His breathing was so rapid by this point that it was the only thing he could hear. He couldn't hear his footsteps racing against the stone, the creak of his lantern, nor the ever so growing scream of the beast.
It wasn't so long ago that he had been sitting on the bank side with his friend, chatting oh so carelessly about how life was rolling along. They laughed at old memories of childhood and began constantly murmuring about their great ambitions. The friend had just received management of an old bank outside of Edinburgh, and he himself had just proposed to dear Marjorie, the daughter of a wealthy merchant. "La vie est belle." He remembered saying.
The sweat now plastered his dark hair to his face and burned his eyes. His lips were hard and chalked from dehydration. Oil from the lantern had spilled upon his fingers; burning and melting the skin so it clung to its rusted handle. At this moment, he no longer had any conscious decision and only knew but to run.
The moment he remembered his beautiful Marjorie is when he tripped. He was now unable to move, his body suddenly giving up. He felt the blood pool around his face as it stained the cobblestone flooring, and when the metallic smell reached his noise, a creature howled, shaking the corridor. This was enough to give him the strength to at least pull himself up against the wall.
It now stared him in the face, saliva dripping from its snout. With one deep intake of the smell of blood that radiated from his cheek, it revealed it's yellow and decaying teeth. He could now hear something other than his breathing, and that was his last scream.