I tremble, my vision flickering, the world spinning around me. Before me stands a woman, black blood flowing through her body, and I collapse before her. My steps are unsteady, my sense of balance shattered. I stretch my arms out in front of me, hands bracing against the cold ground, and I hear the persistent dragging of a chain, footsteps in sync with the clinking sound. A shiver runs down my spine, and before my eyes, everything fades to gray. I am before Viena, but my exhausted eyes can barely see her as I try to stumble past. My legs wobble beneath me, my back hunched. The footsteps grow louder, and the rasping voice follows. Slow, but still faster than me. Fear grips me, my body screams in pain, unable to keep up with the demands I place on it.

I glance forward, my fingers clawing into the rough stones, attempting to pull myself forward, past Viena. I must survive. I have to. My pale blue eyes are clouded, nails cracked, knees scraped. I refuse to die like this—not now. I crawl, no longer walking, but dragging myself, uncaring of how pathetic I look. What good is pride when I am dead? My legs tremble with each movement, the steps drawing nearer.

I crawl like a helpless infant, pathetic, but survival is all that matters. I trip, my head growing heavy and dull. My mind begins to slip, my body teetering on the brink of collapse. My head threatens to hit the ground, my chest to follow, but I catch myself just in time, my left arm falling across Viena’s still-closed eyes, my fingers digging into the stone beneath me, veins bulging in my hand. I move, but my scream tears through the air. The pain is overwhelming, far worse than I expected. Blood—warm, sticky—pours from my body, and yet, I keep trying to crawl forward. But my body betrays me, and I tumble sideways, hitting the cold ground. Reality crashes back into me.

I look at my left hand—no longer supportive. I scream again, eyes wide, breath ragged, spit dribbling from my mouth. My left arm is crimson, the bone shattered beneath the flesh. I scream until my throat is raw, tears streaming down my face. The agony radiates from the wound, sharper than any of the pain in my chest or head. Blood continues to pour, thick and red. I look at Viena, my hand still resting across her face, red blood staining her skin. She lies motionless, and I recoil, a mere step away from her. What has happened to me? Not long ago, I believed myself to be a god. Before that, I killed another with brown blood, and before that, I endured nearly a lifetime of torment. And now, here I am—screaming, weeping in terror, and missing an arm.

I raise my gaze, my body propped up by my right elbow. My weak, fading blue eyes meet the gaze of a man smiling down at me. Dark brown eyes gleam in the dark, black hair framing his face, a mouth smeared with red. I shudder before him, and at the same time, I hate myself for it. I clutch my arm, blood spurting out, and he catches it. His face reddens as he drinks it in, the deep crimson staining his lips. His brown tongue emerges, and I can feel the sharp pain in my limb, yet I can do nothing but watch.

"Different blood... delicious blood!" His voice is a low growl as he stares at me, his eyes full of hunger and insatiable greed. I am nothing but a trembling vessel of terror. His gaze penetrates my very soul, and I can only stare back in horror. He moves toward me, and before I can react, his sharp teeth sink into my left arm. I collapse completely, my elbow unable to support the weight of my body. His knee strikes my stomach, the pain deep and unrelenting. I cough, blood spilling from my mouth, struggling to breathe.

Tears blur my vision, and I cannot fight back. The brown creature, his filthy feet pressing into my chest, pins me to the ground. Pain radiates from my joints, my body twisted beneath him. His teeth gnaw at my arm, tearing through my flesh like an animal scavenging meat. The difference, however, is that I can feel every agonizing second of it—every gnaw, every tear, every drop of blood that escapes me.

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I scream, I beg, but no one hears. Only the grotesque image of the brown creature devouring me remains. A goblin-like monstrosity and I am his prey. I try to think, to strategize, to regain control. I attempt to use the blood’s minerals, to manipulate my surroundings, to extinguish the light and drown him in darkness. But it is futile. Nothing works. I sweat, cold and clammy, unable to summon even the smallest spark of power. I strain against him, my legs desperate to push him off, but he sits so heavily on me that I cannot move. His weight holds me down, and I am helpless.

I stretch my arm through his mouth, my eyes widening as a grin begins to form on my face. My mutilated arm moves, as if it never existed, slipping through the body of the brown creature before me. He stares back at me, equally stunned, blood dripping from his cheeks as he watches my red, divine blood spill. I clench my right fist, tightening my arm, gathering all my anger, all my strength, and all my hatred into one final strike. I look into his deep brown eyes, the disbelief clear on his face as my fist moves faster and faster toward his jaw.

A grim smile curls on my lips, my oily, long hair dripping over my cold, sweat-slicked forehead. For the first time, I scream, my voice raw with fury: “Die, you bastard!” My fist collides with the side of his face, the impact reverberating through my bones as I feel his head snap to the side. My knuckles ache with the force of the blow, and yet a twisted laugh escapes me. My grin widens. But then, my eyes go wide in horror.

He spits out my blood, my divine, red blood, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of something—disbelief, maybe—before my body is flooded with the raw surge of pain that only comes from defeat. My breath catches, my fists tremble, my vision blurring. His eyes are now filled with malicious curiosity as he watches me, his face still coated in my blood, as though it is some strange prize. And before I can react, he grabs my right arm and twists it with sickening ease, a loud crack echoing in the silence.

I scream. It is the loudest sound I’ve made since I lost my left hand, the sound of something breaking that should never break. My face contorts in agony, my body trembling, my vision darkening at the edges. I collapse, my body no longer responding, my head meeting the cold ground with a thud. I cannot feel my arm anymore, just the broken fragments of it splintering inside me. A sharp, terrible pain spreads through me, and all I can do is writhe, helpless to stop it.

It is the worst thing I have ever felt. It is worse than any torture, worse than the things I have been through. The beast before me tears at my arm, crushing the bones and flesh in ways I never thought possible, and I can do nothing but scream and beg. My tears mix with the blood spilling from my mouth as I fall further into despair.

The cold begins to spread from my broken arm, my fingers twitching as the feeling starts to leave me. I cannot hold onto it anymore. I cannot feel it. It is like the entire world is slipping away from me, the very sensation of my body vanishing bit by bit. I hear his vile breath, and his twisted laugh as he tears into my flesh, but I’m beyond caring. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my chest heaving as I try to make sense of the chaos swirling around me.

But my body refuses to obey. I try to fight back, to summon any scrap of energy left within me, but all that remains is weakness. The brown creature, its face now covered in my blood, watches with amusement, as though he is not even human anymore. He is a monster, a beast, and I’m nothing more than prey.

I feel something warm against my leg, and I blink, confused. Then, I realize, it is urine—his, not mine. A vile reminder of my helplessness. My eyes blur as I stare at the ceiling, my body trembling, and I cannot help but wonder: was this how it would end for me? Not in glory, not in battle, but here, broken and alone.

The thought flashes through my mind, a bitter realization. I am not a god. I was never a god. I had let the illusion of power consume me, let it distort my perception until I believed I could control everything, that I could make the world revolve around me. But the truth is, the world does not revolve around me. It revolves around the sun, and I am just a speck in its shadow.