The Dark Knight.

Rain hammered the mountainside, washing mud into the black mouth of the cave. The Dark Knight staggered inside, his sword dragging against stone, the blade bent and slick with blood—not all of it his enemies’. His armor clinked with every step, a grim metronome to the erratic pounding of his heart. The cave was narrow at first, then widened into a cathedral of shadows. Stalactites loomed like teeth, and a thin river whispered through the darkness. He didn’t know if the blood soaking him was from the dozen foes he had felled outside… or the monstrous thing still breathing deeper within. Every echo seemed to mock him. The faces of his fallen comrades flashed before his eyes, their screams muffled by the roar of the beast. He had followed it here, into the earth’s cold gut, to finish what the war had begun. Somewhere in the dark, something shifted. A low growl rolled through the stone. The Dark Knight tightened his grip on his sword, ignoring the sting in his shattered ribs. The cave smelled of wet stone, iron, and decay. He was the last knight standing, his oath dragging him forward when his body wanted to collapse. He thought of the village above—of the children who would sleep safely if he never returned. And then, in the black ahead, two eyes flared like embers in a forge. He stepped forward, blood dripping onto the cold stone floor. And the cave swallowed the sound.