How had it come to this?

Too arrogant. Too fast.

Not careful enough.

What, did you think that all Sirens were the same?

Kin huddled in the corner of a room, mentally cursing himself as he contemplated the monstrosity in front of him. Big, even for a large, mottled Siren, this thing had an abnormally distended head with bulging veins, its tail and hand atrophied to that point where it crawled rather than swam.

The large-headed Siren took small cautious steps towards him, one arm hanging limp from a pressure pistol hit. Its mouth opened and the phallic device extended out again.

Kin dived to the side to avoid the spray of white acid that projected forth.

You.

You.

You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

Kin grabbed his head, drew out his knife, fumbled, then righted himself.

If I can get it off balance, I might be able to kill it.

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So he swung his knife at it, biting into the side of its head and releasing a cloud of dark blood that spurted out like putrid flesh. Kin waved it away, oh god, was that meat in the blood?

He drew back for a second swing, and stopped.

The Siren was gone. In its place was his mother’s body.

She floated limply in the water, her arms held parallel to her body, which was suspended horizontally. Her legs dipped down to nearly touch the ground and her black hair floated in a halo around her face.

The entire body was bloated and brown-black, having swelled up so much that her clothes had burst. Blood leaked from the decayed ruin of her nose, and her tongue, swollen to three times its normal size, protruded from her mouth. Her torso was grotesquely enlarged, her chest split open and spilling milky-white fat into the water, floating in the water like a stagnant cloud.

Although he was wearing a respirator, Kin found the stench of rot worming its way up his nose.

He took a step back and it launched itself at him.

His mother’s carcass latched onto him, the bloated, ungainly weight twisting Kin into the ground. He screamed unintelligibly into the respirator and swung his knife wildly. Up close he could see his mother’s dead, staring eyes, having expanded and pushed their bloodshot mass out of their sockets, giving her a nightmarish, frog-like look.

You killed me

Little shit You killed your mother.

Kin swatted wildly and the body, but his hands simply impacted on the fleshy rot which released a deluge of dark brown matter.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

You know, if you were never born, I’d still be alive.

His dead mother leered at him, trying to pin him down with arms that were surprisingly weak for their size.

You ingrate, you’ve never done a single good thing, and now I’m dead Dead Dead Dead Dead

The smell of rot was getting unbearable, a combination of day-old fish and dark black oil. His mother’s face opened wide, wider than should have been possible, tearing her jaws open and letting the tongue loll onto Kin’s visors.

Too much. Too much fear. Too much pain.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I killed you! I’m sorry I couldn't do anything! I’m sorry I was born!”

She really hated me...can’t blame her can’t blame her it’s my fault all my fault. My fault she died. My fault I lived.

It’s so cold.

Kin’s brain began to fray from pure terror.

And his mother smiled a razor-toothed smile that smelled of old death and twisted love.