I immediately regret slowing down. One by one, mice spring at me in frantic waves, tiny bodies battering my legs like living bullets. I'm almost grateful they're only mice; I can't even conceive of the monstrosities those claws could belong to if they were rats. Yet even these small vermin are enough to send my pulse sky-high, their frantic squeaks like whispers of my own unraveling.
Each impact stings, fur and tiny bones brushing against my skin, and I know there's no turning back. The hallway has become a gauntlet, and I'm running out of breath, and options.
I slashed and crushed through the endless tide—mice bodies exploding beneath my fists in wet, sickening sprays of gore. Their tiny skulls cracked like eggshells, brains oozing out in threadlike ribbons. Blood splatters plastered my clothes; fur matted in clumps across my arms. I felt the slick heft of severed tails and the slippery skid of dismembered legs underfoot. Somehow, the worst was watching their dark, beady eyes burst free of their sockets, rolling down the hall like hateful, tiny marbles. And still the swarm pressed on, an unceasing, chittering wave that no amount of killing could stop. My hands trembled, dripping gore, as I realized: in this nightmare, there is no escape… and no mercy.
This time, one of them slips past my hands and dives straight under my shirt. Panic spikes as I feel tiny claws clawing at my bare skin. It bites my stomach—sharp teeth puncturing flesh, and scrabble-scrabble, its frantic scratches carve trails of fire across my gut. My breath hitches; every nerve ending screams. I can feel its slick, wet body writhing against warm skin, its squeaks muffled by my pounding heartbeat. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine as terror coils tighter in my chest, this isn't just a battle. It's a living nightmare, and I'm trapped inside my own body.
I snatch it free, ripping my shirt in a brutal tug. The rat's claws rattle against my ribs as I grip its slick, trembling body. With a quick, desperate squeeze, I crush it, bones snapping, blood spurting in a warm arc across my stomach. Then I freeze. My gaze drops to the ragged tear in my flesh … and that sickening puddle of crimson.
"Wh-what the hell…" My voice cracks. I stare in disbelief as dark coils spill from the wound—my own intestines, knotted and pulsing, draped grotesquely across my gut like living rope. A wave of nausea and primal terror crashes through me, so intense it steals my breath. My stomach clenches in agony, each heartbeat hammering the exposed flesh.
I press a shaking hand to the wound, fingertips slick with blood and viscera. The smell of iron floods my senses, sharp and suffocating. Around me, the corridor warps, walls bending, shadows twisting. I realize with a cold, hollow dread that I'm not just bleeding out; I'm unravelling from the inside, and there's no turning back.
I clamp my intestines against my gut with one shaking hand, desperate to keep them from spilling free. With my other, I raggedly swing at the oncoming tide of mice, each kill feels like a lifeline, a bargain with this hellish place. Their bodies pop under my fist, slick blood staining my ripped shirt, fur and bone fragments smearing my skin. Every crushed skull echoes in my chest like a drumbeat of survival.
Through tears and searing agony, I refuse to stop. My vision swims, edges darkening with each heartbeat, but I force myself to see. The black smoke. Every time I slaughter one of these things, that filthy vapor coils into me, a twisted salve against my wound. My breaths come in guttural gasps, pain lancing through me with each tear that trickles down my cheek. My world narrows to this brutal ritual: kill, draw smoke, stave off death.
And so I fight on. Hands slick with gore, heart pounding, mind teetering. Because here, in this nightmare, my only hope is the next kill.
I can feel my intestines sloshing with every shuddering step—warm, slick ropes twisting inside me, each movement a fresh wave of nausea. Yet with every rat I crush, that choking wisp of black smoke coils into my veins, a vile stimulant that tears me away from the brink. My vision blurs, my body trembles, and tears mingle with sweat, each drop a testament to this grotesque bargain: more slaughter means more of that burning shroud, enough to keep me fighting, keep me alive… if only by a thread.
A rat lunges up and burrows straight into my eye socket before I even register it. Sharp claws rake across my eyelid, drilling mercilessly into the soft flesh beneath. A primal scream rips free:
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Instinct takes over. I snatch the creature off my face and hurl it against the wall. Its tiny body crumples with a wet crack, blood and bits of bone splattering across the peeling paint. But it's too late, warm liquid gushes down my cheek where my eye used to be, and a sickening void stares back at me from my skull. Pain explodes behind my socket, white-hot and relentless, and I taste copper as tears of agony mix with the thick, bloody smear on my lips.
But the swarm didn't give me a moment's mercy. They surged over me, teeth gnashing, claws raking at my raw flesh while I sobbed and screamed. "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" I snarled, rage, agony, and terror fermenting into something wild inside me. My arms shook so violently I could barely raise them, but I kept swinging. Crushing skulls, tearing limbs, spraying blood in sick, glistening arcs.
Time lost all meaning. Minutes or hours—who can say?—as I slaughtered this endless tide of vermin. Gradually, the black smoke seeped into my gut like a grotesque healing salve, knitting flesh shut over where my intestines once dangled. Now a pulsing crater remained, a patch of swirling darkness where my belly had been torn open. My missing eye throbbed in its socket, every heartbeat a fresh jolt of pain.
Still they came. Only a hundred or so small horrors remained, scuttling toward me with fiendish persistence. My lips peeled back in a crazed grin as laughter tore itself from my throat—"HAHAHA… not so tough now, are you?" My voice cracked and echoing, more a ragged scream than anything sane. "Come and get my other eye, you sons of bitches!"
My face feels bone-dry, there are no tears left to shed. This agony should have shattered me, and yet here I am, drenched in blood, one hand pressed over the ragged hole in my gut, the other swinging in blind rage. A laugh rips out of my throat—hoarse, jagged, and completely inexplicable. I have no idea why I'm laughing. the pain claws through every nerve, burning me alive from the inside out.
After the final mouse sprawls dead at my feet, the hall falls silent at last. I collapse to my knees, every muscle burning, blood-soaked and trembling on the cold tile. My vision tunnels, stars dance behind closed lids. Then that damned whisper coils through my skull again:
"Nice work, sweetheart~ Time for your beauty sleep~"
I feel bile rise as I lock my jaw against the urge to scream. Curse you, I think, but even that fury is too weak to form the words. My body convulses in a last shudder of agony, and my world goes black.