IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- A NIGHT IN THE MAZE -

Then, finally, it moves on.

Its metal limbs clatter and scrape as it drags itself toward the next corridor, a terrible bug of steel and pain. I keep my eyes on the corner it disappears around, too terrified to believe we're safe yet. "It's gone," Thomas whispers, voice shaking.

I don't answer right away, still watching the empty corridor. "We need to tie it off," I whisper, pushing myself up on unstable knees.

We work fast, knotting thick vines around Alby, securing him so he won't slip. The higher we get him, the safer he is from the Griever's reach. But now we're exposed - out in the open. The corridor yawns around us like a hungry mouth. "Why don't we stay under there?" Thomas suggests, nodding toward the thick vines we just crawled out from.

I hesitate. "I think we should," I agree, crouching back under the cover. Then I see it. A glint of metal. A blinking red eye. My breath catches.

A Beetle Blade.

It sits half-hidden in the dirt beneath the vines, its tiny mechanical legs twitching, its lens swiveling slowly to watch. I almost scream. I jerk back and bump into Thomas. "No, no-"

He grabs me, eyes wide. "What? What is it?"

"Beetle Blade," I whisper. "Alby thinks that they're cameras," I expand.

Thomas peers under the vines, face falling. "Shit..."

"If they know where we are- if they saw Alby- " I stop myself, shaking my head. "We have to move. Now. This is a dead end anyway." I motion toward the towering stone doors, sealed tight behind us.

He nods. "You're right." Thomas helps me up, and we slip quietly into the shifting Maze - alone, hunted, and running out of time.

~~~

The dark corridors seem to breathe.

Shifting walls groan and grind.

The shadows are so deep they swallow every flicker of moonlight.

Thomas and I press forward, each step heavy but urgent, muscles burning and lungs tightening with every breath. The cold air feels sharp in my throat, and the silence around us is almost too thick-like the Maze itself is holding its breath, waiting.

Then, out of nowhere, a horrible, wet drilling sound shatters the quiet. It's sickening, like metal tearing through flesh and bone. I glance sideways at Thomas just as dark muck splatters across his shoulder, cold and sticky. We both jerk our heads up, hearts jumping into our throats.

There it is.

The Griever.

Its grotesque form slinks out of the shadows, an abomination of spongy, pulsating flesh stretched tight over cruel, gleaming metal claws that glint wickedly in the faint moonlight. I preferred it in the daylight if I'm being honest. Its full face - if you can call that mass a face - is a twisted nightmare: slimy, uneven patches of organic tissue mixed with jagged steel plates. A low, guttural growl vibrates from deep within its body - a sound that makes my blood run cold.

Then it lunges.

Thomas and I scream - raw, primal sound of terror and survival - before bursting into a full sprint.

The pounding of the Griever's metallic legs behind us is deafening, echoing off the walls like thunder chasing a storm. I feel every thundering heartbeat in my chest, every desperate breath ripping through my lungs.

Thomas races ahead, but I'm right beside him, matching his pace as best I can, though every muscle in my legs screams in protest. Suddenly, a massive claw swings down inches from my right side, the razor-sharp metal missing me by a hair's breadth. The rush of air is so close I feel it brush my skin, cold and deadly.