Jack frowned. He didn’t need words to know what’d happen if he failed. He didn’t even need words to know what to do.

“Alright.” Jack took his gaze off the Keeper and shook his head to forget those eyes. “How do I fight one of these things?”

“Like a real, living man,” Hunter said. “Sure, sure… Fight until it gives up or dies by your hand. Just don’t stop until you’re told so. And don’t forget -- they fight like the maddest men of a cult or like a soldier whose squad you just slaughtered. No pain or dignity, just an inner drive to destroy you.”

This isn’t a thing any sane man would want to do. But I’m past sane, aren’t I?

I’m in this completely, Jack reminded himself. You want that purple rose, you wanna see what this place has to offer? You have to know how to destroy one of these things.

“Right. And I start by… just giving it a good old punch?”

“No -- you say the words and it starts fighting you.”

What words?

“I can’t speak them, kid. Not even a whisper.” Hunter tooks his journal out of his pocket and started flipping through. “The second those words are spoken is the second your fight to the death begins.”

Alright. I get it: the dead don’t wait for the living.

“Here it is.” The old man stopped, slid his finger across the page and ripped it out. “Remember: the second you say those words, you’re on your own.” He handed Jack the yellowed paper.

Corafialoro, it read.

The old man shot Jack a questioning look.

“I cannot help once the fight begins. So, do you have any questions?”

“Best way to kill him?” Jack glanced over at the dead standing still as a rock. “Knives, guns?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hunter said. “When you fight them, bit by bit, you turn them to dust hope they don’t get you first. It’s as simple as that.”

Jack nodded as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and grabbed the revolver Hunter had given him.

Jack grasped the dagger with his free hand and waited for a moment, letting his heart tumble in his chest.

It’s time.

“Cora… corafialoro,” he spoke.

As the words left his mouth, the dead’s eyes flashed and filled with blackness. Rumbling came from outside the walls. Then, light from empty sconces on the walls replaced the dungeon’s darkness.

In a moment, the dead unfroze and dashed at Jack. His hands trembled and fired the revolver. One shot, two shots… he emptied the entire cylinder. As the gunpowder smoke cleared, he could see six holes in the dead’s head. And the thing didn’t even flinch.

Backing off, Jack dropped the gun and put both his hands on the dagger. The dead was right in front.

Jack had ignored a lot of combat lessons, instead opting for book knowledge. Yet, he knew enough to be sure fighting a stronger foe, one wanted to always be faster.

The dead grabbed at Jack. Jack dodged to the side, slicing the thing’s neck and upper chest, then hopped to another side. The deadman swung a punch and hit Jack in the jaw. The world shook and twisted in his eyes. He stumbled to his knees.

The dead jumped atop Jack, squishing him. He screamed and tried squirming out: the thing started mauling at his belly. His skin tore and blood seeped through his tunic.

Jack screamed louder.

He stabbed in unison with the deadman’s rips and scratches, giving all he had. Every time he stabbed, more of the Keeper turned into crimson dust. If he fought like this, eventually he’d win, but he didn’t have time for eventually. Perhaps he had a minute, at most, until his guts painted the walls.

Out of hope, frustrated and in pain, Jack used the fear inside of him, grabbed the half destroyed head and tugged at it. Its neck cracked and its mouth opened to bite. Jack released and jerked himself out of the way. A second later pulled on it again, using every last bit of the strength he could muster, every last breath and feeling that remained. The neck’s deteriorated skin tore, bones and joints cracked more. Jack growled and kept at it, unable to put more in..

So close!

Almost there!

If only I had more strength!

The Keeper struggled an arm through and attacked with it.

Jack groaned from a sudden wave of pain in his chest.

How does he do so much damage with his hands?! There’s nothing more than bones and old meat there!

The dead’s head left its body and evaporated to red dust. Jack fell back and hit the hard ground. He crawled out from the still body and stumbled back on his feet.

Did… did I do it?

Jack stared at the headless Keeper for a while then let go off his dagger and raised a grin. As the steel hit the ground, the dead jumped to life and bolted at Jack.

Could I be a bigger fool!? Don’t stop until you’re told so!

Jack’s heart dropped as he rolled inches away from the creature. He scrambled in confusion, dodging the thing’s vicious attacks and holding his bleeding guts. It what he’d done didn’t work… what would it take to end it?!

And… how could he do it without a weapon?

Jack kept running, dodging, and staying on top of his toes, but knew he couldn’t keep it up. He’d get exhausted sooner or later. Perhaps the pain would become unbearable. In the end, he’d lose.

Jack tried to reach for the dagger on the ground, but the Keeper stepped on his hand. It cracked and Jack screamed. He punched the thing’s guts and got his hand out.

He got some distance and his gaze shifted to Hunter for a moment.

The old man leaned on a wall in a corner and smoked. His face didn’t show if he felt any bad for Jack and surely didn’t reveal a single intention to help.

This place and its rules are literally killing me!

Jack sliced at the headless Keeper. His attacks had done some serious damage, but the thing remained vicious as ever.

An idea came to Jack and he retreated a big distance. It’d be dangerous, but he could think of no other way.

Jack took a deep breath and lunged at the Keeper. He pinned the thing to the ground, jumped on his feet and stabbed at the hole where its neck used to be. He twisted the dagger around until the dead stopped moving. Then he kicked it and got his hand, covered in red, out. The deadman beneath him disappeared into dust.

The redness cleared. Finally, every feeling and emotion washed over Jack.

“You are done,” Hunter murmured from the corner.

Jack raised an arm in triumph. I did it… I--

In a flash, all the lights from the empty sconces disappeared, the rumbling stopped and his legs gave out.

***

Hunter placed the lantern beside Jack’s head and turned towards the entrance. Jack couldn’t see what the old man stared at, but he didn’t care either. He held on to his throbbing wounds, eyes closed, focusing on fighting the pain.

It hurts like hell, but I did.

The footfalls got farther away from him and stopped. Something banged and something whooshed. Jack opened an eye to the sight of Hunter holding the trophy of the fighters who see.

He returned to Jack being led by his bloody index finger, crouched beside, rummaging through his pockets and grinned. “Damn, you actually did it. I hoped you’d win. Never thought it would happen though.” He took a brown bottle out of the pocket, popped its cap and handed it to Jack, then kept searching for something else.

Jack frowned after a sip. “It’s disgusting--”

“Drink it, otherwise you won’t get to celebrate staying alive!”

The old man’s brown drink was a detestable mix of liquor and some old plants. Jack couldn’t stomach the taste so he finished it in a single gulp and shivered.

Hunter produced a bandage. He wrapped it around Jack’s chest, belly and shoulders: every place where his tunic was ripped and dyed red.

“Sure, sure… You’re all good to go.”

A warmth came over Jack. He could see clearer, he could move faster and the pain subdued to a thing in the back of his head.

Jack stood up, grabbed the old man’s urn and turned to the door.

“I did it… I beat a deadman… The Keeper nonetheless,” Jack spoke. It was like he’d broken a barrier and couldn’t go back. He saw them disappear to dust, but never because of his hands. Now he knew he could kill them. He changed. No more kid searching for a purple rose with a faint hope of freedom he didn’t really know.

This is a whole new level.

In silence, Hunter walked up to the empty hole in the wall and placed the trophy.

The ground shook and a stone door opened. Hunter turned back to Jack and waved for him to go first into the darkness. Not as a sign that he used Jack as a meat puppet, but one of respect.

That moment, Jack realized he could trust the old man as the old man could trust him. The trust meant Jack would do everything for their deal and that he’d believe all Hunter said. It was trust.

Firstly, Hunter reminded Jack of Guardian too much. He didn’t want to admit anyone was as terrible as Guardian, but Hunter had the same energy and more similarities than differences. But in the end, the old man had proved he wouldn’t leave Jack to die; he had some respect for him; he was different than Guardian and that was enough to be trusted.

They entered the complete darkness and the stone door shut behind them. That second, shivers covered Jack’s skin -- his assumptions of what would come disappeared and the lingering feeling that there was a way back went with it as well.

Now he could only go forward and roll with what the depths of darkness threw at him.