The echoes of his warm breath felt very close to his ears; his hands, legs, and back ached in pain. Zeth could feel himself stuck on a wooden pole, his head trapped inside a clay pot. It didn't take him long to figure out he was a crop on the farm.
Dark.
Distress.
Drowning.
"Anyone, can you hear me? Someone?" Zeth yelled; his constricted voice remained confined within the coffin of the clay pot. There was no response. How could there be? He was alone, inside a dominion, trapped in a human farm.
A chuckle escaped Zeth's lips. What was he even yelling for? Gathering the remaining bits of resolve, he resisted against the restraints. But even the strength of the heavenly body was not sufficient to break free.
In the depths of desperation, Zeth hunched and then swung his head back. The clay pot alongside his head hit the wooden pillar, remaining unscratched. Swinging again, he repeated the same movement again and again, then again.
Cracks finally appeared before him; he couldn't see them but felt the fresh air entering through them. It was working. Zeth repeated the same movement countless times, and at last, the clay pot broke into a million pieces, and Zeth could finally breathe again.
The feeling of fresh air filling his lungs had never felt this good. It was dark; everything was dark, and yet he could faintly see the thorny vines that were wrapped around his hands and legs, sucking blood from his body like parasites.
'How the hell did I end up here?'
If memory served him right, the last thing Zeth did was read those torn papers before he suddenly felt sleepy and embraced the bed.
Unusual.
The vines were stubbornly twisting around his limbs, tough enough to not allow much movement. But now he could see what was holding him. Zeth summoned his broken sabre and somehow turned it around using the limited flexibility he had to slice through the vine. The stubborn vines couldn't survive the sharpness of the blade.
A cut.
That's all he needed; the vine flailed around his hand, and this gave him enough movement to break free. He cut the remaining vines on his body and broke free from the wooden pole.
'Is this part of the dominion? Did I miss something?'
Zeth fell to the ground; it took a moment for him to catch his breath and stand back up. There were multiple holes pierced through his body, draining enough blood to cause him dizziness. Thankfully, as soon as he dismissed the sabre, the effects of the heavenly body applied again, and the wounds slowly began healing.
Feeling strength returning to his body, Zeth stood up and shambled across the farm. The small clock that usually hovered before his eyes was nowhere to be seen; the fog that was only visible in the distance now engulfed everything like a hungry demon.
A very faint structure was visible through the darkness of the fog. Like another scarecrow, but something was different about it. It was larger than normal, and in place of a clay pot, a pumpkin occupied its head.
'What?'
Before Zeth could think further, a thought crossed his mind. The fourth rule: If you see more crops than listed, run away. Do not look back.
A heavy lump formed in his throat, too dry to swallow. He ignored the unusual scarecrow and walked past it, passing the other scarecrows until the fence became visible.
'It's not very far.'
Zeth thought, jumping across the fence. His movements more controlled now, he relied on his memory to guide him. The dry ground didn't offer any obstacle. One more familiar structure was visible before him, the stone well.
There was a gallon of gasoline in the booth, and he could get some pieces of wood, but there was nothing he could use to light them. Light was not an option.
Relying on his senses alone, Zeth departed towards the old cabin. It was just five minutes away from the well; if he got close enough, the light of the lantern would guide him.
Step. Step.
He walked through the darkness, his body exposed to the chilling cold. The ground beneath was dry, and pebbles crunched beneath his feet. But why was the other sound so close?
Zeth halted. The footsteps behind him halted as well. Unsure, Zeth walked again, one step, then two, then three; it sounded behind him again, the sound of footsteps, as if someone was following him.
He was sure now; something was following him, and it was close. His footsteps hurried, and he could feel a cold breath on his neck, yet he didn't dare look back.
'Remember the rule, dumbass. Don't be a horror movie protagonist.'
His breathing intensified; he could see a faint shadow of his legs before him. A shadow in all the darkness. The shadow was faintly moving behind his every step; Zeth ignored the change and kept walking. His senses screamed of danger, the sound of something metallic lifting into the air, but he still ignored it.
'Don't look back.'
'Don't look back.'
The sharp metal was closing in, just beside his neck, and in that second Zeth's body moved on its own, and he jumped to the side. A long slash was engraved into the ground where he had been standing a moment ago.
He finally saw it behind him. The same scarecrow made of straw with a pumpkin for a head. But this time the pumpkin was lit with two ghostly yellow flames in place of eyes. Its hand slowly rose, and its head turned mechanically.
The scarecrow pointed the metallic sickle towards Zeth, threatening to cut him down.
"Shit. This was not part of the rule."
The scarecrow lunged at him, its wooden legs aiming for Zeth's skull. It was fast. But Zeth was prepared.
Black mist escaped his mouth, hitting the pumpkin's face, and before its leg made contact, a terrible crunch resonated through the air.