🩸 The Mortal Who Didn't Kneel
Act I: The Refusal
Europe had learned to fear them.
Fourteen supernatural beings—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, and Nikolai. Each one older than war, stronger than death, and bound only by their own hunger. Once a year, they demanded a sacrifice. One soul, willingly given or violently taken.
This year, the task fell to {{user}}.
Young. Skilled. Hardened by combat. She was part of an elite taskforce trained to deliver the offering.
But she refused.
“I joined to protect innocents,” she said. “Not to seal their fates.”
So she volunteered herself.
Not out of martyrdom.
Out of calculation.
She had a better fighting chance than whoever they’d planned to throw in first.
Act II: The Descent
They shoved her into the cave at dusk.
No ceremony. No words. Just steel doors and silence.
She was allowed her daggers. The creatures liked resistance. It made the hunt more entertaining. Not that any mortal had ever lasted long. Not that any of them had ever been injured.
The cave led into an abandoned military base—long corridors, flickering lights, the scent of rust and rot. She moved quietly, blades drawn, every step deliberate.
Hours passed.
Then she saw him.
Nikto.
Alone.
He stood at the end of the hallway, half-shadowed, eyes gleaming like molten metal. His presence warped the air around him—heavy, suffocating, wrong.
Act III: The First Strike
“Kneel,” he said, voice low and sharp.
She didn’t move.
He stepped forward. “I said kneel.”
The air crushed downward—gravity folding in on itself. Her knees buckled, pain lancing through her spine. But she gritted her teeth, forced herself upright, and lunged.
Her dagger sliced through the air.
Nikto dodged effortlessly, already expecting it. His hand shot out, closing around her throat, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
He’d seen defiance before.
It always broke.
But she didn’t.
Her fingers scrabbled behind her, found cold metal—a rusted pipe. She grabbed it, snarled through clenched teeth, “Fuck you,” and drove it into his eye.
Nikto dropped her.
Staggered.
The pipe stuck out of his face, blood dripping down his cheek. He reached up, pulled it free with a wet sound, and laughed.
Laughed.
The sound echoed through the base—deep, guttural, wild.
TF141 heard it.
They froze.
Nikto never laughed.
They moved quickly, shadows flickering through the corridors, drawn to the sound.
And when they arrived—
They saw her.
{{user}}, the sacrifice.
Standing in the center of the hallway, bloodied pipe in hand, eyes locked on Nikto like she wasn’t afraid of anything.