Chapter 4 - New skin

Ease washed over her. She felt weightless, enveloped in a warm liquid. And all throughout, from skin to marrow, was a pulse so overwhelming that it had to be coming from a heart greater than her own.

A memory rose from the pit of her belly, from deep within the center of each cell - Mother.

Was this how it felt to be carried within, to be created, to be born?

But the quiet gaps between the beats deepened, lengthened. Perhaps this wasn't birth after all. It was the final release, the dilution of meaning, the silent embrace of death.

An uproar of cries cracked the dream, overpowering the sound of her pulse with a constant clamour. Whistles, whoops and cries forced her to heed her circumstances. The enveloping liquid and warmth hadn't been those of a mother’s womb, but those of the slug’s body, curled over her back, and of its blood covering them both.

With a whimper she lifted her head, her skin audibly cracking and breaking as she moved. Thankfully, she could still open her eyes, even though the sliding of her eyelids brought fresh pain to her face.

The spectators had once again erupted in cheers, their eerie faces shaking and jumping in the tiers. For a moment it wasn’t clear which was worse, this deafening cacophony or the apprehension she felt at having to make her way back to her archway. But when she slid her elbows beneath her chest and pressed herself up, it quickly became clear that the pain of moving would be, by far, the more unpleasant of the two.

Every effort she made to pull herself forward was hindered, either by the weight of the slug’s corpse, stuck fast to her legs and back, or by the slick spatter of hemolymph and mucus over the ground. But even though the thick fluids limited her traction, she was grateful that they reduced the friction of her severely damaged skin against the sand.

It came as some relief when, once she had crawled half the distance to the archway, the voices of the crowd lessened. Some of the faces had disappeared, and more were leaving every moment. They’d already gotten the entertainment they’d come for, and her slow progress wasn't amusing enough to keep watching.

The lull of noise allowed her to hear her own thoughts, which carried more pride than she’d realized. Her plan had worked! Or, at least, somewhat. Enough for her to have survived what had been an increasingly deadly situation.

She’d drained the slug of its hemolymph with the proboscis’ unnaturally strong ability to draw blood. The blue-green liquid had rained over them, which is what ended up saving her life. It had spread across the mucus trailed on the ground, quenching its powerful absorbency so that it wouldn’t keep pulling her own fluids from her body. The hemolymph had also hydrated her dry-burned skin, slowing the damage she had suffered.

Granted, her original plan hadn’t included having the slug bore into her flank with acid. But so far, she hadn’t even been able to tell that wound’s pain aside from the rest of her body’s, which meant it couldn’t be that bad - could it?

The distance she had to slip and drag her senseless body felt unending. The need to sleep kept creeping over her, which she repelled by moving one part of herself or another to awaken fresh flashes of pain.

Eventually, she managed to reach her archway and lifted a hand toward the shimmering veil. It hadn't let her through while the slug was alive, but, if her intuition was right, things would be different now.

She sighed in relief as her fingers crossed the veil, and was then surprised to find that it was now pulling her through. She relaxed into it, glad that soon she'd be back in the relative safety of the room.

Not only was the veil doing the work for her, it was also noticeably soothing and healing her body, progressively lifting away the tension from her hand and forearm. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be repairing her entirely, but it was at least stopping the harmful processes that had been ongoing. Hues of vitality were visibly returning to her skin, making the lingering numbness of her desiccated nerves somewhat less worrisome. With the veil's remediation came hope: perhaps the severe dry burns caused by the slug's mucus would disappear, just as the mosquito's puncture wound had.

With her eyes nearly closed, she let her head drop against her shoulder. She’d done it, she’d survived again. She’d been pushed out into this round place and now there’d be time to rest, time to-

Her scalp seized like it was trying to scramble off the top of her head. Her drowsy peripheral vision had spotted something, an irregularity, one she was only now registering.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Just above her head, stretched down from the tiers, descended one of the pale faces, eyes locked onto hers. Unable to turn away, she helplessly watched it approach.

It wore an expression she hadn't seen before, a gleeful smile, thin and taut. With no strength left of her own, and only the too-slow pull of the veil to move her forward, there was no escape.

The world spun around the spectator's face, a dizziness borne of panic and fear, making it impossible to tell if it was nearly touching her or a great distance away. Its mouth split open, and from it dripped black words like smoke, curling through the air, seeping into her ear, a slow hiss like the burning of her flesh under the slug’s acid.

“N i c e K i l l”

As soon as her eyes crossed the veil her sight of the spectator was cut off. Still, she stayed locked in its direction, almost expecting it to follow her through. Its oily voice lingered in her ears, seeping into her skin and coating her mind. Its tone had carried unmistakable intent: hunger, greed, a desire for more death.

She felt overwired, strained in all ways. There had been fear, pain, exhaustion, and a jumble of emotions, all competing with constant confusion. What did any of this mean? Who was she, and how could she find out?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a long, sucking slurp, ending in a drawn-out pop. The slug had detached from her back and rolled off to the side. It was still oozing slightly out of the proboscis that had remained lodged in its pneumostome.

One thing was clear, that proboscis had saved her life. Without it, the slug would have drained her fluids too rapidly to have a chance. It would then have been for her death that the spectators would have cheered. But it had served her, had lent her its power to draw blood at a ridiculous rate.

She carefully plucked it from the slug and cradled it in her palm. The puncture wound wasn't closing, and the slug hadn't been healed by the veil. There were obviously rules at work here, ways by which this place operated that were still beyond her understanding. How could the proboscis have done what it did, separated from its body, and how had she been connected to its function?

One thing at a time. First, she had to ascertain her condition. With less strain than expected, she heaved herself up onto her knees, then unsteadily onto her feet. Her state had considerably improved since crossing the veil. But, if her somnolence and dizziness were any indication, there still remained considerable fatigue and dehydration.

Her skin tingled with the slow return of sensation, like billions of tiny needles prickling her entire integument. It wasn't comfortable and was made worse by her goopy coat of hemolymph and mucus. She tried scraping it off with the edge of her palm, only to spread it out more evenly.

If only there was some way to clean this off, some way to wash-

The wall on which she was leaning wobbled and bent, then caved outwards, making her stumble into a new alcove. Her feet caught on a lip along the bottom and she only managed to keep herself upright by pressing her hands on the walls to either side.

Her breath caught as water sprayed onto her from the ceiling, walls, and floor. Her raw cutaneous nerves exploded with overstimulation, making it impossible to ascertain the temperature or pressure of the jets. All she could do was clench her jaw and wait for the discomfort to pass, for her senses to adapt.

Eventually, her muscles relaxed, her eyes unclamped, and her breath eased down into her belly. The water was, in the end, immensely pleasurable. Its warmth and steady pressure made her feel renewed, particularly after she tilted her head and drank as much of it as she could.

The past events washed away, carried off her skin with the streams. Sweat and grimy dust. Blood and mosquito fragments. Various slug juices. All disappeared without a trace into the floor, leaving her with a fresh, new skin.

Out of curiosity, she gingerly touched her flank where the slug had bore into her ribs. There was still a wound, but it had already closed. All that was left was a shallow dip, and after a moment’s palpation, she even felt her ribs subtly taking back their place. She was curious to see if this accelerated process would leave any trace or scarring, but only patience would tell.

Meanwhile, she might as well continue taking palpatory stock of her body. Her musculature was firm and resilient, her ossature sturdy, her skin supple. Considering the things she'd been through, she couldn't help feeling that her body was strong, tough, perhaps even powerful.

Her shoulders, her neck, her face… but something was missing- hair? Her head was nearly smooth, covered only in very fine stubble. Even other parts of her body, where there should have been pilosity, were surprisingly bare. Just another thing she'd have to wait to see. For now, she riffled the new growth along her temples and mused at how it tickled, how it rose to a shiver over her scalp.

In a flash, the sensation reminded her of the spectator that had spoken to her. Her scalp had crawled when it had come towards her, wanting to tell her something.

Nice Kill

Clearly, it had enjoyed seeing the slug die emptied of its blood, which was not reassuring. But still, this meant they could speak, which in turn implied that she could possibly interact with them. Perhaps she could get answers about this place, if only she could get one of them…

For now, plans would have to wait. More important was rest. She barely had the wherewithal to keep her eyes open, much less to keep her knees from buckling.

Her feet moved leadenly out of the shower, barely clearing the short lip. Wavering on the spot, she wished there would be something soft on which to fall, where she could stay and move no longer. Unfortunately, the only options were the dusty ground and the slug's corpse.

Resigned to discomfort, she surrendered her will to torpor and let herself drop sideways, coming to rest on a soft, welcoming surface that hadn't been there moments before. She was already asleep when her head landed on an accommodating pillow.

Her entire being was in a state of release. Even the proboscis lay at ease, still cradled in her palm, more a part of her now than it ever had been of the mosquito.

As her breath slowed and steadied, the ambient lighting dimmed. Only a discreet, golden glow remained, emitted by words left unseen on the wall where the archway had been.

Triumph attained

Tally of Contestants:

Human - Revived

Slug - Drained

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End of Chapter 4