Ori Suba pushed French fries around the torn-open McDonald's packet, wondering where it all went wrong. It was twenty past seven, which meant his date was over an hour late, with no text or phone call, and no indication she’d be coming at all
When Ori had asked out Diane, the receptionist at the venue where he was temp working over the summer, she had seemed keen. Now, in retrospect, combined with his self-doubt and poor track record, he could only conclude that he must have been mistaken. Perhaps meeting at the local Mackie-D's was where it all fell apart?
Mackie-D's wasn't the be-all and end-all of his date, however, he stared at the Forbidden cinema tickets that would have hopefully led to a few drinks at a bar, a few dances at a club, and perhaps something more. ‘Alas,’ he thought, ‘it was not meant to be.’
He considered sending a message or giving a call. Maybe she forgot? Maybe she was stuck on the tube? He checked TFL and, upon further consideration, decided against calling or leaving a message, finding himself already wanting to move on from this debacle.
He left the restaurant, leaving behind his unfinished chips and the cinema tickets in the charitable hope that someone else could make more out of them than he could.
It was a wet November evening on Peckham Rye, busy for a weekday with the leftover energy from this year's freshers' week, spilling over into the second month. Dodging the revellers, Ori made his way home, cutting through one of the back streets as he looked forward to a night playing Elden Ring on his PC when all of a sudden, a familiar urge, an intangible, inexplicable sense like a phantom compass forced him to slow.
"Hey, handsome,"
Ori froze as a melodic voice made his heart race; he looked around to confirm that he was indeed the one who had been called handsome before his eyes drifted to the owner of such a voice. It wasn't just that she was pretty; the woman before him seemed to stand out in the same way Keira Knightley or Emilia Clark would stand out if she stood in the drizzle in one of Peckham's yellow brick estates. A furry, white parka covered a pale face framed by long dark hair, glossy red lips and... ruby-coloured eyes?
Instead of being all suave and sophisticated, Ori gaped like a fish while gesturing at his chest as if to ask the obvious question, 'who, me?'
She simply smirked and approached him in a way that belied the teen/young adult age her appearance had suggested. Her confidence was both sexy and intimidating and had this been the Ori from a couple of years ago, he would have cringed at the prospect of approaching or being approached by such a woman. However, this Ori squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and met the woman's approach with a confident gaze and the ghost of a smile.
“You look like a gentleman, don’t suppose you’d be up for coming with, to this… house party I’m going to?” she said, her voice was honey, cultured and not from his version of South London at all. While a distant part of his mind tried to place who she was or where she was from, the rest of his brain was transfixed by her otherworldly confidence.
"House party?" Ori glanced down the street wondering which set of students would be hosting a party on a night like this one.
"Shouldn't be far, just a few streets away. You could escort me to the door if you want, but I could get you in if you don't have other plans?"
"Sure, I could escort a pretty lady to a house party," he replied.
"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" She giggled.
"You're a Ping Ting, and I know you know it," Ori quipped back.
She giggled. "A gal does like to be reminded every so often. So, you have a name, handsome?"
"Ori. You?"
"You may call me Mel. Ori? Hmmm, that's an interesting name. Short for anything?"
"Not that I'm aware," he replied.
"I've heard of the name before," Mel said, "I believe it's Hebrew, for 'my light'."
Ori chuckled, "Oh yeah? You a linguist or something?" Ori wondered, noticing her dark hair, pale features, and the intelligent light in those strange ruby eyes.
"Oh no, just a passing interest, and not religious at all, really."
"Oh," Ori said as he tried to pick up the conversation's hanging thread. "So... Mel, I'm assuming it's short for Melanie?"
She smirked as she seemed to consider. "If you want it to be? Melanie... hmmm... a name with Greek roots, meaning dark or black. My inner darkness, your inner light, perhaps our meeting was destiny?" She seemed to press in closer, the glint of the streetlights catching as she cast him a provocative gaze, past the lip of her hood.
"A passing interest, huh? It seems like you definitely have a thing for names," Ori frowned at her odd talent. The irony wasn't lost on him, with dark skin and a full head of tight curls, his West African heritage contrasted sharply with her flawless, milky-white complexion. Beyond that, the way she seemed to dodge a simple question about her name—perhaps that was just common sense. Why give a stranger your name? Especially if it's a distinctive one. Seeing that he was lost in thought, Mel offered her elbow, suggesting they link arms. Ori choose not to overthink it, seizing the opportunity to get closer.
"So... are you... local? I mean, newly local?" Ori asked.
"No, what gave it away?" She asked with a peal of laughter and a knowing depth in her voice.
"You never know, these days in Peckham, anyone you meet could be local or tourist, rich or poor, hooker or movie star." 'Hooker or Movie star!? Oh my days!' Ori silently cursed at himself.
"Hooker or movie star, and which would you suppose I am?" Mel laughed, there was a playful challenge in her eyes.
"Honestly? I would've normally pegged you as a student, but you seem a bit too... it’s the way you carry yourself, and you're far too pretty to be a movie star or model..."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, would've recognised you by now, so..."
"So, escort then?" She challenged as Ori found himself caught in her trap.
He looked around before answering, "Not in this neighbourhood, no. I'm thinking... billionaire's play-ting or an heiress looking to slum it with the rest of us mere mortals," Ori said.
"Your last guess is closer than you could imagine," she said, her knowing eyes shining at a joke only she knew.
"So where's this house party at?" Ori asked
"It's just a stone's throw away, handsome. Patience is, as they say, a virtue." Mel responded with the faintest hint of a smirk, her lingering ruby eyes returning from her sideward glance.
"You're makin' it sound like some secret poetry society or something?"
“Or something, let's just say it's an exclusive gathering,"
"Exclusive gathering?" Ori chuckled.
"Don’t knock it, I’m sure you know Peckham has its hidden gems," Mel quipped back.
"At Half past seven on a school night?”
Mel shrugged. “Anyway, what has you out in the cold on your lonesome? I’m surprised you don’t have somewhere to be, people to see, perhaps someone special waiting for you?”
Ori shook his head and after a brief moment of consideration realised he had nothing better to say and had no reason to lie. “Had a date… Got stood up,”
“Oh poor you, who would dare?”
Ori glanced over, expecting a sarcastic expression or eye roll to go along with her all too earnest reply, but was shocked by what he saw, she was serious. Was she serious?
“Just someone from the office I’ve been temping at, a receptionist.”
“Was she pretty?”
“I mean. Yeah, but she seemed nice, kind, not really the type to blow someone off, no text or nothing.” Ori sighed. “Her loss, your gain, right?”
“My gain indeed, handsome.”
“So, what is your story, Miss Mysterious Stranger?" Ori probed, curious to know anything about her.
“Mysterious? Me? I’m an open book.” Mel quipped and this time Ori caught the glint in her eyes that undermind her otherwise indignant expression, and laughed.
“I’ve only known you for a few minutes, but I already know that's a massive lie.”
“Fine, fine, let's just say that a lady likes to keep a few secrets, and besides, everyone loves a little mystery, don't you think?"
“Maybe,” Ori agreed, keen to keep things casual and fun Ori pondered for something more to say, the silence between them stretching for just a moment too long.
"Hey, you ever get that feeling, you know, when something's just a bit off?” Mel said. It seemed like an idle question and with their arms still linked, it didn’t seem like she was referring to their current situation.
“Is something wrong?” Ori still asked with concern in his voice.
“Oh, no, I mean have you ever felt that you didn’t belong somewhere, like the life you were living, was just wrong somehow?” Mel continued. Ori’s heart raced at the question as he wondered where on earth that question had come from, her tone shifted and the entire vibe had changed. Worse still, while the question seemed vague enough to normally overlook, to Ori, it felt far too specific, too knowing, as if poking a needle upon an exposed nerve.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been called a lady of impulses, of passions, and I can sense the flow of things, in people. I can… I guess— feel those who go with the flow, and also those who are stuck against the current. Strong-willed and unyielding, but also without direction, with no path before them that goes where they truly want to go.”
“I mean, yeah, I feel that sometimes, doesn’t everyone? Born too late to explore the world, born too early to explore the universe? Isn’t that what they say?”
Mel’s smile was softer this time as she continued. “What if, you came across a chance to choose another path, maybe right here and right now?”
“Obviously no.” Ori laughed, “I mean, depends on who was offering.”
"Well… well what about doing something so spontaneous, it surprised you?" Mel queried.
Ori pondered briefly. "Man's in the PhD grind at Imperial, yeah? I'm too old for them freshers nights and not much room for spontaneity between lectures, lab and my thesis."
"Ah, but that's that, and this is this, isn't it? What I'm asking is to, just shake things up?" Mel prodded, her voice still soft, her probes still idle.
"Shaking things up? What you gettin' at exactly?" Ori asked, now genuinely interested.
Mel looked into his eyes. "It’s just, sometimes I find, those unplanned moments being the most memorable."
"Yeah? So what you suggesting? You trying to ask me out or something'?" Ori asked, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Mel’s gaze seemed even more enigmatic than usual, her eyes lingering on his for a moment before drifting down to his lips. Ori could feel every goosebump rise as anticipation towards where she was going with this, built.
"I'm proposing something less complicated, but perhaps more meaningful."
"And what's that?"
"Kiss me and find out."
"Errr... Really?" Ori's laugh caught in his throat as her dark red eyes pierced into his own. Mel’s look turned steely, serious and far too sultry.
"Would you like to kiss me?" She pressed as the space between them shrunk.
“I… would… like to get to know you, Mel.” Ori hedged, trying to persuade himself that he didn’t merely want to kiss her. She glided closer, reducing the distance between them to a mere inch in the drizzle. Despite being somewhat shorter, looking up at him, she was in total control of the situation.
“Oh, you are such a gentleman, aren’t you, handsome?” She said, her lips curving into a lopsided grin that revealed her true opinion of gentlemen. Despite being thrown off balance by her sudden proposition, while a rational part of his mind warned him about the danger she posed, an instinct shaped by regret and loneliness overcame his knee-jerk reaction to pull away and laugh the whole thing off. He didn’t want to walk home and have this memory be one of his cowardice and regret. Because after all, if he was truly honest, he desired this woman in every conceivable way a man could desire a woman.
“The truth... with you, I couldn’t settle for just the lips,” Ori admitted, expecting her to burst into giggles. So, it surprised him when her soft, rain-soaked lips met his. Warm hands circled his neck as he found himself responding.
Is this really happening? Ori’s mind echoed as he pulled her towards him, their breaths mingling in the cool air as they kissed passionately in the backstreets of Peckham Rye.
She guided their movements as they kissed, her insistent tongue invading his mouth. Pulling her close with a firm hand on her back, he felt frustrated by their clothes, disregarding their public setting and the November rain.
With his back against the wall, Ori found himself seated on the damp street, gazing up at the seductive figure above him. At some point, her hooded coat had slipped off, revealing a satin blouse soaked in rain, clinging to her form. The streetlamp's glow illuminated her dark brunette hair, sprinkled with droplets of water. When she straddled him, his hands instinctively ran over her smooth, thigh-high stockings. His eyes met hers before another passionate kiss ensued. This wasn’t just a casual Friday night fling; there was a shared desperation, a thirst quenched only by the taste of each other's spit, a chill warmed only by the heat of touching skins.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“Mmm,” Mel purred as their tongues swirled. She was warmer than she should have been in the rain as she unzipped his hoodie, oblivious to potential onlookers. As he fumbled with the buttons of her white lacy blouse, the sight of a black bra supporting her moderate chest eradicated any remaining shred of sensibility he might have had. Her scent was a faint, smoky spice that seemed to perfectly complement the woman grinding atop him. Her skin was warm, smooth and wet, hinting at the carnal activities to follow.
“You… can… have… all… of… me…” She said between fervent kisses.
“Yes,” Ori growled, surrendering completely to the moment. “I want you.”
“I need you, Ori. Your body, your mind, your soul. I want it all, my light…” Mel whispered breathlessly as they continued kissing. His hand instinctively moved beneath her skirt, reflecting his desire to shed his clothes onto her. As he tugged on her lace underwear, he felt her soft hands stop his. He hesitated, his breathing heavy as he sought answers in her eyes. Mel leaned in, leaving lingering kisses on his earlobe. Her hands moved lower down his chest, stopping perilously close to his unzipped trousers.
“Your soul, Ori. Promise you’ll give your soul to me,” Mel whispered, the urgent need he heard in her voice and the warmness of her breath upon his ear made him shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. His hand-clenched panties he desperately wanted to slide off as her warm, soft, weight rocked across his aching groin, all the while continuing her campaign of kisses on and around his neck. They became more insistent, with both bites and licks doing almost enough to distract him from her whispered question.
Almost.
“My soul?” Ori asked groggily.
“Yes, handsome. I need it… I really need it, give it to me and I’m… all… yours...” she said, and he found himself paralysed, completely unable to move, whether it be to ignore what had to be some of the craziest-hottest role-play he'd ever heard of and continue with the kissing, or… anything else.
And suddenly he found his heart racing for a completely different reason. He really couldn't move. Sure, an impossibly attractive woman straddled him and even now peppered him with kisses, but as the warm glow of fortune faded upon recognition of the situation, that small, distant, insistent part of him that had been up until now, locked deep away and smothered by her incredible presence, seized the moment it needed to bubble up to the surface and scream: ‘Yo, dumbass!’
“My soul?” Ori said, this time experimentally, unsure whether his paralysis extended to speaking, or if this strange sensation was just some artefact of his dumb brain, cock-blocking himself. “What… If we went back to my place and…”
“Your soul… Ori.” She moaned, the sound of her honey-sweet voice and hands slowly creeping into his boxers causing his eyes to roll back into his skull. He fought a silent war with himself, as a frisson of fear overrode the horniness that had until now, dominated all decision-making and reason.
Best case scenario, Mel fucks you right here on the street, which, while great, is that really what you want? Meanwhile, you're paralysed and for whatever reason, she really wants your soul. That… can’t be good, right? He reasoned.
“N-no…” Ori stammered.
“Mhmm?” She questioned as she kissed him while caressing the pubic hairs around the base of his cock. Her incidental, near-dismissive response, was almost enough to set him at ease.
Almost.
“I d-don’t want to give you my soul, Mel.” Ori clarified and upon receipt of those words, Mel froze, her expression hidden as he realised just where her hands had crept up to.
“Too bad.” Mel finally sighed, her honeyed voice turning into cold steel as panic set in. She stood over a topless and still very much paralysed Ori. Unable to move his neck, he listened as she retrieved her belongings.
‘fuckity fucking fuck fuck fuck’ Was about the sum of all of Ori’s thoughts as he thoroughly expected her to leave him there, unable to move in the middle of the bloody street. If only.
“I wasn’t lying when I called you handsome, I might have even fucked you if you’d said yes, you know? And I don’t just do that for everyone. But you just had to think with your big brain instead of your little one.” She said, before crouching down to eye level. “I will have your soul. If not in this world, then in mine. For now, however, sit tight and think about how much more… productive those final moments of your mundane life could have been.” She said, with a condescending smile and a light double tap on his cheek.
Ori tried to wiggle his toes but he found his body unresponsive. She had frozen him, somehow; was it some kind of poison? ‘Had her kiss applied some kind of general anaesthetic; Poison Ivy style? And what the fuck was that about wanting my soul??’ While he could still move his eyes, his current position slumped against the wall of the nearest building was barely enough for him to make out what she was doing, so instead he decided to focus.
‘Wiggle my big toe,’ Ori said, narrowing his focus to the tip of his foot. Minutes trickled by as the drizzle turned into moderate rain. As the drops of rain gathered over his eyelid, he blinked to clear his vision. For a moment he ignored the fact he could blink before he experimentally wiggled his nose, the muscles around his jaw and throat, and his neck before working his way down.
An unholy tearing sound and a gust of sulphuric wind caused him to snap his attention away from limbs still recovering from paralysis. There was a hole in the world, a dysfunction in reality that caused Ori’s heart to freeze. Mel stood before it, her arms lowering as if in completion of conducting an orchestra or casting a magic spell.
Gone was her fluffy white coat, her blouse seemed to be torn up at the back as two giant wings completed their movements into the folded position. They were red, with membranous, near see-through flesh spanning gothic, batlike bony fingers. A matching red, slender tail and goat-like horns that seemed to curl from behind her skull completed the transformation. She was still beautiful he realised, despite the hell gate before him, the realisation that she was some kind of demon and the utter insanity of the situation. Everything screamed at him to run as a moment of confusion crossed Mel’s features, but at that moment, all he could do was stare, as if something deeper within her gaze would allow him to make sense of this situation.
“Oh my. It seems like I’ve underestimated you. Greater men than you have failed to break out of my paralysis spell,” she said in contemplation as she sauntered towards him. “And to do so, so quickly too, hmmm, just what shall I do with you, my light?”
Ori had had enough. Turning, he had finally convinced his body's fight or flight response to switch into high gear. However, before he could complete his second step, a tug on his belt forced him backwards, spinning through the air to land in a painful roll closer to the tear in reality than when he had started.
He was scrambling to his feet, eyes darting around to find the demon before a flash of white, black and red warned of another impending impact. He braced, lifting his forearms high enough to avoid a smack to the face before a red streak that must have been Mel’s tail swept him off his feet again.
“And stay down!” Mel commanded behind him.
‘Nope…’ Ori replied silently, instead once again trying to get to his feet. She was impossibly fast, a blur of movement in the night and Ori knew that unless he fought back, he’d be unable to get away. So, defiantly he rose, back foot shoulder width apart in tiger stance.
“Oh my, my light, I will have so much fun breaking your will, breaking your bones, tearing out your heart.” She said possessively, ruby eyes gleaming in the street light.
“Just let me go. Won’t tell anyone about this, not like anyone would believe it anyway.”
She smirked, a twitch of muscle was all the warning Ori got before he blocked her rear leg roundhouse kick which turned into a spin that launched her wings into a horizontal slash that he barely dodged. She was a blur of movement and he was on the defensive until muscle memory working with honed instinct enabled a lead-leg snap kick counter, she barely reacted as the top of his foot smashed into her jaw.
In a normal fight, such a clean hit would have been a match-ender, but Mel merely took in her stride as his ineffectual follow-up punches glanced off a frame that now somehow felt like iron beneath the silk. Jumping over a low tail strike, he was unable to deal with the kick that sent him flying several metres before smashing against the wall. Before he could react, another kick smashed into his face. The world spun and iron became all he could taste. Even as her face filled up his punch-drunk vision Ori swung out with another strike that she caught with contemptuous ease.
“While that was fun, this portal won’t last forever. Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to play when you awake, my light.”
Ori didn’t see the blow that knocked him out before his limp form was carried through the portal into a world of rock and ash.
----------------------------------------
“So, it indeed seems like she took a fancy to this sorry creature,”
Ori spluttered awake, the aftershocks of a bucket of ice-cold water caused his diaphragm to lock up as he heaved. A gravelly voice ahead of him sneered, its owner blocking fire light from the hall beyond. He rolled over onto his bum, blurry vision trying to take everything in, pain from a screaming skull and torn-up limbs momentarily stole his attention before the realisation someone else was here caught up to a concussed mind.
“Leave us,” the hulking silhouette commanded. After a moment, a clang, as if an iron gate was shut, then locked, sounded. Ori blinked trying to take in any detail from the shadow.
“Who'ss dis?” Ori slurred already expecting the worst.
“Just do what I say and it’ll be all over soon.”
“Wha…” Before he could finish, a massive hand lifted him off the ground by his throat. His legs dangled as he struggled to breathe. It was another demon, he realised, as the light glinted off ram’s horns that seemed to branch and twist in some sort of demented crown. Before he could react, a hand reached into his mouth and wrenched out a tooth. Ori screamed. The pain and sudden violence of it did almost enough to unman him in his sorry state.
“There.” The demon said as he threw a tooth to the side before painfully placing… something in its place. “Crush the false tooth when Darius comes. To see that you are marked by her, a mortal no less, no… he won’t be able to help himself.” The demon smiled an oily smile before releasing his hold on Ori’s neck. “Trust me, once he sees that she marked you, you’ll be begging for a quick death.”
Once again, Ori was left gasping for breath as the figure left.
‘What the fuck is going on!?’ Ori thought to himself as he managed to find some sort of equilibrium. He sat up, head and gums throbbing in time with his slowing heartbeat as the events of the last few moments…? Minutes? Days? Caught up to him.
The false tooth jammed into his gums just before his bottom molars added to the bruised jaw that just didn’t want to close properly, his shins, palms and forearms were torn up and bloody. While he had been more wrecked before in his life, he still feared that whatever’s already happened, would only be the beginning. With that realisation, he stood, his decision made and began to plan how he would fight, escape and if failing that, take as many nasty demon bitches as he could.
He stood looking around at the cave-like cell, surrounded by rough-hewn stone, Ori felt like he was deep underground, there was one opening barred by a door of iron bars and beyond it was a cave-like passage with oil-burning lanterns providing a dim red light every couple of dozen paces. He shook the bars testing its give to find out that it budged not a millimetre at all. Even the rock the door's lock bit into seemed to be impervious to scratching despite his best efforts.
Then he decided to inventory himself, he was still topless with the cave's chill starting to bite. He still wore his sodden jeans and a pair of socks, white Nike Air Max completed his current attire. His keys, tissues, wallet and smashed-up, but still working iPhone miraculously remained in his pocket. That was it, though he wondered if he had a pen knife or some other concealed weapon if it would have made a difference against Mel. She seemed to be far too fast, unnaturally fast even, and if that was the baseline of speed and strength he had to deal with from now on, he was more than likely, absolutely fucked. Frustration and panic began to set in, his teeth wanting to clench together due to stress, and then he remembered the fake tooth. He wasn’t the biggest geek, but he was well enough read to know what a fake tooth entailed.
He sat down, revving himself up for what he had to do next. Piecing together words from the demon that had performed the ad-hoc dental surgery, Ori had a fair idea of what was going on; either that guy was a sadist who just liked to mess with people, or Ori was in a den of scheming bastards and this Mel was a bigger deal than he thought.
Either way, he’d have a better time without this fake tooth jabbing into his gum’s nerves.
Reaching into his mouth, he gingerly teased, twisted and pulled the fake tooth out before dry heaving due to the pain. Moments drifted by until Ori had reached an equilibrium. There wasn’t much else he could do but wait, and brood.
A metallic clank followed by the swell of rusted iron forced Ori off the cave floor. Another hulking figure with a ram's horns ended the cell. This figure's horns spiralled upwards like twisted antlers and a distinctive smell of piss and Sulphur flooded the small space. Ori gagged in reaction, eyes watering at the sudden invasion of stink.
“So it seems like that whore really did take up a new pet.” It spat, its foot a blur as Ori found himself smacking the rear wall of the cell. “Yes, to rip off your balls for a new necklace would be a fitting demonstration of my intent, I should think.”
Ori threw a small rock loosened by his impact, the fake tooth clutched in the other hand. He had nought but the loosest threads of a plan as he focused on the demon. Its eyes were a piss-yellow in the dim light at over a head above his own, built like a bodybuilder he was over twice as wide and at least six times the weight as himself. A huge mace hung off the demon's belt while several knives, picks and shivs seemed to adorn a series of belts, it also wore a baked hide-like skirt, that was a cross between Roman gladiatorial armour and something an S&M-themed stripper would wear.
“Pathetic, grasping shit.” Said the demon as Ori managed to roll out of a stomp that would have crushed his leg. The demon felt a small tug on his side and smiled as Ori lept out of view.
“Tell you what mortal, cut your own balls off with my shiv and I won’t skin you alive.” The demon said as it slowly turned around. With the firelight behind Ori, the ghastly red, and pop-marked face of the demon came into full view. Beyond the uneven, misaligned visage, the demon's mocking grin was what seemed to generate the most nightmare fuel. In it was a glee, a confidence borne from a history of cruelty, it was almost enough to break Ori, the knowledge that even with a weapon, the demon viewed his actions with the same contempt a lion would view an ant. Meanwhile, the weapon he held, no more than a primitive screwdriver in shape, felt greasy, as if it wanted to slide out of his fingers. Fear and stress tightened his grip as he psyched himself up for what he had to do next.
The monster swung a wide sweeping rear hook, clipping Ori’s shoulder as he tried to dodge, the power and momentum behind the glancing blow sent him spinning off his feet to land painfully on the floor, his throbbing shoulder informing him that lifting that arm above his navel would be a tough ask soon. Before he could reset, he felt his leg in a vice grip before being yanked up into the air, feet first.
Instinctively, he had avoided getting into melee range with someone with such a reach and strength advantage, weapon or not, however, this brief moment was what his flimsy plan had depended on.
Out of direct sight of his opponent, Ori jammed the oily shiv into the fake tooth, it twitched and trembled under his excursions, threatening to slip out of his hands or jab his fingers, but eventually, there was a muted crunch, as the weapon cracked the enammal. He pressed further so that the tooth stuck to the tip of the blade, held his breath, and stabbed with all his might. Upside down and with the crushing grip close to turning his Leg bones to powder, he channelled every demon-born iota of rage and pain and fury into his lunge and drove the shiv, fake tooth and all, only a mere centimetre beneath the skin of the demon's exposed thigh.
“Oho, what’s this?”
He felt his leg snap, either in retaliation, reflex or annoyance at his antics, but after a handful of rapid, silent heartbeats swinging upside down, Ori watched the expression of the demon change. “What have you done?” It said, has his head tilted downwards to inspect the wound upon his thigh. Ori kicked at the demon's hand with his free foot, lungs bursting as he held his breath, unwilling to even risk the chance of breathing in whatever poison that was now turning the demon's red flesh, black and foetid.
“What have you done?” It whispered, eyes wide in shock as its grip loosened enough for Ori to fall from the monster's grasp. He tumbled to the floor and scrambled to get as close to the door as he could, blooded shiv still in hand. A second man-sized demon peaked at the scene through the bars of his cell and for a moment froze. It was at that moment, Ori lunged at the creature's stomach, burying the weapon to the handle.
This second demon instantly curled over the Shiv buried in its gut as a heavy thud reminded him of the assailant behind him. Ori’s lungs burned as the demon guard groaned and fell to the floor, but as he turned to check on the big demon bastard, he was reminded why he had held his breath. That evil, contemptuous smirk was replaced by a face rotting in real time as necrotic purple and black flesh broke out into the white, dendritic filaments of fungus. Fear bloomed in Ori’s heart, he couldn’t die now, not like this.
He almost screamed when he placed weight on his left foot. He was still able to lift himself up by pulling himself up by bars that made up his cell door. Shaking the door, he found that it was still locked, but before panic and despair could set in, the dull sparkle of a ring of keys caught his eye next to the very dead guard. So dead in fact, that it was now undergoing the same high-speed decomposition as the big fucker rotting behind him. Reaching down, he grasped for the keys with the very ends of his fingertips. It required delicate, patient work, but burning lungs and a spreading magical fungus poison meant he had absolutely no time for finesse. His face was a rictus of desperation as every arm, shoulder, finger, and neck muscle strained for those extra precious millimetres. Feeling his finger around the keyring, he yanked the bundle through the door before jamming each key through the lock on the other side. The door swung open with a clunk and an iron squelch that made Ori cringe, but he wasted little time edging around the guard and down the passageway, his body supported by the cave wall in lieu of having two functioning legs.
He was nowhere near as far away as he wanted to be, but bursting lungs demanded oxygen, and the stale, sulphuric ash-laced breath was the sweetest breath Ori had taken in his life. He collapsed as the euphoria of near hyperventilation, and the withdrawal of adrenalin robbed him of strength.
He was alive.
He was broken and almost beaten, but he was alive. He was certain that the tip of his left clavicle was chipped, along with a break or worse on his lower left leg. His jaw was probably dislocated, his ribcage was a bruised mess, his back and forearms were torn up, and he was also missing a tooth. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to cry, but he wanted to live above all else.
He had no idea how this prison worked, but sticking around to wait for more demons in such an exposed place seemed like a bad idea. He briefly considered going back to the bodies to search for weapons or any other items of interest, but one look at the spore-ridden fungus factory, and Ori decided against it. Using the wall for support, Ori moved down the cave, passing several empty cells as he did so. Reaching the entrance, he jammed keys into the lock at the passage one after the other before opening the wooden door and making his way through the rest of the prison.