Friday, April 23, 1937.

2052 Hours.

Underground Cave.

I am afraid of the dark. I know it is rather strange for a man my age to be afraid of something as banal as a lack of light, but bear with me here. 

I am not particularly afraid or the dark because I think someone is going to pounce on me or anything--although you have to recognize size that such possibility is far from extreme in this case. No, I'm afraid because the darkness is the unknown. It's the same thing with an open ocean. You cannot know what is lurking in the shadows. 

When you can't see properly, your other senses like hearing and feeling go up to pick up anything important in the environment. That's when your own mind starts to play tricks on you. Any sound, even the scraping of your shoe as you walk, can set up alarms inside your head. Every stroke of wind can feel like a ghoulish hand caressing you as you go. 

What's worse, your own eyes start to confuse what little they see. Shadows wave and wane, making the illusion of movement where there is nothing. And silence. Silence is the worst thing. It becomes deafening in the darkness. 

Needless to say that staying alone in that tunnel was my worst nightmare come true. My head felt like submerged underwater as absolute silence surrounded me. 

Palpitating. Unmoving. 

Wherever I moved my head, darkness and silence followed. It was enough to keep me from moving. I was literally drowning in silence. 

I couldn't breathe. Everything felt hot and stuffed and thick. You know how sometimes you are aware that you are breathing and you have to consciously breathe? It was like that, but every breath I consciously took lacked oxygen. Every mouthful felt like water was entering my lungs. 

Is this how anxiety feels like? Perhaps. It was a sense of dread that told every inch of my body that the end was near. My head felt miles above my head as my hands--those foreign masses of bones--shook with fear. 

The waiting was the worst part.

If I stayed there, I was sure to die. If I left, I knew my knees couldn't take the trot alone. And Lula would surely perish without me. 

The waiting was the worst part. 

I had to move forward, to chase them down. But could I? I had to go against my nature, and against my very body. But I couldn't. 

Waiting for something to finally kill me was the worst part. 

It wasn't until a voice finally pierced through the muck of silence that I was brought to my senses. It was a scream. Lula. 

We all have a few moments in life that make or break who we are. It's usually about undertaking a new project or even marrying that childhood sweetheart that stuck by you. Only a few have the awful privilege to put their lives on the line for something greater than themselves. 

Some call them "heroes," or "patriots." The war made plenty of these, marking a generation of destroyed youths who only knew scorched flesh and broken souls. I don't envy anyone who chooses his life over his country, but I do envy the ability to choose. I wasn't given that privilege, but I was given a choice right there and then to create the man I wanted to be. 

I could run towards Lula, and thus towards danger; or I could go back and live the rest of my short existence without knowing the fate of my friends. 

I chose to go forward. In hindsight, I chose poorly. 

Knowing that I know now, I could've spared me a lot of suffering. But I'm scarred for life for it, for making the right thing. 

Waiting for death to take me out of my misery is still the worst part. It is nights like these when I contemplate ending it all. A shotgun to the head, or a hanging rope. I have been cursed with a long life, and I'm afraid I will be around long enough not to enjoy the bliss of nothingness. 

Was I cursed, dear reader? Did God curse me with long life to atone for my sins? That, I do not know. Maybe you can tell me. You're now my judge, dear reader. How history will remember me is in your hands. 

For now, my own body had passed judgment on me. I ran like my life depended on it towards the tunnel they had disappeared to. Every step echoed behind the last. The deafening silence was replaced by the steady ring of my ears as blood pumped madly through them. There was nothing but breathing, my heart, and my steps. 

It took me a couple of minutes to reach what I could only describe as a central room. It was at least twenty meters tall, with a vaulted ceiling made of concrete. From the middle of the ceiling, descending like vines, were the remains of the roots of an old tree. 

Somehow, the room was faintly brighter than the tunnels, but not by much. I suppose it was used in the past for some kind of assembly as there were unlit torches on stands against the walls. Right in the middle of the room was a stone table of some kind, covered in dust. There were exits in every direction of the round room. 

And right in front of me, standing closest to the entrance were Torito and Lula with their backs against me. Both frozen in place and looking up at the vines. 

I tried to speak, but my words failed me. It was as if they were stopped in mid-air, swallowed by the vastness of nothing. That's when I realized. 

I had felt this before. 

There was one of them among us. 

I looked up, following their gaze to the remnants of the roots on the ceiling. It took me a few seconds, but there it was, clear as day. There were not one, but two beasts hanging from them. One of which I could recognize from her ragged, pale pink dress.

It was Fatima. 

The other I couldn't quite recognize, but I had this sense of familiarity with it. I've seen it before, but I don't know where. That's when I realized I couldn't hear any drums, and hadn't for a while. I couldn't hear anything, really. 

But it was different. 

When I met Tuerto before, the world felt heavy. Now, it was just as before, with only my anxiety taking over. I could move, and was generally aware of my surroundings. I couldn't say the same for Lula and Torito. 

The beasts began their slow descent from the roots. The closer they got, the more Torito and Lula shook in their spot. I tried my best to jolt them to action, even as far as slapping Torito, but they remained unmoving, watching as the beasts approached us. Halfway down, the pair dropped their rifles to the ground. 

I don't know what was scarier: the feeling of having of hopelessness as the beast descended, or not being able to move my friends from their oncoming demise.

They had saved me, and it was time for me to save them. I don't know what devil posed me to grab the rifle from the ground, but I did anyway. With one knee to the ground to steady myself, I pointed the rifle at the beastly Fatima.

Three shots, one after the other. The first hit it on the shoulder, with the second and third hitting her on the chest. 

The beast screeched as it jumped from the roots to the ceiling. Her massive claws penetrated the concrete like butter and gave her a steady hold as she growled at us. It felt like two pieces of metal clashing together. 

I only took my eyes from the other one for a second, but in that time it had managed to go all the way down and ready to pounce on me. It was by mere reflex that I pulled the trigger, shooting the beast under the chin. Without much of a resistance, it fell on its back. It didn't move. 

That still left Fatima. She didn't stay put long enough, jumping from the ceiling to where the other was standing. I took two shots which ricocheted from her metal mask. Once again she tried to scratch mem but didn't attack me. She grabbed the other beast and dragged her with unnatural strength inside one of the tunnels. The whole thing lasted a few seconds, at most. 

And then, there was silence again. 

Both Lula and Torito fell into the ground while dry heaving. I had been there, I know it's tough. What I didn't expect was Lula immediately screaming her lungs out. There was blood coming from her leg. One of the ricocheted bullets had hit her in the leg. 

I ran towards Lula, but as soon as I came close, she pushed me. There were tears running down from her eyes, along with rage and sadness. She was a mess of emotions. 

Then, it hit me. 

The other monster was familiar to me because it was Ainhoa, Lula's mother.