The Downward Spiral - 02

The instant the chalice grazed his lips, and the sinister black ichor met his tongue, a profound regret swept over him like a tidal wave. It was as though a red-hot iron rod had plunged into the depths of his throat, an unrelenting torment that refused to yield. But he couldn't break free; he was locked in a macabre dance with the cursed blood. His body quivered and convulsed, yet he couldn't stop himself from swallowing, trapped in a nightmarish trance of his own making.

His senses went haywire, a relentless onslaught of torment—pain, agony, and sheer suffering. It was as if some unseen force was tearing into his very flesh, ripping his muscles apart. Amid this excruciating ordeal, the only thing anchoring him to reality was the chilling, malevolent laughter of the fiend. It echoed dark and twisted, like something out of a horror story.

Had that damned monster tricked him? Seriously, what a total mind game. He felt like his bones were about to snap, just as he downed the last gulp and crumpled to the floor. The chalice? It clinked away.

"You... you monstrous..." He gasped the words out as he crumpled to the floor. His stomach churned, and he spat out a vile black ichor onto the ground. That's when he finally noticed his body. His hands... or what used to be hands? They were gradually transforming into an inky blackness. His fingers contorted at grotesque angles, pain coursing through every snapped joint.

The darkness ascended, originating from his fingers, creeping steadily up his limbs toward his core. It was like a noose tightening around his neck, suffocating him.

"What... the hell have you done to me?" he managed to force out in a shout. His voice... it almost failed him. All he heard in response was laughter—wicked, menacing, and vile.

"You've done it to yourself, Jonathan. You chose the path of revenge. I merely provided you with the means..." came the chilling reply.

"Now, the stage is yours, Jonathan Arc," the creature proclaimed, rising from its throne once more. "Struggle, slay, consume, evolve. Embrace the darkness within, and when it all culminates..." It laughed, a haunting sound that echoed through the chamber. The creature's sickly green skin was the last thing Jonathan glimpsed before his consciousness succumbed to the encroaching blackness.

“What have I done.”

[https://i.imgur.com/ypykdMP.png]

How much time had passed? Hours, days, or even months? He couldn't tell. He'd been ensnared in this unending torment, this ceaseless agony for what felt like an eternity. His mind... it lay in tatters, shattered into a million pieces.

In the beginning, the pain had been unbearable, a relentless assault on his senses. The first few moments had nearly driven him mad. And as the weeks turned into months, his days were filled with nothing but screams and cries of anguish. But then... then it changed. Laughter echoed through the darkness, maddening and perverse.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

And then, even the laughter ceased, leaving behind an eerie void. His consciousness seemed adrift in this desolate emptiness, a realm of nothingness. There was but one persistent presence echoing in his mind: 'Zane.' That single word, that lone name, reverberated relentlessly. It was the only anchor that remained, the sole thought consuming him—what he craved above all else, revenge.

Then... he sensed something, a sensation both foreign and damp. It had been so long that he'd nearly forgotten the feeling... dirt. His eyelids began to part, hesitantly at first, as if awakening from a deep slumber. His vision, initially blurred, gradually adjusted to the dim surroundings. It was dark, though whether it was night or some other time, he couldn't discern. One thing was certain—this wasn't home.

The surroundings were alien, a dense forest cloaked in darkness, with treetops so thick that the moonlight couldn't penetrate. The scent of the earth was unusual, an unsettling hint of sulfur... but how did he recognize that? Actually... how was he able to see so clearly in this impenetrable darkness? It was when he finally dared to glance downward that the shocking truth hit him—this wasn't his body.

His skin had transformed, rough as sandpaper, as black as ink. His limbs were muscular and powerful, his nails twisted into pitch-black claws. And etched onto his torso was an unfamiliar sigil. He couldn't place it, but a gnawing feeling told him its origin—Behemoth.

He ran his hands through his hair, relief washing over him as he realized it was still intact, and no horns had sprouted. Thank the stars... but wait, thank who? What had he been thinking? The Maker was responsible for this, wasn't he? It had to be part of that bastard's plan.

Getting to his feet slowly, he tried to regain his bearings, but then, a sound reached his ears—the sickening crush of something, and the unmistakable scent of fresh blood. His heart raced, though that wasn't the issue. It was the two other sensations that gripped him—hunger, a primal craving unlike anything he'd ever known, as if a wild beast lurked within his belly, growling and snarling for sustenance. His mouth watered at the scent of blood, an oddly sweet aroma that had never enticed him this way before.

His body just... started moving, like, all on its own, step after step. He didn't get why or how, but he couldn't stop. It was like he was being pulled in by that damn delicious scent—wait, delicious? What the heck was going on? Panic set in as he moved faster, the tan leaves under his feet crunching like bones. He'd walked a long way, and seriously, how could he even smell that from this far away? No clue, but it was freaking him out.

The more he trudged forward, the louder that relentless crunching sound echoed through the night. Eventually, he reached the source—a massive boulder blocking his path. Without a second thought, he leaped. He'd never jumped so high, so silently in his life. Gripping the boulder's top edge, he peered to the other side, and what he saw turned his stomach.

Peering over the boulder, he caught sight of a massive creature with its back to him. At first glance, it resembled a dog, but it was unnaturally huge, its muscles almost visible, as if it had no skin at all. Its teeth gleamed razor-sharp, and its eyes burned like fiery orbs in the pitch darkness.

"What the hell..." he mumbled to himself, his heart pounding. But then, he honed in on the relentless crunching sound, and a disturbing reality sank in—the creature was feasting. On what, exactly, he couldn't fathom. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before—a bizarre fusion of scales and humanoid traits. And that scent... sweet and utterly irresistible, driving him to the brink of madness.

His stomach, initially churning with sickness, made a sinister revelation—it wasn't sick; it was hungry, ravenous even. It demanded sustenance, an insatiable craving that twisted within him. "What have I become?" he thought, a wave of panic surging through him. "No, I can't..." But the hunger... it was overwhelming, a force he couldn't resist. He watched in disbelief as his claws elongated, and his teeth, unnoticed until now, morphed into sharp, dangerous fangs.

The creature, still oblivious to his presence, remained engrossed in its grisly feast, devouring its meal with abandon. It hadn't seen him lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment. And that was its fatal error.

From the heart of the pitch darkness, two ghastly green eyes flared, and a sinister figure surged forward. Razor-sharp teeth tore into the dog's body, and its fangs clamped down on the creature's neck, rending flesh and blood. It was a gruesome display, as the dark being tore into its prey, and it feasted.