Can't see.
Eyes don't open. Can't feel the body. Move hands...can't. Legs, head, nothing. No senses... A rhythmic movement. Pulling forward about every 15 minutes. It's cold? No, it's hot... It's nothing. No feeling. There's just.....being.
The pull again. Being brought forward.
A sound, jingling? Alarms? not certain. It's getting closer every time the pull happens. There's something else. Can't make it out. Why able to hear when unable to move, see or do anything. Hanging? Not hanging....Standing? No...can't feel legs. Just...there.
The pull again. The jingling..a snap, then sounds of tumbling...spinning...falling but...joyous? it...ends with an odd 3 notes and ends with another snap.. It's...not random. It's the same...over and over. Every 15 minutes... and it's louder, Each time....what is minutes..15? time?? sounds....right. Why?
There is something in front....being pulled as well. Where is this going...am I...going?
The jingling comes closer with each pull....
I don't want to get there....I want to go....back?
I ? What is I ? Getting pulled is bad? No. Not good either? Why would I....back? The pull is all there is for I and the ever persistent jingling.
This jingle...there was more then one with no forward pull...strange. Another....and another? three....three jingle, but no pull....each jingle....a long time.
It's clearer now. It's beside...I. Front... of I, but not at I yet. There's....talking...talk? Talking? That's....what?
Two... not I is talking. Warm. Just out of I's reach. Chitter. Chatter. Not worried, not bothered. Sounds they make....odd...can't tell.
Can't talk. Mouth won't work. Can't say. No asking. Mouth?
Last jingle. Pulled.
The jingle....it's now beside I. It's....starting.
Snap.... spin spin spin, ding ding ding..jingle.
Again....
again...
again..
It's four...five...numbers...these are numbers..seven...then wrong sound...sharp, sudden...bad.
The mumbles are quiet. The mumble stops. The warmth comes close. It surrounds I. It gets close...very close to I....then stops. It goes away. The warmth receded. Leaving.
One more pull to forward. Then silence. No more anythi-
***
Water. Drops. Alot. From above.
Rain.
Feelings, sensations. Everything. You, are whole. Still darkness. You are covered, pressured, under many things.
Eyes opening
It's....dark? But not dark enough to not see. It's cold. Very cold.
Weight. Heavy. Crushing down from above. Shapes. Bodies. Dead bodies. Piled. On you. Around you.
The smell. Rot. Decay. Thick in the...nose? You have a nose. Breathing. You're breathing. In. Out. The stench fills you.
The rain. Seeping down through the pile. Through flesh. Through bone.
Cold water trickling. Down faces. Down limbs. Reaching you. Touching skin. Your skin. It's real. You're real.
Move. Try to move. Arm won't. Pinned. Leg pinned too. Something across your chest. Heavy. A torso. No head. Just torso. Pressing down. The weight of...how many? Ten? Twenty? Can't tell. All piled. Thrown on top of each other. On top of you.
The rain gets heavier. The water runs faster...and faster, Between the bodies. Making paths through the dead. It pools. Around your face...In your mouth...Tastes of earth...Of blood long dried. Of endings.
Try again. Push. The arm. It moves....barely. Scraping your skin. Fingers flex. They touch something soft. Yielding. A face. Eyes gone. Mouth open. The jaw comes away in your hand. Loose. Falls into the dark somewhere below.
Disgust.
More pressure from above. The pyramid settling. Shifting. A crack. Ribs breaking somewhere. Not yours. The body above. The rain makes everything slick. Unstable. More weight slides down onto you.
Can't stay here. Need to move. Any direction..Front, back, doesn't matter. Move. Push. Push harder.
Bodies start getting light. Lighter. Claw through. Fingers, nails, elbow. Use all. Legs...are mushy. Belly empty. Throat dry.
Too dry.
Your heart pounds in your ears. Fast. Very fast. They ring with no rhythm.
Your heart? No. Yours is still there. Silent. Unmoving. Unbeating. Still.
No. Not yours. It's around you. Surrounding you. Focus.
Steps. 4? No. 5. Mumbling too. They are talking. What are they talking? Words. Wrong. Crooked. You don't know. One loud. Rest...obedient.
But hearts...they beat. You know that. The hearts talk to you. Calling you.
You hear. 6 of them. Beating. Alive. Standing. Not a part of this stack you are in.
You drag yourself. Harder than ever. But then you see. See things that is not half dark. Not shadows.
Glowing.
Yellow, like waves. Orange, crackling.
Fire.
It's blinding. Bright. Light itself. Piercing your eyes. Sensitive now. Adjusted to dark.
NO! BACK. NOW.
The mind screams, body follows.
You push back inside the corpses. The gap still there. The fire, still brightly flaring through the crack.
Closing your eyes doesn't help. The orange pierces the lids. Burning. Make it stop. Can't make it stop.
The mind screams. But it knows. You need to get out. Wait, listen, see, hear.
Too many sounds, horrid smell, too sensitive eyes. The senses fight your thought. The weight above presses down harder. The rotting arm swings to you, in front of you then hangs there.
Little worms, squirming, feasting on it. The flesh, grey and black from rot and pestilence.
But it stops the light. The orange not burning your eyes, still there, flaring around the hand.
Eyes, adjusting to the light. It dims ever so slightly. The hand fades. Becomes a shadow.
Force your eyes open. Adjust it further....a thought.
NO. DO NOT. The mind screams.
Your body wants...NEEDS to be free of these disgusting confinements. The beating hearts, you NEED them.
Why?
You know, staying here, will never be the answer. These are all you, telling you, what you must do. HAVE to do.
Move your hand forward and hold the hand.
It's cold. Slick. The skin slides under your grip. Comes away easy. Underneath, softer. Wrong. Yielding too much
Your own hand. Now in your sight.
No.
Pale. Not pale. White. Bone white. Grey at the knuckles. The skin... stretched. Too tight over bone. Every tendon visible. Every joint sharp. Skeletal.
This isn't... this can't be...
The fingers. Long. Too long? No. Just... thin. Wasted. The nails dark. Yellowed. Cracked. Dirt underneath. Or blood. Can't tell.
Turn it. Palm up. The veins. Black. Not blue. Black lines under grey-white skin. Like cracks in marble. Dead marble.
The wrist. So thin. Bone jutting. The flesh sunken around it. Shriveled. Like the corpse you're holding. Like...
Like you're dead too.
Flex the fingers. They move. But wrong. Joints cracking. Stiff. The sound of dried twigs bending. The skin creases. Deep. Too deep.
This is your hand.
This decayed, skeletal, corpse hand.
Yours.
Your own hand. Now in your sight. You bring your other hand forward.
No.
Pale. Bone white. Grey. Skeletal. Both the same.
Flex. The fingers move. Grip tightens on the corpse hand. Bones crack underneath. Strong. Can tear. Can rip open. The hearts above...
Wrong. This is wrong.
But it works. The nails dark, sharp. Could pierce skin. Gouge flesh. Hunt.
Stop thinking that.
The wrist. Thin. Fast though. Could strike. Grab. Hold them down while—
Disgust rises. At the hand. At yourself.
Now, is not the time to think so. It is time to move. To escape.
Your hand moves and holds the hanging hand and slowly moves it. The fire, although bright, stings the eyes.
Not dangerous. Not close. Not touching.
But your mind still screams, BACK. DANGER. It doesn't want to be anywhere near it.
Your other senses, now that your mind is less important, come forward.
The ears can hear the dripping of water. And footsteps. Five. Precise... heavy. But six heartbeats.
One of them isn't moving. And they are the closest.
Your body tenses. Ready.
Yet a part of you keeps you calm, quiet, observing. Slow.
Move the corpse hand aside. Push the torso off your chest. It slides. Heavy. Wet. Falls somewhere to the side with a dull thud.
More space. More room. Breathe easier now.
The arm. Free. The leg. Still pinned but... wiggle it. Pull. It comes loose. Something tears. Not your leg. The body underneath.
You're almost out. Almost free of the pile.
The rain hits your face now. Cold. Direct. No bodies blocking it. You can see the edge. The firelight dancing. Orange glow on wet stone. A wall? A pit edge?
Stay. Observe first. Don't expose yourself. Assess the situation. Count them. Understand before acting.
NO. BACK. Too exposed. They'll see you. Fire everywhere. BACK INTO THE PILE.
But the hearts. So close. The closest one... not moving. Easy. Weak. TAKE IT. RIP IT. DRINK.
Your throat burns. Dry. So dry. The thirst. It's... it's everything. The belly empty. Screaming. NEED. NEED NOW.
This is what you are now. And you hate it.
Your muscles coil. Ready to spring. Fingers dig into the wet earth. The closest heart. Right there. Just move. Just-
You ignore your sensations. Push them back for now. And look outside.
Corpses, more piles. Just like yours. More bodies.
The fire burning ahead are corpses, set aflame. It's all stacked on top of each other.
The smell hits you. Hard. Burning flesh. Fat crackling. Hair. Bone. Sweet and rotten at once. It fills your nose. Your mouth. You can taste it. Thick. Coating your tongue.
You gag. Throat convulsing. Nothing comes up. Empty. But the reflex won't stop. Heaving. Again. Again. Your stomach clenches. Twisting. The acid taste of bile but... nothing. Nothing to expel.
Eyes watering. The smoke. The heat. The smell. It's everywhere. In you. Through you.
Your hand grips the edge. Nails digging into mud. Grounding. Stop. Stop gagging. Breathe.
Can't breathe without tasting it.
The bodies. Blackened. Limbs jutting out. Twisted. Some fresh. Still smoking. Flesh bubbling. Peeling. Others just... ash. Bones. Skulls grinning through the flames.
So many. Hundreds? Thousands? Just... thrown away.
Discarded.
That could have been you. Burning. Gone.
The heartbeat closest, you look, just around the corner. Close.
Steady yourself. You need your mind sharp. Now.
A sense of calm settles. Not peace. Control.
Your legs shake as you try to stand. Weak. Unsteady. The mud shifts under your feet. Slippery. You nearly fall. Catch yourself. Hand gripping onto a corpse. You don't look at it.
Try again. Push up. Knees wobbling. But... steadier. Each second, firmer each drop of rain, grounding. The muscles remember. How to balance. How to hold weight.
Standing now. Barely. Hunched. Low.
The heartbeat pounds. Louder. Closer. Your ears focus on it. That rhythm. Steady. Strong. Alive.
Your mouth waters. Saliva pooling. You swallow. It doesn't help. More builds. The rain hitting your face, your tongue. Each drop makes it worse. The thirst. The need.
Your throat burns. Aching. Empty.
The closest heart. Just around the corner. Not moving.
Your body tenses. Every muscle coiled.
Look first. See them. Count—
FEEDFEEDFEEDFEEDFEEDFEED
Everything else gone. Just that. The screaming. The need. The hunger louder than thought.
RIPTEARDRINKKILLFEEDNOWNOWNOW
You can barely hold yourself back.
You control yourself. Barely. The cry of your body pushed down. Suppressed. Not silenced.
Look. See everything first. The other heartbeats. Where are they? Anyone watching? Check.
You scan. Eyes darting. The fire illuminates the area. Shadows moving. The other five heartbeats. Further away. Beyond the flames. Talking. Working. Not looking this way.
Safe. For now.
You turn the corner. Slow. Controlled.
The thing with the heartbeat comes into view.
A person. Human. .Human what? From where? How, what is he wearing? You don't see it.
Standing. Guard position. But... not seeing them. Not anymore.
The veins. Glowing. Pulsing. Blue lines under the skin. Neck. Wrists. Forearms. All of them. Bright. Calling. Throbbing with each beat.
The heart. You can see it. Through the chest. Through the armor. Beating. Pumping. Red. Alive. FULL.
The blood moving through the body. You can track it. Watch it flow. Neck to brain. Heart to limbs. All of it. Right there.
The throat. Exposed. Soft. Vulnerable. One bite. One tear. It all spills out.
Your body uncoils.
Fast. Too fast. The world blurs. You don't understand how but your legs push. Launch. The distance closes in an instant.
The soldier blinks.
You're there. In front of him. Between one blink and the next.
His eyes widen. Mouth opening. To shout. To scream.
Your hand rises. Not your choice. The body knows. The fingers... extending. Lengthening. The nails. Sharp. Curving. Black. Claws.
You didn't know. Didn't know you could—
Too late.
The claws slash. Across. One swipe. Clean. Fast.
The throat opens.
Blood. Everywhere. Gushing. Hot. Red. Spraying. It hits your face. Your mouth. Your chest.
The soldier grabs his neck. Eyes wide. Shocked. Gurgling. The sound wet. Drowning. He stumbles. Back. Trying to stop it. Can't. Too much. Too fast.
The blood pours between his fingers. Streams down his armor. Pooling. Steaming in the rain.
He falls. Knees first. Then forward. Face down in the mud.
Still bleeding. Still pumping. The heart beating. Weaker. Slower. But still... alive.
The smell. Iron. Salt. Life.
Your throat screams. Empty. Burning. DRINK. NOW.
You drop. Knees hitting the mud beside him.
Not thinking. Not choosing. The body moves.
Hands grab his shoulders. Flip him over. Face up. The neck. Wide open. Gushing.
Your mouth. Already there. Lips against the wound. Hot. Wet.
DRINK.
You do.
The blood floods your mouth. Hot. Thick. Sweet. Metallic. ALIVE.
You swallow. Gulp. More. The throat opens. Takes it. All of it. The burning. Gone. Soothed. Filled.
MORE.
Your tongue presses against the wound. Lapping. Sucking. Drawing it out. The veins. You can feel them. Pulsing against your lips. Feeding you. Giving.
Hands clawing at his armor. Ripping it. Need more access. More skin. More blood. The chest. The wrist. Anywhere it flows.
The heart. Slowing. Weakening. But still beating. Still pumping. Pushing more to you.
You drink faster. Desperate. Before it stops. Before it's gone.
The taste. Nothing like it. Nothing ever. This is... everything. Life. Warmth. Strength. Pouring into you.
The soldier's hand twitches. Falls. Still. Silent.
The heart stops.
But you don't stop. Can't stop. Mouth still pressed to the neck. Sucking. Drawing. Every last drop.
The blood keeps coming. Rising with every inhale. Every pull. The crimson flowing. Endless. You drain it all. Relentless. Your body cherishing every drop. You don't stop. Don't let a single bead drip down your face.
The body beneath you. Changing. The skin. Paling. White. Grey. The color draining. Literally. Flowing into you.
DRINK. MORE. ALL OF IT.
Your hands press harder against his chest. Squeezing. Pushing the blood up. Forcing it to the wound. To your mouth. Nothing wasted. Nothing.
The lips. Blue now. The face. Sunken. Hollow. The eyes. Dull. Glassy. Empty.
Still you drink.
The veins. Collapsing. Flat. Empty. You can feel it. Under your tongue. The pulse gone. The flow slowing. Trickling now. Not gushing.
Suck harder. Pull it. Force it out. There's more. Must be more.
Your throat working. Swallowing. Again. Again. The warmth spreading through you. Your chest. Your stomach. Your limbs. Strength. Power. LIFE.
The body. Withered now. Shriveled. Like the corpses in the pile. Drained. Husk.
Finally. Nothing. The wound dry. Empty.
The body beneath you.
Sloppy. Too loud. The slash was inefficient. Should have controlled the spray. Wasted blood on the ground.
Satisfied. Full. Warm. Strong. But... the others. Five more hearts. Still beating. WANT THEM.
Movement. Voices getting louder. They heard something. GET OUT. NOW. MOVE.
The eyes. Still open. Staring up. Empty.
He wears a dirty, now bloody navy blue uniform. Made of cheap wool. Rough. Threadbare at the elbows. Patched at the shoulder. The stitching uneven. Done by hand. His own hand, probably.
Leather belt. Cracked. Worn. A sword at his side. Rusted. Chipped blade. Standard infantry issue. Single-edged. Poor balance. Mass-produced for conscripts.
Boots. Mud-caked. The sole separating from the leather on the left one. Tied with cord, not proper laces.
The chest. A symbol stitched there. Faded. A crowned tower over crossed spears. The mark of House Veldren. Third Battalion. Garrison duty.
No armor. Just the wool coat. A thin shirt underneath. Linen. Grey. Soaked through with rain and blood.
A pouch at his belt. Canvas. Contains hardtack, probably. A waterskin. Half-empty.
Footsoldier. No shoulder straps. No insignia. Officers wear them. He doesn't. Expendable. Pressed into service. Paid in copper, not silver. Sent here to burn plague dead and guard mass graves.
How do you know that?
THEY'RE COMING. THE VOICES. LOUDER.
RUN. NOW.
Carry the body, can't leave trace.
The slash you gave was inaccurate. Incorrect. The blood sprayed uncontrollably. Look at it. Everywhere. The ground. Your clothes. The body is still leaking. Carrying it now would leave a trail. Blood drops. Footprints. They'll follow. They'll find you.
Can't stay. Can't carry. Can't hide it. CAN'T—
THEY'RE GETTING CLOSER. FOOTSTEPS. VOICES. "HEY, MARCUS? YOU THERE?"
MOVE. NOW. LEAVE IT. GO. RUN.
No. They'll see him. They'll know. They'll hunt you. HUNT YOU DOWN.
"981! REPORT!!!"
A voice, old, shouting with authority. A commander. An officer?
CLOSE. TOO CLOSE. THIRTY SECONDS. MAYBE LESS.
Where? Where do you go? Back to the corpse pile? They'll check there. Into the dark? They have torches. Fire. FIRE BURNS.
The body at your feet. Dead. Evidence. YOUR fault. They'll see. They'll know what you are.
"Something's wrong. Check the perimeter!"
RUNNING. FOOTSTEPS. COMING THIS WAY.
HIDE. RUN. FIGHT. DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING.
Your hands shake. Covered in blood. Claws still out. Can't retract them. Don't know how. Don't—
TEN SECONDS.
The panic floods. Drowns everything. Thought. Logic. All of it. Gone.
You run.
Not choosing. Not thinking. Just running. Away. Opposite direction from the voices. Feet moving. Body obeying.
The legs. Strong. Not weak anymore. Not shaking.
Fast. Too fast. The ground blurs beneath you. Each step covering... more distance than it should. Than it could.
It feels like nothing you think you know.
Behind you, shouting. "WHAT THE— OVER HERE! BLOOD! 981 IS DOWN!"
You run. Fast. Abnormally fast. Around corners. Past piles of bodies. Grey shapes blurring.
"FOOTPRINTS! TRACK IT!"