Flakes of snow drifted on the frigid wind, illuminated by the pale, indifferent winter moon. A beautiful night, perhaps, but such luxuries were not mine to enjoy.
Panting heavily, I pushed myself off the muck-covered ground of the back alley. My hand trembled as I stared at my bloodied knuckles. At my feet lay the lifeless corpse of a boy I'd never seen before this cursed night. Crouching, I retrieved the bag – the pitiful prize of our unsightly duel. Rations. Maybe tonight, food. Probably just more junk. A tragedy, not that I cared
'Let's see what's for dinner.'
I rummaged through the coarse cloth sack. Antibiotic bandages. Water filtration straws. Nothing edible. "God damn it," I hissed, the words barely a whisper in the cold air. "Why is it always medical junk… Tsk. Hope someone's desperate enough to trade." Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I moved towards the alley's exit. I'd just killed a boy over scraps, but survival in the undercity demanded such things. We were society's rejects, clawing for existence in the dark. It wasn't my fault. I had to live.
Navigating the undercity's serpentine streets, I clung to the deeper shadows, unwilling to fight again over these meagre spoils. The descent intensified the stench – rot, filth, despair – a miasma I'd long ceased to notice. Near the festering trash heaps stood my refuge: a ramshackle cabin cobbled from splintered wood and rusted tin. Its original builder was forgotten, perhaps dead. I'd claimed it months ago, and the silence since spoke volumes.
I pushed open the frail door and sank onto the thin mattress on the bare floor. Dumping the bag's contents, I began sorting the supplies – potential trade or grim insurance. The mundane task offered a sliver of normalcy.
"Nythe."
The voice was everywhere and nowhere. Cold. Unpeaceable
My head snapped back. Instinct screamed. I was on my feet in an instant, heart hammering against my ribs. Perceptiveness meant life in the undercity, yet someone–or something-had – had invaded my sanctuary unseen. A fatal lapse. My hand slid towards my empty back pocket, a bluff implying hidden steel. 'Did I imagine it?'
The cabin offered no hiding place. Bare walls, the mattress, the floorboards. Empty. Yet the air thrummed with a sudden, icy tension. Unease coiled in my gut. I knelt, pried up a loose floorboard beside the mattress, and shoved the bag into the hidden cavity. The board thudded back into place; I dragged the mattress over it.
Silence. Thick, heavy, waiting. Nothing stirred. But the voice… it had felt real. Too real.
My gaze caught the door. A faint, unnatural crimson glow seeped beneath it. I blinked hard. Was madness finally claiming me? My hand closed on the cold metal handle. Hesitation held me for a breath, then I yanked the door open.
The night sky was gone. Obliterated. In its place hung a vast, malevolent crimson moon, bathing the world in blood-red light. It dominated the heavens, an impossible, terrifying apex. I stood frozen, transfixed by the monstrous sight.
Crunch
Footsteps on gravel – sharp, close – shattered the silence. I jolted, but as the sound registered, the world rippled. Thick, suffocating fog boiled up from the ground like a living thing, swallowing the alley, the trash heaps, the cabin doorframe, everything, in an instant. Whirling around, I sought the cabin – only swirling, impenetrable grey remained.
'Huh…?'
Shock locked my limbs. The cabin – solid, real – had vanished. Had the fight damaged my mind? Was this a toxin-induced nightmare? Logic crumbled.
A sudden, icy chill crawled up my spine like frozen fingers. The hairs on my nape stood rigid. A faint skittering, like insects on stone, echoed for a split second, then vanished. I spun, peering into the opaque gloom. Nothing. Yet the sensation of being watched intensified, a palpable weight pressing down, crushing the air from my lungs. My gaze lifted, drawn inexorably upwards into the featureless, fog-choked void.
And there they were.
Twin points of crimson light burned through the murk. Predatory. Unblinking. Suspended impossibly in the roiling fog, they fixed upon me with terrifying singularity. My sole focus. My doom.
For the first time in my brutal existence, primal fear paralyzed me. Fight or flight deserted me. My legs turned to stone; cold sweat traced icy paths down my temples. A single moment stretched into an agonizing eternity.
Before comprehension could form, before I could scream, darkness erupted. It felt like the earth yawned beneath me, hungry and infinite. I plummeted, the crimson moon shrinking to a distant, accusing eye. The air tore from my lungs in a silent gasp; fire seared my chest. Suffocation – an old, unwelcome acquaintance.
Paralysis seized me utterly. My body was a dead weight, adrift in the void. Yet I felt them. Dozens – hundreds? – of tiny, needle-sharp points of cold pricking my skin, followed instantly by the horrifying sensation of minuscule, razor-sharp maws gnawing with insectile fervor, peeling away my flesh in agonizing strips.
Is this the end? The thought surfaced, detached. Strange, certainly. Unimagined. But then, I'd already outlived every grim expectation. My vision tunneled, fading to a pinprick of nothing against the consuming dark.
Panic? No. In the final, gnawing darkness, only cold acceptance remained. An early death was always the bargain. This was merely a collection.