Contra Luminem

The flickering light of a single flashlight danced on the cave walls, snatching from the darkness the glimmers of unknown minerals and angular shadows, like living creatures crouched in anticipation. The cosmonaut, whose name had long been buried under a layer of dust from distant planets, breathed heavily, trying to control the trembling in his hands. The skin of his spacesuit felt cold against his skin, a reminder of the boundless vacuum of space, which turned out to be far less terrifying than this closed world of an alien planet.

His feet sank into the loose soil, producing an unpleasant crunch with each step, as if bones were breaking. The atmosphere here was close and damp, permeated with the smell of rot and something elusive and metallic. The oxygen meter inexorably counted down the final hours.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling sound ahead made the cosmonaut freeze. The flashlight beam flickered, illuminating a cluster of terrifying creatures—chitinous shells, glowing eyes, sharp claws. They moved slowly but menacingly, as if hypnotizing their prey. Fragments of information about the planet, its underground inhabitants, their aggressiveness and resilience surfaced in my mind.

There was no choice.