🩸 THE NIGHTLY STORYTELLER CHRONICLES: Underworld (2003) – Before I Forget

-



Categories: Vampires, Lycans, Legacy, Transformation, Storyteller Chronicles
Song: “Before I Forget” by Slipknot 🎧


---

The Storyteller Speaks: Before I Forget

> How did it come to this?



Val’s breath hitched, blood streaking her collar.
Danny limped, still trying to crack a joke through the pain.
Rhett... Rhett was still inside.
And it was my fault.

I didn’t ask for this—not to become some half-possessed relic, a walking magnet for monsters and mayhem.
But I made choices.
And choices have consequences.
Especially when you’re too late to outrun the ones catching up.


---

⏪ Flashback: The Scientist’s Offer

“You can join me,” the scientist said, his eyes sharp, voice too calm for the chaos around us.
“Or you can stand with the others... and fall with them.”

I opened my mouth—
And then the air shifted.

Behind him, a familiar growl. A slithering hiss. The creak of long-dead wood.

They came.
The monsters.

Not the scientist’s engineered creatures—but ours.
The ones we’ve watched, cataloged, feared, and mourned through this entire twisted journey.

The Wolf Man tore through two hybrids before vanishing into the fog.
The Mummy’s wrappings strangled another, dragging it into darkness.
The Blob engulfed one silently, leaving behind only a smear of bubbling gore.
Even Frankenstein’s Monster was there—stoic, silent, brutal.

Every cursed relic, every story, every horror I had cataloged... they were fighting.

For me? No.

**For them—**the innocent people the scientist had threatened.

And in that moment, I knew what I had to do.


---

🚙 Escape Plan: Get Them Out

I grabbed Danny and Val.

“Come on—we’re leaving.”

“Wait—what about Rhett?!” Val shouted.

“I’ll find him. Just go.”

We reached her car, the sky a sickly orange behind us. I looked them both in the eye—Danny clutched his camera like a weapon, Val gripped a bat like she wanted round two.

“You two live. Got it? Don’t wait for me.”

They didn’t argue. That’s how I knew they were truly scared.


---

⚔️ The Fight Inside: Unleashed

Back in the building, I didn’t get far before the first one struck.
A jagged-jawed hybrid, fast and brutal.
Then another.
And another.

Three of them.

They took me down.
Claws raked across my chest.
One snapped my shoulder out of socket.

And just when it felt like the end—

CRACK.

A bat connected with a skull.

Val.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” I groaned, pain searing.

“I’m bad at listening,” she said, swinging again, a wild glint in her eyes.

I managed to rise.
Bloodied.
Raging.
Awakened.

Slipknot screamed in my head like my pulse had found rhythm in the chaos:

> “I was a creature before I could stand
I will remember before I forget…”



The other two hybrids didn’t stand a chance.
One I drove into the wall with inhuman force.
The other? Burned from the inside by the necklace’s sickening glow—its pulse syncing to mine, like it had claimed me completely.


---

🧪 Confronting the Scientist: The Truth Revealed

I finally reached him—alone in the lab, watching as his army crumbled around him.

He looked at me.

And he laughed.

“You think this is a victory? You think you’ve won?”

He coughed, blood on his lip.
“You don’t understand… you’re part of it now. You always were.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned closer, whispering:

> “They came for you because they’re bound to you.
You’re the epicenter.
You’re not just the storyteller anymore.
You’re the story.”




---

🎬 The Underworld Connection: The Blurring Lines

Watching Underworld again reminded me how blurred the lines between monster and man can get.

Selene thought she was fighting for the right side. So did Lucian.
But in the end, loyalty, love, and truth don’t come color-coded.
They come in hard choices and scarred bodies.

Selene became something new—something neither side could control.
And maybe... that’s me now.

In the war I’ve stepped into, I’m no longer a narrator behind the glass.

I’m in the middle.
Bloodied.
Broken.
And more dangerous than I’ve ever been.


---

🗝️ The Shelf of Secrets Grows... And Takes Its Toll

On the ground near the scientist’s body was a silver emblem—half-vampire sigil, half-lycan claw.
It pulsed when I picked it up.
Cold. Familiar.

It’s mine now.
Whether I want it or not.

The Shelf of Secrets grows again.


---

🎭 Final Words: No More Metaphors

> You ever wonder if the monsters you write about are just metaphors?

I did.

I don’t anymore.




---

💬 Stick around. Subscribe. Share.

And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite vampire flick, full moon memory, or hybrid horror theory.
We’re just getting started—and the next chapter?
It gets darker.

thenightlystoryteller.blogspot.com





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

🕯️ The Gold Coin Chronicles Presents: “The Draw”

-
Image
🎙️ Intro — The Whisper Between Worlds > The rain has a voice, you know. Not the soft lullaby poets talk about, but something older… lonelier. It speaks in patterns — the rhythm of regret against a windowpane, the sigh of wind slipping through an open crack. When I was younger, I used to listen to it. But that was before I learned that some knocks shouldn’t be answered. And yet, we always do. We open the door — hoping for closure, or forgiveness, or maybe just a sign that we’re not alone. Tonight’s story begins with a knock like that… and a coin that should’ve stayed in the rain. --- 🌧️ Scene One: “The Draw” Cary, Illinois. A neighborhood where every house looks like it’s waiting for something — blinds half-closed, porch lights flickering like they’re afraid of the dark. Inside one of those houses, three friends gathered as rain lashed the windows. The air smelled like damp carpet, burnt popcorn, and stale beer. Somewhere, a fridge hummed with a tired rattle. The heater...
Read more

🕰️ Five Minute Fright: “The Watcher’s Gift”

-
Image
🎩 The Nightly Storyteller > “Time is the cruelest of currencies. We spend it without thought, we beg for more, and we always lose it in the end. But every so often… time gives something back. A second chance. A warning. Or, in this case—one final act of gratitude.” --- The rain had finally stopped by the time Evan left the funeral. He stood at the edge of the cemetery, hands in his coat pockets, watching as the groundskeeper lowered the last bouquet onto the fresh soil. His elderly neighbor, Mr. Harker, had lived alone for years—quiet, kind, and always ready with a story about “the good old days.” When the two became neighbors, Evan often helped with groceries, yard work, and fixing things around the house. Harker didn’t have much, but he always said, “You’ve given me the one thing no one else has, son—your time.” Two days later, a small box arrived in the mail. The return label: H. Harker. Inside, wrapped in soft cloth, was an old pocket watch—its gold casing aged, the...
Read more

🪙 The Gold Coin Chronicles: “Numero Uno”

-
Image
The Nightly Storyteller’s Introduction “Some stories aren’t written with ink—they’re etched in desperation and the scent of cheap whiskey. You can hear them whispered between deadlines, in smoke-filled bars where the forgotten gather. That’s where ambition and regret dance the longest… and where I first heard about the man who thought a single coin could change his luck.” --- Numero Uno The newsroom of The Haverbrook Gazette smelled of burnt coffee, printer ink, and unfulfilled dreams. Ryan Mercer sat at his desk, tapping his pen, watching the newsroom’s golden boy—Elliot Dane—soak up another round of applause. Elliot was all charm and cologne, his laugh slicing through the air like a blade. Ryan clenched his jaw. He’d done the digging, the stakeouts, the late-night calls—the grunt work for the exposé that made Elliot famous. But the byline belonged to the man who took credit, not the one who earned it. He swore it wouldn’t happen again. Not this time. Not when he had somet...
Read more