"No!"
I stomp the ball of my shoe onto the black speck on the floor. I twist it, twist it to tear the bastard apart. No more spiders. No more, please. Let this be the last one.
Slowly, shaking, I lift my foot and move it off to reveal bits of black in a yellow-brown smear. It's dead. Okay. It's dead, just as it's supposed to be. Do not come back to life, you hear me? Stay dead. Stay.
It's staying dead.
I can finally breathe again. In and out and in and out. Alright. Now to get out of here. But I don't know where I am. I think I should backtrack my steps to the psych's door, hope like hell she won't be there to question me any more, and take the right turn this time. I was supposed to go right. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I wanted to get away so badly that direction didn't matter.
I turn around to --
The hallway is black.
The hallway is black with spiders.
The floor, the walls, the ceiling. A continuous coating of spiders, millions of spiders, crawling across each other, digging in and out of the swarm, dangling by invisible strands of web.
The mass crackles, rustles, as countless chitinous limbs brush and rub against each other.
There is no end to them. No white at the end of the tunnel. Only an infinite, all-consuming sea of spiders.
And it’s coming towards me.
In the blink of an eye, with haunting clarity, I feel all complex thought slip away - and then I'm already running.
Step follows step. Turn follows turn. Featureless hallway follows another, but the spiders never get quieter. I glance back and they’re no further from me than they were before. Maybe even less.
I try to run faster, but I can’t. This is as fast as I can go. And I don’t think I can even keep this pace much longer - lactic acid burns my legs and dry air scrapes my lungs.
I take another turn -- fuck. I stumble to a halt before I hit the opposing wall. A dead end. No doors, no windows, nothing. No way out.
I turn around to face the spider sea. It slows down, probably to savor my horror as I would with prey of my own. There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do but watch and wait for them to reach me and crawl all over me and --
Then what would they do? Would they eat me? There’s no way they could. I’m simply too big. I know it’s a big swarm, but --
Why is it a big swarm?
Spiders don’t move in swarms. They’re lone hunters. And they don’t go after humans, they fear them. With good reason, too. It’s effortlessly easy for a human to squish a spider. Why would all these spiders ignore that and run to their deaths? It doesn’t make sense.
And that’s why... it isn’t real.
Of course. It’s just another hallucination. I'm still sick, I just happened to feel a bit better today. This is as fake as the blood at the supermarket. I just have to… understand that. No matter how many spiders I see or hear or soon feel on my body, they aren’t real. There’s no danger and I don’t have to be afraid. And even if they were real, I wouldn’t have to be afraid - like said, they’re just spiders, and they can’t bring any serious harm to a human like me. Maybe somewhere else, they could, but there are no spiders in Hojo that could give you anything worse than a rash.
So it’s clear. I don’t have to be afraid.
...I shouldn’t be afraid.
I shouldn’t be afraid of something that poses no danger whatsoever to me.
I shouldn’t be cowering like prey at the sight of creatures thousands of times smaller than me.
I shouldn’t let a delusion control the way I think and act!
The spiders draw nearer, only a meter away now. I step back. No! You have to stay where you are. Don’t give in to that irrational emotion. You’re better than that. The Bringer is better than that.
Three quarters of a meter. I take another step back. Disgusting. Disgusting. You’re a coward. You’re weak. You’re not fit to be the Bringer. The next time you meet HIM, HE will see this in your memories and HE will reject you.
Half a meter. My foot lifts off the ground, but I stamp it back down. No. I’m stronger. My willpower, my resolve, my loyalty to HIM, they’re stronger. There is nothing in this world more important than HIM.
I hear the spiders above me. I don’t look up - in fact, I close my eyes. Focus. I shudder, but keep my footing. I will persevere.
The first scraping I feel at the tip of my shoe makes me flinch, but I keep my stance. The scraping advances, launching the same response time and time again, but I don't move. I'm doing it. Even though they're surrounding my foot and climbing to my ankles and -- and slipping under my pantleg and crawling up my shins. I just harden my skin. They can't do anything. They can't hurt me.
They reach the underside of my knees. Now I'm fighting against my reflexes, too. Still, I stand my ground. They're coming up, up, up, soon they'll be in my fucking crotch, oh fuck, but I gotta bear that too…
Think of HIM. Just think of HIM. Think of the prize that awaits you. Think of the terror if you don't succeed. The consequences. No ascension. No immortality. Death.
Or, no, no, don't think about death, that's gonna make you more stressed. Think about ascension. The body you'll have. It won't feel anything you don't want it to feel. You can make it feel only bliss, you can make it beautiful beyond comprehension, deadlier than any weapon. You don't even have to stay in a body - you can detach yourself and exist independent of anything material. Thinking without a brain, like HIM. No pain can reach you there, no itch, no spiders in places they really shouldn't be, no overwhelming urge to scratch and swipe them off, no indescribable discomfort, no violation of your bodily rights, no armada of little legs creeping up your hips, waist, chest, neck -- they're so fast now, they --
A scream. Collapsing on floor. Fingers scratching everywhere. Convulsing. Eyes open. No spiders.
Nothing crawling on the skin. Scratching slowly ends.
No bristling of little legs. Only wheezing lungs.
No sea of black. Just clean white.
Did… Did I…
No. No, it wasn’t me. I never gave in. I never lost control, someone else pushed me down!
But there's no one else here. No one else it could have been.
And replaying it all back, I remember kneeling before the fall. I remember raising my hands, raising them to my arms and face, scratching. I remember screaming. I remember the exact moment HE stopped existing to me.
No. I…
I failed?
I failed.
I'm not fit for HIM.
I'm not…
I cover my mouth. Shallow, terrified breaths echo back.
I'm not fit for HIM. HE won't make me the Bringer. I won't ascend. I won't be immortal. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to --
A stinging in my lungs. Is it happening now? Did my body fail me? Am I going to be dead, is my life going to be over? Am I going to lose my thought, my comprehension, my ability to process what I'm experiencing? Will I experience eternal unfiltered existence in nothing, be a soul without a vessel to make sense of all that comes or rather doesn't?
Wait. No. I think I'm hyperventilating, I think that's what that stinging is. I should breathe more slowly, more deeply.
But what does that matter? Sooner or later, I'm going to die anyway. Living is just putting off the inevitable. Finite pleasure is nothing against infinite pain. And what pleasure would there even be? What pleasure have you had in the past… ever that would justify the constant everyday emptiness in your heart and the dread scratching the back of your brain each time you make the mistake of sinking deeper into your thoughts?
The sting is getting worse. I force myself to inhale longer, exhale longer - it's like choking at first, but I know it will become better. If I can make things better, I should, no matter how pointless it is in the long run.
Pointless. Breathing gets harder again. How am I supposed to stay calm and in control with this guillotine hanging above my neck?
Now they're sobs. Tears are leaking out of my eyes. I'm crying, crying like a little brat. But it's not like there's much of a difference. I've just found out that I'm going to die and I haven't yet found the way to pretend to myself that I won't. Of course I'm crying. Of course I'm panicking. I'm seeing the cold truth of life. I'm seeing how bad things really are, and there is no comfort. There's nothing I can do but cry.
…
“Sir?”
Someone spoke. I quiet down. I guess I’d been quieter for a while. I don’t remember. I don’t remember how long I’ve lain here or how long ago I stopped sobbing.
“Hey, you there! Are you alright?”
It’s coming from behind me. There are steps approaching from the same direction. I think he’s talking to me.
A part of me says there’s no point in answering and another disagrees. I think things will only get more complicated if I don’t answer, so I better.
“Yes,” I say. My throat feels sore. I’m thirsty. I’m tired. I should go home. There I can drink freely and rest without being bothered.
I get up, first to my knees and then to my feet. I wipe the salt from my eyes and turn to the voice.
It's a man. Darker-skinned. Expression of worry and confusion. Casual clothing. Though I guess they all had casual clothing. I can't know if he works here or not.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"Yes," I repeat. "I just… need to go home."
"Are you sure you can get there?"
I pause. How do I get home again?
Right. The bus. Abe gave me the money again. I'm supposed to take the bus.
"Yeah," I answer. Speech is becoming more natural again.
"Do you know the way out?"
I pause again. I don't. I have no idea where in the building I am. But he does.
I build the sentence that expresses my request and speak it. "Can you show me?"
He nods. "This way."
I walk up to him with the gait of a living corpse, and he begins to lead me through the corridors. Part of me flinches with each turn, still expecting to find more spiders, but gradually I come to internalize how none of it was real. Not that this feels very real, either.
Eventually, we arrive at a stairway, though I don't think it's the one I came from. It seems more like a fire escape. But as long as it gets me out of here, which the green sign above suggests, it's perfectly fine with me.
The man still sticks with me, though, leading me down the stairs while periodically glancing back to see that I'm still there. Like a mother duck checking all her ducklings are still following. But I don't mind. I think I like it. As long as he's guiding me, I don't have to think for myself.
Unfortunately, though, the stairs soon run out, and we arrive at a short hallway leading to a windowed door. The man escorts me even there, but once he opens the door, it seems our time together has come to an end.
"Are you gonna be fine from here?" he still asks, but if I said no, I think he'd call for some other help.
I think I'm gonna be fine, anyway. Well, in terms of getting home. Mentally… I don't think I'll ever be fine again.
I convince him that I can take it from here. I even thank him. He nods and watches me take the last steps through the door.
"Take care," he says, and leaves the way we came.
Once he's gone, I turn away from the building and take in my new surroundings.
It's a small parking lot. Yeah, that makes sense, employees need to park their cars, and some patients, too, if they have their life together enough to be able to drive.
No people, though. The only life I can immediately see seems to be the grass and young birch trees planted in the space between rows. The trees' leaves flutter in the soft wind, reflecting the sunlight falling from the mostly-clear sky. I know for a fact that I've seen it thousands of times before, but somehow in this moment, it feels brand new.
It's like there is no background noise. Everything I hear - the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the traffic of the town - feel like they're distinct, purposeful noises on top of complete silence.
It feels unreal, but it's the opposite. This is true reality. The reality in which people's lives end, and mine is no exception.
What prolonged psychosis made me think any different? HE promised me eternal life, and I still have no doubts about HIS ability to grant it, but in hindsight, it's obvious I was never deserving of it. I couldn't even finish high school. I couldn't bear just three years of idiots. And my fear… my fear of spiders. Things that can't hurt me in any way. It's laughable. And lastly…
The one thing I had left to do, the final step, and I couldn't do it. Weeks of trying, no progress. The feelings would not go away. The attachment. The exception to the rule. The fatal mistake. Him.
Even now, I can't hate him. I can't blame him. I just see his big blue eyes and his fluffy white tail and I'm declawed. The hands that would kill can only embrace. The predator is gone.
And that proves the predator is not me.
So, what now? I look ahead and all I see is death. The only moment that matters. Anything prior is only waiting. Dreading. Watching the countdown of the clock. Knowing there's no way out. There's no way out, the abyss will come. Life will be taken away. Sight, sound, touch, thought and understanding. Nothing but raw existence and the utter inability to -- it's coming. It's coming, all the time, every second, every moment, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die --
Sharp air scratches my throat. I'm breathing very hard. I'm… panicking, panicking again. I just want to curl into a ball and -- but what will that do, I'm helpless --
The first sobs bring with them shame. Wounding of the pride. I know it's all meaningless now, but the instinct is right in that this isn't the best place for this. I should go… right. I was already going home. I should focus on doing that for now. At home, I can have this breakdown in peace.
I wipe away the moisture in my eyes and sniff back the thinning snot. Hoping it isn't too obvious that I've cried, I navigate to the front of the building and walk into the shelter of the bus stop. Through its dirty glass wall, I stare at the end of the street and stand motionless in wait.
Car after car emerges, approaches and passes by. After some dozen, a longer vehicle appears. I squint until its number becomes legible. 20. That's the one.
I raise my hand. The bus answers with its blinker, and I tuck that hand in my pocket. I realize how this process has become automatic in my mind and no longer requires conscious thought to execute. Something about that is a bit comforting - despite this world-shattering realization, I can still perform everyday functions. I'm not utterly helpless.
The feeling strengthens as I manage to enter the bus and pay for my ticket like any other time, but the knowledge of death still looming above deflates any optimism that could arise. As there are no free seats, I grab onto a pole and stay standing, and the bus nudges into motion.
With a blank mind, I watch the numerous buildings and trees go by and listen to the hum of the machinery underneath. Its pitch changes with the speed, becoming the lowest whenever the bus stops to pick up or let out some other passengers.
There are men, there are women, there are old people, there are children, there are Hojoans and people of other ancestries - but really, they're all the same. Human beings going about their daily lives, unbothered by the fact they're guaranteed to die one day.
I still don't understand. How? How do they do it? Are they in such denial? Do they simply not understand it? Or do they all put their hopes in there being an afterlife?
I look back at the windowed doors in front of me - this time for my reflection rather than the view outside. It's too faint to tell if my face still shows signs of having cried. My expression is blank, even soulless. To anyone else, I'd be just another passenger, another human.
But when I see that face, I know there is no human underneath. There is a being that kills humans and eats their flesh. A being to whom a gutted corpse is a sight of irresistible beauty. A being that lusts to hurt, to eviscerate, to consume. Whose mouth waters at these words alone.
And yet, that being cowers away from tiny eight-legged creatures. All its wrath fizzles away when it sees a little cat. It simply can’t seem to brush away its outdated emotions, wrestling with its unreasonable anger and fear on a daily basis.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
It’s too daring to be prey and too frightened to be predator. What is it, then?
What am I?
Familiar sights beyond the window interrupt my thoughts. My stop is coming soon. I press the stop button, and soon enough, the bus drops me off.
I stand in silence as it closes its doors behind me and drives away. The smell of its exhaust fumes makes my nose wrinkle, but the breeze soon clears the air.
Well. Back to walking.
As I head homeward, the question of what I'll do once there burns harder and harder. Well, I guess there are a couple things I know I'll be doing. I need to break this all to HIM, for one. I should tell HIM everything, thank HIM for all that HE has given me and hope HE takes it well. I should start working on the plan to bring all those Helixian items back to the cave HE revealed to me. I could bring that Helixian textbook I was working on, too, just so that the next guy can have it a bit easier. And it isn't smart for me to keep proof. I guess that also means… throwing away the tongues. Well, it makes sense. A failure deserves no trophies.
I suppose I shouldn't go killing any more people, either.
My step falters. That's… a sad thought. If I knew my latest murder would be my last, I really would've -- no, wait. I wasn't even there for it. HE was the one that really killed her.
Such a cruel twist of fate. One day I think my ascension couldn’t be more confirmed… and a few weeks later, I realize it was never mine to begin with.
My throat constricts and my eyes moisten again, but no, no, I don’t want to cry. I’m just too tired. I just want to go home.
I pocket my hands and continue walking.
A shadow slides over the street. I look up to see thick, gray clouds gathering. What, is it going to rain now, too?
A tap on my shoulder answers that question. With a sigh, I pull my hood over my head and pick up my pace.
The roofs of the surrounding buildings soon begin clattering. The asphalt gains dark spot after dark spot. But they look… strange. Rust-colored. It’s almost like...
I raise a hand, palm up.
A splat of vivid red appears.
I look up. The skies have turned a dark red. I look around. No people, no cars. No sounds but the tapping of the rain.
Is this another hallucination? Blood rain? Blood rain feels familiar. Where do I know that fr…
Oh, no.
Oh, Gods.
On the hour of HIS arrival
these signs shall be seen across the land.
Predators and prey alike shall witness:
The sun shall cower,
The sky shall rain blood,
The earth shall roar
The ground rumbles, and the asphalt splits open right in front of me, forming a deep gash in the earth. I jump to the right before the expanding crack reaches me.
No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen. The probability of something going this wrong is zero.
And the trees shall bow to HIM.
Rustle, crackle, snap, snap. The birches growing along the opposite sidewalk contort, their bark bulging and splitting open as the trunks bend in sharp angles. The bright green leaves crumple up and dim into taupe as the branches twist to touch the ground. All the other trees around seem to share the same fate.
Dread shall fill the hearts of the prey, but the predators shall rejoice.
I’m not rejoicing. I’m not rejoicing! I’m terrified! This is not how this was supposed to go!
From the body of HIS Bringer,
HE shall rise.
HE shall free HIS children,
shatter the shackles of their imperfect bodies
and create their vessels anew.
The Helixian Kingdom will rise again,
its reign now eternal,
on the day of HIS coming,
the day of Ascension.
Prophecies 4
The Day of Ascension
The earthquake surges, throwing me onto the bloodstained ground. Beyond the buildings, beyond the horizon, something rises, something gargantuan and black as coal.
A discordant screech splits the air, a noise my very organs wince at. As soon as it ends, other screams begin - screams of humans. Screams of prey.
The quake calms just a bit, but it’s enough for me to dare move again. I scramble my way to the nearest cover, a bunch of mangled trees. I can’t let myself be seen. Shrieks still sounding all around me, I peek at the giant through the trees’ branches.
Height is hard to estimate at this distance, but it has to be at least thirty meters tall. The red mist around it obscures some detail, but its silhouette shows a humanoid torso on top of… well, I can’t really see the lower body, but it seems serpentine given the stance and the tail whipping the air behind the giant’s back. Its head looks wormlike, ending in a clump of tentacles. Considering the giant seems to be picking up one human after another and dropping them into its head - shortly after which the scream is silenced - it feels safe to assume there is a mouth somewhere in there.
I can’t look anymore. I crouch and bury my face in my hands, ignoring the blood smeared onto my skin. Sooner or later, I’m going to see the same fate as those people. Hiding won’t help. HE won't leave a single sheep unbutchered.
But, maybe… maybe if I can bring HIM the scriptures, HIS old stony home… maybe HE will spare me! I’ve been so useful, surely HE will s-spare me…
This is desperate, this is pathetic, but it's the only way I may be able to survive, so I have to give it a shot. I have to get home. Without HIM spotting me on the way there.
As another gut-shaking screech echoes throughout the city, I get up on my feet and begin to creep onward. Just keep going, just keep going. There’s not that much left to go.
The pounding of the rain and the screams of the giant’s victims are the only sounds I get to hear as I make my way closer and closer to my home street. The views I once thought safe and comfy have been twisted into nightmarish reflections of their past selves. Cracks and fissures riddle the earth, forcing me to delegate part of my precious attention from watching the giant to watching my step. All grass has wilted, and even the blood-soaked houses look like they’ve been abandoned for decades. The smell of something burning lingers in the air.
This really is the apocalypse. This is what I'd been waiting for all this time. This was the ultimate reward. And here I am, absolutely terrified. Shaking like a mouse, scuttling about like a rat. I’ve never, never felt this… helpless.
Lungs burning and clothes utterly drenched in blood, I finally arrive at my home street. I hate how open it has to be. I keep to the right side of the street, sprinting from the cover of one house to another, eyes pinned to the giant in the distance each time. It looks like it’s too preoccupied to notice me. Maybe it doesn’t even care. Maybe I’m just another sheep among the others to HIM now. Maybe HE won't even acknowledge the fossil in my hands when I try to speak to HIM…
But I have to believe HE will. I have to believe in this plan. It's the only thing I can do.
At long last, my home comes to view. Only a few more houses --
Wait. The giant. It's… gone?
It was there just a few seconds ago. It couldn't have moved --
"HIGH PRIEST."
Oh Gods. Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods.
"FACE ME."
One instinct has frozen me in place while another screams at me to flee, but a third demands I turn around.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I’m so afraid. But HE has given me an order, and as HIS servant, HIS high priest, I simply must obey.
With stiff joints and slow steps, I turn around, preparing myself for HIS searing stare.
But no one could possibly be prepared.
Two eyes amidst countless squirming tendrils. Burning red sclerae. Piercing yellow irides. Pupils like pinpricks, windows to the blackest void. In my sight, they're no larger than the fist of an out-extended hand, and yet it feels like they’re the only thing I see.
”WHAT AN ENTERTAINING SIGHT,” HE says. The monstrous voice reverberates in my skull, rattling my very brain. “ONCE BRINGER-TO-BE, NOW SCUTTLING RODENT.”
I’m frozen. I can’t even breathe. What do I do? What do I --
Of course! I-I’m still HIS servant, so I should act like it!
I drop to my hands and knees so fast that they’re sure to bruise - if I live that long. I bow my head as far down as my body allows.
“F-forgive me!” I yell. “Forgive me, my lord, I-I-I was simply so afraid, afraid of YOUR might that I ran without thinking --”
HE laughs. I gag on my words. HE is laughing. Every exhalation is a punch to the chest. HE has never laughed at me before. HE has never --
“YOU STILL THINK YOUR SERVITUDE MATTERS TO ME?”
HE laughs again, then --
A deafening thud shakes the earth. I fall on my back and sit up - HE has struck HIS fist down on the street, which has naturally shattered the asphalt caught underneath.
“WAKE FROM THIS DREAM OF YOURS AND SEE THINGS AS THEY ARE. YOU HAVE BEEN REPLACED.”
Replaced? Right, yes, in order for HIM to ascend, there has to have been someone that acted as Bringer. But who? HE was in my basement. No one else knew about that room. Well, knew that anyone had the key and used it. So who could have been HIS Bringer? No one I live with is anywhere near a predator. Did someone just break in to steal valuables and somehow found his way to the room? Was he so perfect a predator that HE noticed him and guided him there? Or am I… am I really just so… easily replaced?
HE laughs again. I wish HE didn’t. No noise I’ve ever heard in my life has caused me this much pain.
“YOU WISH TO KNOW WHO HAS TAKEN YOUR PLACE,” HE says, a smile in HIS voice. “I WILL SHOW YOU, LITTLE LAMB. YOU ARE SURE TO RECOGNIZE HER.”
Her?
HE brings HIS hands - human-like, with long, golden claws - to HIS head, grabs the edges of the cluster of tentacles and pulls it back like a hood, revealing…
Her.
The golden mask grins with sharp teeth and beastlike features, but the likeness is indisputable.
Joanna.
“CORRECT, HIGH PRIEST.”
But… h-how? The Bringer must be human! He can’t be a ghost, and he can’t be a she, either! And she’s not even alive anymore! Not as a human, not as a ghost - I made her disappear!
HE laughs again. As if this was all so trivial.
“YOU WERE OUTWITTED,” HE says. “HAD YOU BEEN ANY SHARPER, YOU MAY HAVE REALIZED THE GHOST HAD ESCAPED YOU.”
But --
“SHE THEN DISCOVERED ME, AND I DISCOVERED HER - HER HATRED, HER BITTERNESS, HER CRUELTY. I WILLED HER AS MY BRINGER AND FOUND AN ALTERNATIVE PATH TO ASCENSION.”
Could it really be…
“WHILE YOU...”
HE leans forward, the metal of HIS face twisting into an expression of fury. The instinct of a prey animal jerks me back in terror.
“ALL THIS TIME, YOU HAVE BEEN WEAK. EVERY DAY YOU HAVE SPENT EITHER IDLING AT HOME OR WANDERING THE STREETS WITHOUT AIM. YOU HAVE FEARED AND LOVED THINGS OTHER THAN YOUR GOD, AND STILL YOU EXPECT TO BE REWARDED?”
A razor-sharp hiss shoots through HIS teeth, spraying me with droplets of blood-mixed saliva.
“PUNISHMENT IS WHAT YOU DESERVE.”
Punishment? No, oh Gods, no, not punishment. I-I can’t even begin to imagine what punishment would be like in the apocalypse if simply being alive is hell. My eyes flick around HIS body in search of the parts that HE might use. Will HE grind me into paste with those jaws? Will HE crush me like a bug with those hands? Will HE trample me with the many tubular legs of HIS worm-like hindbody? Will HE skewer me on the spearlike spikes on HIS back? Will HE ensnare me with the tentacles of HIS head, back or tail and use a few others to tear me limb from limb?
No, no, you idiot! Don’t give HIM ideas! Instead… just… beg! Just beg! There’s nothing else you can do!
I throw myself onto the bloody street again. "No, my lord, please! Forgive me! Forgive my cowardice! Please accept me as a predator!"
"SILENCE, VERMIN!"
Another shockwave startles me back upright on my knees. HE struck HIS fist down again.
“YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO FEAST ALONGSIDE ME AND MY CHILDREN!”
HIS maw opens wide for an earth-shaking roar, exposing HIS throat and the horrors within. A sea of spikes lines the insides of HIS gullet, largely stained red with some torn human body parts still stuck to it here and there. There’s no doubt that the people those belonged to all experienced one of the worst ways to die.
“YOU SHALL BE DEVOURED, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER PREY.”
“No, please...” I fall to my hands. My voice is a whine, a sob. But I know it won’t affect HIM. Predators don’t know pity, less does their god. “I-I trained my body for YOU! YOU know I’d make for an excellent --”
“YOUR PITIFUL BODY IS NO DIFFERENT FROM A BIRD-PECKED CARCASS TO ME!”
But I… I trained every day. I ate only the right things. I… I know I cut it a few times, but that was for discipline...
HE raises HIS head. “I HAVE SPOKEN ENOUGH.”
No, no, I can’t let this conversation end. I can’t let HIM…
But it’s not up to me, is it? When HE decides something must happen, it will - especially now. My fate’s already sealed. I’m gonna die, and not just die. HE is sure to make it excruciatingly painful.
HE… why am I still giving HIM this honor in my mind? Why do I hold HIM in such high regard? I know my death isn’t fair. I know this is bullshit. I have every right to be pissed off. I have every right to reject HIM.
But as much as my gut wants to get up on my feet and face my death with pride, I can’t. I know my shaking legs wouldn’t support me, and I know that any resistance will only motivate HIM to kill me slower.
There’s nothing to do but submit. Die like the coward I am.
HE chuckles. I take back what I said about HIS regular laughter. This is a thousand times worse.
“YOU EXPECT TO DIE BY MY HAND, HIGH PRIEST?”
What does that mean…? What the hell does that mean?
“YOU ARE NOT WORTH THAT HONOR.”
I notice motion in the fog at HIS feet. Vaguely humanoid forms, somewhat taller than me, appear behind the veil.
“YOU WILL DIE THE SAME AS THE OTHER SHEEP.”
The creatures emerge from the haze. They resemble some kind of human-canine hybrids with glowing, yellow eyes and skin like that of burn victims. They bare their sharp teeth in grins of savage elation. They are the predators, and it’s safe to say that they’re rejoicing.
A stray gleam beside one of them catches my eye. The monster’s clawed hand clutches a knife. One that looks suspiciously similar to mine.
I feel my flank and realize my scabbard isn’t there. When did I…
When I entered the clinic. And I forgot to get it back before I left. But how did…
I take a closer look at the knife-bearer’s face. It’s the receptionist.
That fucking bastard.
“MY WOLVES ARE READY TO ATTACK AT MY COMMAND,” HE says, drawing my attention back to HIM - and making me realize I was still a lot happier looking at anything else. “BUT BEFORE I LET THEM LOOSE, THERE IS ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT TO MAKE.”
What?
My feet hurt. Why do my feet hurt? They’re aching, cramping… itching? Something weird is happening to the toes… ow, ow, it’s getting worse by the second! They’re changing shape, swelling somehow, squeezing up against the insides of my shoes, I gotta get those off --
Just in time, they begin to decay on their own, blackening, as if burning without heat or light. As soon as they become weak enough, my lengthening feet rip them apart, and whatever’s left quickly falls off, revealing what’s inside.
Sheep hooves. Black-wooled.
Something coils around my chest too fast to resist. Black, shining, a hint of wetness - one of HIS tendrils.
It yanks my trembling body off the ground, then places me onto my new feet. As HE slowly lets go, I’m made to figure out how to balance with them. Somehow, I manage, but… this hurts. This simply hurts.
I try to cry out one last time for HIM to spare me, but the only thing that comes out is… a bleat.
“THERE.” HIS grin widens even further - I didn’t think that was possible - and HE stands upright to HIS full height. HE is far, far too big.
“NOW RUN!” HE roars. “RUN, SHEEP, RUN!”
The creatures at HIS feet bark and leap forward. Fuck!
I turn around, stumbling, and somehow manage to start running. But where am I gonna go? The house? Sure, whatever! Fuck it! It's not gonna hold off these hell-beasts for any longer than a few seconds, but maybe, just maybe, those few seconds will help somehow.
My running speed is taking me by surprise, though - it feels a lot faster than my usual top speed. Maybe these sheep-feet were an enhancement rather than a handicap. Did HE choose to do that to make the chase more fair and therefore more interesting? Just like I gave Michi a head start… the irony is not lost on me.
I'm almost at the house now. I shove my hand in my pocket and dig out the key, clutching it with my life. Will I be able to make the turn with this speed, though? Not to mention the street's still slippery from all the blood. I have to slow down, even if it goes against every primal instinct in my brain…
I manage to wrangle control over my body from them enough for a small deceleration, though it plunges my heart into overdrive and threatens to eject my entire stomach through my mouth from stress alone. I reach the house and make the fateful turn - come on, please, yes, I made it! Though this speed is still --
Realizing I won't be able to stop in time, I simply leap onto the front door and brace for impact.
Crash. Fucking hell! But there's no time to process the pain. I grab the handle and shove the key in the lock. It opens, the door gives way, I slip through, I slam it shut - or I hope so, at least, but there's no time to check - and run a few steps deeper in the house and...
Wait. What the hell do I do now?
"Wh-what's going on?"
I turn to the living room. Abe stares at me from the couch, eyes wide in alarm.
The question is a valid one for this scenario, but the way he said it, the way he's just sitting on the couch - he doesn't know what's going outside. How the fuck doesn't he know? No one could fail to notice the fucking earthquakes and screaming! Is he that oblivious?
"Look outside!" I snap at him, and he seems surprised, even offended - fucking moron, you're not gonna last a minute in this new world…
At least he’s listening. He’s gotten up and hurried to the window. I look to it myself to see what he sees --
What?
“...I don’t see anything,” Abe says, still on edge. The crazy thing is that I have little reason to doubt him.
Instead of the hellscape I was running through just moments ago, the view through the window is completely normal - sunshine, blue sky, green grass, idyllic houses. No puddles of blood, no red mist. No barking of voracious man-beasts, only quiet sounds of faraway traffic and birdsong.
I look at my feet. No wool, no hooves. Just the shoes I always wear, their heels planted firmly on the ground. No bloodstains on my clothes. Just a little dust.
No, this has to be a trick. A ruse to give me a false sense of security right before a pack of demons busts through the door and rips me apart.
“What were you talking about?”
I look back at Abe. He’s waiting for an explanation, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. If those monsters are coming, it’s not like I have anywhere to go. Maybe I can flee from upstairs using the tree next to my room, but chances are that there are already more bloodthirsty beasts waiting for me on the ground. Coming here was useless. But equally useless would have been to keep running.
Gods. I bury my face in my hands and close my eyes. Maybe all I can do is just lie down and let them come. Hope that my death is swift.
“Red?”
I can hear him get off the couch and come closer, but there’s no point in answering. In moments’ time, that door will break and my life will be over.
“Are you okay?”
Shut up. Just let me die.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong…”
I just breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out…
Nothing’s happening.
Aren’t they coming…?
I open my eyes. Slowly, slowly, I let my hands slide off my face and look around. Abe’s still there. The sunshine is still there. My shoes are still there.
“Red?”
I take another moment just to breathe. On each breath, I expect all hell to break loose, but it never does.
I swallow, throat dry, and stand up straight. With mechanical motions, I make my way to the kitchen window and look to the yard. No monsters. Just the same kind of view as the living room window.
I think… I think this is real.
I pull out a chair and sit down.
It seems like this whole apocalypse thing was just another hallucination. Just like the spiders back at the clinic. And that supermarket massacre from a few days ago…
Dammit. What is this illness? Physically, I feel just fine, but clearly I can’t be well if I keep hallucinating. Can a sickness like this really exist? If it does, it has to be extremely rare. Where could I have caught it? What was I doing right before all these symptoms began? What things did I interact with?
Wait.
Could it be…
It has to be.
Everything adds up. Everything points to it.
Oh, I’ve been so stupid… how could I have missed something so obvious?
Well, it doesn’t matter now. I think I know how to fix it.
I get off my chair and open a drawer. I see the kitchen knife. It will do.
As I give it a quick rinse in the sink, Abe takes a few more cautious steps closer. “What are you… doing?”
I dry the knife in a towel, then turn to him with a smile on my face. His expression goes from worry to horror as I lift the knife up to my temple. A hollow chuckle escapes my throat.
“I’m gonna cure myself.”