A large grey stone staircase climbed up to an alter. At the top, faint shapes danced wildly in the firelight, they chanted and yelled in rhythm as smoke and ash traveled down the steps. The pounding of wooden leather drums throbbed like a heartbeat, rattling everything around.
My vision bobbed with each step. I wasn’t in my body—I was inside someone else, just like before. Like when I had first arrived here.
Two dark-skinned men walked beside me, their torsos inked with swirling tribal tattoos and adorned with necklaces of jagged beast teeth. Together, we dragged a woman between us. Her legs scraped against the rough stone stairs, her head lolling limply. Blood and tears streaked her pale, battered face, and her swollen belly strained against her torn dirty clothing.
Her expression was frozen—no fear, no anger, just a hollow, unseeing stare. She looked as though she’d seen things no one should ever see.
The bruises on her body told stories I didn’t want to hear.
“Chozeh,” a voice hissed, perching on my shoulder.
I froze. The word burned like a brand on my mind, whenever I heard it I winced. I knew who it was and why I was here now. It all came together.
“These are my followers, Chozeh,” the voice continued. “You will be like them. I will break you until you follow me, just like I broke them all.”
“No!” I struggled trying to pull away from the man’s body to no avail, I tried to wrench myself free. “Get out of my head!” I thought to myself.
I couldn’t stop myself, my body kept moving under someone else’s control. The chanting grew louder with the blaze and heat.
“Ubunti’ De’nali Xaspenof. Gala Gala Tenti’!”
The rhythmic words danced into my ear in the humid night. I tried wrapping my mind around the foreign syllables until something clicked into place.
—Skill Unlocked: Translation—
“Unity for the Dark One. Darkness will rise.”
I felt a form of disgust and bile rise from the back of my throat at the words.
At the top of the stairs, a figure stepped forward. The crowd fell silent, they showed their reverence to the man with a quick kneel. He wore a jagged necklace of bone that surrounded his chest. The gnarled stubs of fingers grasped at himself, as if to rip the skin apart selfishly and claim what was once theirs; the flesh of a human and desire for warmth. Leaves jutted from his animal leather vest, the edges appear seemingly growing out of his skin to hide away from the man. In one hand, he held a staff, a human skull with a long green vine tying the stick together. The other a chalice of blood.
When he raised the staff high, every eye turned to him.
“Today,” he roared, his voice booming over the crowd, “the Son of Darkness shall be born! And with his birth, we shall bring forth a New Dawn!”
A wave of howling erupted from the crowd, their chants merging into a primal cacophony.
For the Dark Lord —-/\/—-/|/—-!” A buzzing sound emitted. The man bellowed, from his chest a fully painful yell. “He brings wisdom to the children of the eclipse! Wisdom to us!” He tipped the red blood chalice back drinking half of it and smearing the rest on his skin. He wiped the blood off of his face and tossed the chalice to the ground. “So now we bring life to the god. Tonight his son shall be born!”
“Cha-la, Cha-la, Cha-la!”
The crowd roared the chant in unison, their bodies moving in wild, erratic dances. They dipped their hands into pools of blood that coated the temple floor in an a sinister purposeful aqueduct system from the raised stone slab in the center. He cupped the blood and painted symbols onto the woman’s pregnant body. White teeth flashed in broad grins, the man’s unblinking eyes stared in the red haze of torchlight and skyline.
I watched in horror as they ducked and bobbed their heads. they leapt with an unholy joy, forming a circle around the jerking, reanimated corpses strung up along the walls. The dead pulled violently from the chains tied to the temple walls their bodies being yanked around like a dead dog being pulled on a leash.
The chant grew louder, a rhythmic pounding noise that reverberated in my skull. It blended with the relentless pounding of drums, the beat synching into a collective friendly.
Overhead, the moon began to shift, sliding in front of the larger of the three suns. Darkness descended like a curtain being pulled. A frigid, cold wind tore through the temple, sinking deep into my stolen body the others not even reacting to the wind.
“It is time!” the man cried, his voice booming over the night. He slammed his staff into the blood-slick stone with a resounding crack.
The crowd parted, and two men stepped forward, dragging the woman from before. Her battered body was thrust onto a poorly smoothened stone altar, her bloodied skin glistening under the flickering firelight. The chains rattled as they locked into place, their sound sharp and final.
Her body jerked violently, her wrists and ankles straining against the restraints. Her cries reached into the heavens pleading for help. The screams she made, loud as they were couldn’t overcome the rising cacophony of chanting, drumming, and howling that the people made.
I wanted to look away. I tried. But I couldn’t.
The vision held me captive, forcing me to watch as the horror unfolded.
Her screams shook the air. Snot and tears poured out, her neck bulged as she writhed, the pain too much for her to handle.
The crowd roared. The earth trembled beneath us, as if an earthquake encroached.
High above, the moon turned crimson, its deep red glow bathing the ritual in a hellish light. The corpses strung along the stone walls began to twitch. First a finger. Then a hand. Then their heads jerked, hollow sockets glowing faintly, then they began speaking in tongues. Their lifeless bodies moving as if yanked by invisible strings.
“YES! YES!” the bone-crowned man threw his arms wide, casting his staff aside. He drew a dagger from his belt, its jagged blade etched with runes that pulsed faintly, whispering a language only it could understand. He rubbed the edges and his eyes glinted in the red sky as he looked directly at me. A glowing white light lingered there before he twisted his head back and reached for the sky
The woman’s screams reached a fever pitch, her body arching off the altar.
“It is time!”
The dagger plunged into her swollen belly digging deep.
Blood sprayed across the altar, black against the crimson light. The crowd’s cheers reached a frenzied peak, their voices a violent symphony of madness.
The man dragged the blade downward in one practiced motion. Flesh parted like wet paper. Her body convulsed one final time before falling still.
Reaching into her open cavity, he pulled out a child.
The infant was unnaturally pale, its tiny body slick with blood. It did not cry. It only stared, unblinking, as the bone-crowned man raised it high above his head.
“For —-/—//\//—-!” he cried.
The corpses jerked violently in unison, their hollow eyes blazing with dark energy. The air shuddered and I couldn’t look away.
The child opened its mouth and. —-/\///—/\/—-
It went quiet. Everything went dark, and all I saw was —-///—\//—-. Static.
I was floating. Drifting in a vast empty black abyss. My thoughts raced as I floated in the darkness, they spun endlessly in the inky world and my head spun with them.
Why did this happen to me? Why do I have to go through this? This madness?
What the fuck was that?
Can I please get out of this?
This world wouldn’t let me rest.
Please, just let me rest.
My mind hurt, my head hurt. I just wanted a moment of peace. A second of silence. A fragment of sleep.
I just wanted to go home. To see my mother, my sister…
My father.
My father.
He was gone. He’d been gone for so long, and it still wasn’t right. Him leaving like that. But what could I do? He didn’t walk out on us—not like that—but he might as well have.
He chose to serve his country. And he paid the price.
I could still hear him saying, “Nobody dies in war anymore. The American military is the best in the world.”
Yeah. Look where that got him. Six feet under, blown to pieces by an IED. A fucking roadside bomb of tin cans and putty turned him into confetti… into pieces. Just bits of him scattered across the desert wind.
It’s funny. I’ll probably lie torn to shreds in a desert too. Like father like son.
They cremated what they could scrape up of him. There wasn’t enough left to bury.
I kept some of his ashes in a necklace—a bullet casing from his battalion turned into an urn. I still wear it. Even now, it rests beneath my shirt, cold in the night and heavy against my chest.
Maybe that feeling has been there all along.
When he died, I swore I’d never be like him. Never be a hero.
And yet… look at me now. Walking the path of a demon. A god of torment and destruction. A god of rape. It’s so ironic, isn’t it? In so many ways.
I died being a hero and left my mom and sister alone.
But what choice did I have? To die at his hands? To let Teresa deal with the crimes of those scumbags? No person deserves that, not even me no matter how I may feel. What could I do? Nothing. I still can’t. All I can do is watch this unfold, every dirty detail etched into my mind. All I could do was watch. I can’t even close my eyes to it. I can’t shut my eyes and act ignorant of the world like so many do on earth.
The police can’t help me. They couldn’t help me when my ‘uncle’ pinned me to a wall and felt me up. I told my mother and she just blamed me. I couldn’t stop it he was stronger, yet she still blamed me.
I gripped my head, clawing at my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. What choice do I have?
I couldn’t think like that. Not now. Not here.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips, and then a laugh. This was all absurd. So absurd wasn’t it?
“I can’t let him win,” I muttered to myself. “Do what you have to. Endure it. Survive.”
Survive until I can live on my terms. That’s what I have been doing till now and before this incident. It worked then, didn’t it?
Survive until I'm no longer trapped. Until im no longer pinned against the wall. Until I’m no longer beaten for just being me.
And maybe that way… I can live forever, that’s always what I wanted. Even when life gets rough I never wanted to hurt myself. I’m just so scared of dying, closing my eyes, and never waking up. Closing my eyes and never wanting to wake up.
Isn’t that what everyone wants? To live forever?
I sat. And sat longer. I felt empty for a time until the emptiness felt more than just that.
The nothingness began to fill me like a plugged tub and the anxiety ensued.
Then a text bubble appeared in front of me. Still floating around me as I clicked on it. Words popped up in the dark.
—-Level 2 Unlocked—-
Become one with the dark lord. A prophet of a demonic elder force. Seer class will upgrade at Level 3.
—-Inventory Item Unlocked: Locked Black Box—-
A mystery weapon or battle item for completing your first quest.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
—-Skill Unlocked: Heal—-
Heal some of the damage an ally receives. You will take half of the damage yourself, but this will grow stronger as you level.
—-Skill Unlocked: Mend—-
Fuse two inanimate objects into one. At low levels, only minor combinations are possible.
—-Bonus Skill Unlocked For Completing Your First Mission: Crimson Light Orb—-
Create a red ball of light that will shine in the darkest of nights. Eclipse the Moon, Child.
—-Club And Staff Proficiency Unlocked—-
Basic weapon proficiencies unlocked. Perfect for survival.
—-Dagger Proficiency Unlocked—-
Basic weapon proficiencies unlocked. Perfect for survival.
—-Blessing Unlocked: —/—-//-/—-’s Judgment—-
A divine boon of unknown power. Unlocked through the path of suffering. Will unlock more at a time.
—-HUD Unlocked—-
—-Stat Screen Unlocked—-
—-One of Four Growth Cycles Unlocked: ???—-
—-Analyze: Level 2—-
—-Progress Saved—-
I blinked and suddenly found myself standing in a stark white room—sterile, empty and unsettling. It felt like a hospital room that had been wiped clean of life.
To my left, a bed hung from the wall by thick nylon cords, its pristine white sheet untouched. Across from me, a sink and TV were seamlessly built into the far wall, as if they had always been there waiting for me.
But the room wasn’t just empty—it was devoid of life. Like an unfinished thought. A blank slate or unfinished dream.
And for a moment, I felt the same. Like my mind had been wiped clean, leaving me standing in the only thing that remained.
I turned and saw a table behind me, its hard white surface perfectly smooth as if brand new. On it sat a picture frame, tilted toward me. The photo inside was too familiar, a picture of me my father, mother and sister all hugged up on one another. Both of my fathers hands on our heads with a large smile on his face.
My chest tightened. I guess I’ll never see them again, will I?
A lump formed in my throat, but I pushed it down swallowing a lump of air. Hopefully they’re alive. Hopefully I’m just… lost on another planet or plane of existence or something like that right? Tell me if this is the alternative… please, just let them think I’m gone, not trapped here. Let them think I was dead and not suffering on an alien planet.
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the remote I’d found on the table. It was a SNES controller hooked into the television screen. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying a simple interface:
—-Stat Selection Screen—-
Vainglory
Vanity
Vehemence
Vitality
Each option glowed in and out faintly. Description’s appeared as I hovered over them.
—-Vainglory—-
Your ability to rally anyone, from a single person to a crowd, convincing them to believe in you or follow your way. This path offers a balanced growth, blending charisma, cunning, and leadership. A choice for those who walk the middle ground.
—-Vanity—-
A dexterous and clever stat. Governs agility, wit, and deception. This path enhances quick thinking, evasiveness, and manipulation. Ideal for those who prefer speed and cunning over brute force.
—-Vehemence—-
The stat of emotional resonance and magical power. Governs wisdom, insight, and influence over mystical forces. For those who understand their emotions—or wield them as a weapon. Ideal for healers, enchanters, or manipulators of the intangible.
—-Vitality—-
A stat of physical resilience and raw strength. Perfect for warriors, tanks, or survivalists. Those who embrace this path believe the body is the ultimate weapon and shield, unburdened by the complexities of magic.
Each choice came with a warning:
Choosing one of these will affect your growth rates and skill types. It is recommended to remain with the given class, but you may change every new level if the current one proves unsuitable. Be warned—skills and growth are not guaranteed when switching.
I leaned back, staring at the screen. The words blurred as thoughts flooded my mind. This was the moment—my path was in my hands. No more demon gods whispering in my ear, no more unseen strings pulling me into their games. Just me.
I clenched my jaw, my father’s voice pulling to the front of my mind.“Do what’s right, no matter how hard it gets on you. You want to be a family man right? Learn what it takes and do everything you can too protect those you love.” I could feel my father’s grip on my shoulder and his hard eyes staring at me.
My eyes fell on Vehemence. The emotional one. Magic tied to the connection of life and feelings I suppose. I wasn’t an emotional person I thought, was I? But couldn’t this help with that? Could I control it? Or would the emotions control me, like everything else in this world.
----------------------------------------
The screen flickered to life, a white text block appearing at the bottom.
An 8-bit version of me, clad in a hooded robe, dashed across the loading screen before pausing, its digital dreads spilling from the hood. It smirked, winked, and bobbed its head like some old-school game guide before speaking:
“Here’s a helpful hint. Emotions and feelings can power magic, but only when you are truly at your worst. Magic comes from the soul and body—once you lose part of that, it never comes back. Cut limbs and scars can heal, but soul-traded magic may never return, no matter how much you heal or grow.”
I clicked through the text, half-bored, half-intrigued. The mechanics were interesting, even if the ominous warning sat heavy in my mind.
Press X to continue.
The screen shifted, displaying a rough figure of me. A new window popped up, breaking down stats and details as I clicked through.
Your current spread is balanced but leans toward a Finesse/Zeal hybrid with some social utility (Influence). Here’s what it suggests about your character…
• Finesse (2/6): You’re agile, quick-thinking, and likely focused on mobility or clever tactics.
• Zeal (2/6): A connection to faith or mystical power is developing, possibly for healing or minor magic.
• Influence (2/6): You’re decent at swaying others or gaining allies, though not yet a true leader.
• Might (1/6) & Vitality (1/6): Physical power and durability aren’t your strong suits yet.
• Command (1/6): Leadership potential is minimal but present.
----------------------------------------
Growth Milestones
• Gain one skill point per level.
Level 3:
• Perks:
• Gain 3 extra skill points to allocate freely.
• A moment to define your core role, setting the direction for your character’s specialization.
• Pick a new skill.
• ???
Level 6:
• Perks:
• Gain 3 extra skill points.
• Unlock a bonus skill based on your highest stat:
• Might: Offensive or defensive combat ability.
• Finesse: Precision-based or stealth-related ability.
• Zeal: Faith/magic skill for support or damage.
• Command: Leadership ability to influence allies or NPCs.
• Focus: Enhanced resource management or strategic bonuses.
• Influence: Persuasion or crowd control skill.
• Unlock the ability to raise one stat to 5/6, solidifying your specialization.
• Pick a new skill of your choice
•???
Level 9:
• Perks:
• Gain 3 extra skill points.
• Receive a random assortment of skills, items, or weapons to choose from based on your playstyle. Examples:
• Might: Heavy weapon or armor.
• Finesse: Lightweight dual weapons or gear improving speed.
• Zeal: Rare scroll, healing staff, or holy relic.
• Command: Tools to control larger groups or NPC buffs.
• Focus: Items improving magic or stamina use.
• Influence: Relic or charm to manipulate allies/enemies.
•Pick a new skill
•???
Level 12:
• Perks:
• Gain 3 extra skill points.
• Unlock an ultimate passive ability based on your highest stat. Examples:
• Might: Permanent damage resistance or power increase.
• Finesse: Boosted critical hit chance or evade mechanics.
• Zeal: Aura that heals allies or enhances spell power.
• Command: Charisma boost, affecting loyalty or group efficiency.
• Focus: Reduced cooldowns for abilities or enhanced resource pools.
• Influence: Auto-succeed persuasion checks or debuff enemies.
• Pick a new skill.
• ???
Level 15 (Final Level):
• Perks:
• Gain 3 extra skill points.
• Unlock an ultimate skill or ability based on your specialization:
• Might: Devastating AoE attack or indomitable defense stance.
• Finesse: Extreme precision attack or flawless evade counter.
• Zeal: Divine intervention or mass healing ability.
• Command: Summon allies, inspire large groups, or resource regeneration.
• Influence: Charm high-level NPCs or control crowds.
• Pick a new skill.
• ???
• Evolve.
----------------------------------------
My highest skills were Zeal, Finesse, and Influence.
It made sense to lean into those, didn’t it? Stick to what I was good at. Build on a foundation I already understood instead of scattering my focus. But Zeal—what the hell did that even mean? Did it make my will stronger? More determined? Or was it some kind of tether to the demon clown, drawing me closer to his influence with every point?
The skill confused me?
Finesse, though… Finesse was clear. It was precision, agility, and motor control. It was an action I could take, something tangible, physical: something mine.
I hovered the cursor over the Finesse icon, my thumb lingering, hesitating. Something about it felt… off. But it was just a game, right? Just pixels and code.
“Screw it,” I muttered.
The click echoed louder than it should have. I dropped the controller onto the table and fell back onto the bed, the springs groaning under my weight.
That’s when the TV flickered.
I blinked as if I didn’t just see that.
Huh. That’s strange.
It snapped off, then on again. Static crackled and hummed, accompanied by the faint hum of interference. I grabbed the remote and spammed the power button, but the screen refused to obey.
Then the signal went fuzzy.
A clean white glove appeared, reaching from inside the screen. It grabbed the edges of the glass and pressed down showing the dark white print of the glove. The hand began to pull, as if warping the glass itself. The arms attached to it stretched unnaturally, bending and stretching like rubber.
“Hi there, buddy.”
The voice was sickeningly cheerful. A clown’s face pushed against the glass—a porcelain white Venetian mask with an exaggerated smile shown through. The screen warped under his touch, fogging with his breath as he pushed close.
“Did you miss me?”
The screen shook violently, the clown rattling it like he was trying to break free. My stomach clenched as I scrambled back on the bed, my breath hitching in my neck.
Then, nothing.
The screen went black.
I exhaled, relief washing over me, only for it to be ripped away.
The screen flickered back on, but this time, his nose pressed against the glass, squeaking like a cartoon sound effect. It came out of the screen first. Slowly, his face tilted, and then his head began to stretch through
He was coming through.
The clown twisted and contorted, his body slithering out of the television like a snake out its nest. His limbs bent at impossible angles, folding in on themselves before snapping back into place. When he finally stood, he loomed over me, his frame impossibly tall, his head ticking side to side like the pendulum of some sinister clock.
His eyes weren’t eyes at all. They were static, black-and-white chaos swirling like turbines. He tilted his head in metronome-like rhythm, the sound clinking around me, filling the room.
“What do you want?!” I shouted, my voice hitched in his presence. I pressed myself against the headboard, clutching my knees to my chest.
He didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring. Ticking.
Seconds felt like hours as the silence went on infinitely, punctuated only by the faint hum of the television static. My heartbeat slowed, my panic shifting to anxiety and then dread. Maybe he wasn’t here to hurt me. Maybe he’d just… stand there. Watch me for some reason? Some twisted voyeuristic delight.
Time went on as he just stared and watched.
I pulled the blanket over my head, a childlike reflex I couldn’t stop. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe he’d leave me alone. That if I couldn’t see him, he would just disappear.
Then I felt it.
A slithering. Something moved on top of the blanket, brushing against my legs. A hand? A snake?
I yanked the covers off, my breath hitching—ready to scream. But the room was empty.
Or so I thought.
The clown hadn’t moved. He still stood at the foot of the bed, his head ticking faster now, an eerie, mechanical stutter. I clenched my fists and forced myself to stand, adrenaline numbing the fear.
“Leave me alone!” I shouted, pushing him away.
My hands passed through him like smoke.
His jaw unhinged, dropping far lower than it should have. With a sharp crack, his head twisted toward me, static eyes locking onto mine.
I sat in the bed watching. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. Silence settled in—thick, endless silence. I then looked up and ticking had stopped.
But now the door was open. The back of it I could see the shape of a man. A shape of a bottle. All behind a thick smog of blackness.
I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing.
I opened them and the door was now closed.
Minutes. Maybe hours passed. My muscles slowly relaxed, my eyelids growing heavy. My body seemed to fight the sensation of calmness but it couldn’t fight the sleep that I desperately needed.
And then, it started again. A thumping.
“Let me in… Let me in, Diana. I have something to show you. A gift from your husband for the holidays. Something just for you.” He whispered through the door tapping on it with his half empty bottle. “Let me. In.” He slid his back down the door and began pounding on it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I stared at the door imagining if this was real or a dream. I didn’t know. Why was I reliving this? Why?
I couldn’t tell because I wasn’t in that sterile white room anymore. I wasn’t in that hospital or dreamy white place I saw back on earth. Back before I was dead. Back before I wanted to be dead. The hazy blurry view was like that of a camera lens unfocused and bleeding red around the corners on an unnatural angle. I remember vague faces one of hers. She was there, not my mother. Not my sister. Not my family, but her.
But now the white room was gone. I was home. I don’t understand?
I don’t understand why? My eyes began to tear up as I looked at the beaten brown door that I hated so much. My life would be so much different had it just been able to lock. My father said he’d fix it countless times but always slacked off on it. Now I was paying his price.
The long doorway in the corner of my bedroom. The streaked wooden floorboards stained with spills and dirt. The wooden floor that creaked and moaned as if enjoying the steps of their owners. The door that would open if you jiggled the handle long enough that couldn’t be fully locked.
And I just lay there. Waiting, on my back. I felt spiders on my skin. I felt vulnerable even as the man. I just waited. I couldn’t move, I was reliving it again. I waited.
Waited for the creak.
Waited for the voice.
“So you aren’t asleep?” No I wasn’t asleep. I wanted to yell at him to go away but my lips wouldn’t move.
He walked through the door, I heard the movement. The floorboards moaned in ecstasy and whispered in my ears the dark truths of the world; but that was honestly the last thing I wanted to hear. He fell to the floor and grabbed the dresser next to my door to steady himself. He took his time getting up. The only thing I could focus on was the sound of something moving in the dark. A creak and step. And then another. And another.
The door groaned open. A shadow moved in the dim light, stepping inside. He made his way to the foot of my bed, sitting on the corner—dirtying my sheets. The stink of cheap booze and an unwashed musk clung to him, I knew he was on the pills my mother took from the way he addressed me as Diana. His ex wife. It was like he couldn’t see it was me instead of her. Maybe he just ignored it, who knows, but right now I wish I wasn’t here.
He swayed slightly, rubbing the bottom of my foot with slow, absent circles. He played with my feet seductively, the tingling feeling exacerbated by my panic and anxiety. It was a dirty pleasurable feeling like a cigarette burn to the skin after a deep drink. The man’s voice slurred. That’s if you can call him a man. To me he felt more like a monster.
“You know…” He paused, like something was caught in his throat. “All I want for the holidays is you, Diana.
I miss you. I miss us, alright?
I’ll give you a night you can’t forget. Or say no to.”
Fingers trailed up my foot. A slow, tickling motion.
Foot to ankle.
Ankle to knee.
Knee to thigh.
And then—
He was on top of me.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
I should have fought back. Should have screamed. But my mind was blank as he got on top of me. He held a hand on my throat it hurt to breathe for a moment as he trailed down my shirt.
All I could think was, ‘At least it’s me and not my little sister’. Like that’s a valid excuse for what he was doing.
His hand ran over my crotch, squeezing. My body jerked, a strangled sound escaping me. It was a low cry. And as I tried to pull away he pushed down on me harder. I assumed he thought it meant something else. Anything but me wanting to get up.
He thought it was pleasure.
So he squeezed harder. Pinned me harder
I told him to stop. I muffled over his hand
I told him again. Louder.
He shoved me down, clamping a hand over my mouth. His weight pinned me, crushing me, suffocating me until I couldn’t breathe. Until my neck turned blue.
And there was nothing I could do to stop him. I could only watch with big teary eyes. It hurt so bad. God it hurt.