocky lid above them with a grunt, and it creaked open with a sound like grinding bones.
Sand and small rocks poured down on them, and the world above seemed to welcome them back with a rush of air.
Creed coughed, shaking off the debris as they crawled out. As he stood up, he blinked against the harsh red light. His eyes adjusted, and he took in his surroundings.
The land before them was nothing like the caves below. The soil was a deep, bloody red, cracked and dry like it had been drained of life.
The air smelled... wrong. It wasn't just dust—it smelled like blood. Thick and metallic, like something had been spilled long ago and never washed away.
Creed looked around, confused and unsettled. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Dagga scanned the area, his sharp gaze lifting to the sky. A massive, blood-red moon hung low, its light casting an eerie glow over the barren landscape. "The Zerath Kal'thir Desert," he said grimly. "The Blood Sands. No one lives here—it's too dangerous. But it's far enough to give us some time."
Creed looked around, uneasy. The desert felt alive, its silence heavy and full of warning. "How far are we from—"
Dagga interrupted, pointing toward the horizon. "This way," he said. "We need to move quickly. The more ground we cover, the harder it will be for them to find us."
They started walking, their footsteps slow and heavy in the red sand. Hours passed, the harsh moon beating down on them relentlessly. Creed's throat was dry, and his body ached from the climb and the journey.
The heat was unbearable. Even Dagga, who never seemed to tire, was looking worn out. Sweat dripped from both of them as they trudged through the desert, the land stretching endlessly before them.
His mind raced with questions. 'If we make it out of here... how do I leave the demon realm?'
He knew the only way out was through a Blood Rift—an unstable tear between the Demon Realm and the Human Realm.
The problem was, every Blood Rift was heavily guarded by demon armies and high-ranking demon warriors, ensuring no one crossed without permission.
Their only hope was finding a new Blood Rift—one that hadn't been discovered yet. But that was nearly impossible.
The demons had ways of sensing rifts as soon as they appeared, and they were always quick to secure them.
While he was lost in thought, he heard something—an eerie, distant caw. A shadow passed overhead.
Creed froze, his eyes darting to the sky. Above them, a huge crow circled, its black wings casting a long shadow on the ground below. The bird was watching them, its movements too deliberate to be a coincidence.
Dagga's sharp eyes locked onto the crow. He cursed under his breath. "We're being followed," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Creed's heart pounded in his chest. The crow wasn't just a bird—it was a scout, a messenger for whoever was hunting them. They needed to move, and fast.
"Get ready," Dagga muttered, his claws twitching, ready for anything. "We're not alone anymore."
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