scarred prey 3

By primitivo

Something pulsates and short-lived, blurry memories flare up. You see lush, wet grass under you and lethargically draw patterns in it with your naked feet. The noise of crickets lazily chirping in the distance fills the air. You absentmindedly scratch a moquito bite on the first joint of your right middle finger, until a low growl breaks the tranquil peace. Sharp fangs pop up and unbearable pain tortures your body. The heavy night sky and tiny stars enter and you find youself on your back next to the dreaded tree. Your sense of self is dissipating, as you look at the glistening shine of the far away beacons and freeze in the cold night. And in the next moment you're melting in the flames of perpetual agony, while claws pierce your weakening flesh and try to tear you apart. You try to escape, but something gets ahold of you. As you get dragged back, you try to grab at the ground, leaving scratches in the substance below you. Your father's crying face emerges.

You open your eyes in a flash and you take a desperate, deep breath. Two monsters are holding you down. Newfound strength is surging through your body, but your left side feels strangely numb. The hellspawn is on your right, holding your head close to her face. She stares at you wide-eyed in disbelief. She is closer than the other one holding onto your numb arm. Your fist soars up and hits her right in the jaw. She stumbles back, seemingly more perplexed than hurt. The monster on your left immediately lets go of you after seeing her companion take a punch. You sit up and you raise your right hand to your mouth just in time to catch a series of rough coughs rocking your body. Your lungs protest in dull pain and your diaphragm and other muscles in your chest try to get rid of something. The room is once again silent and you retract your hand to take a look at the sputum you coughed up. It is more blood than phlegm and your heart beats faster in response. Focus.

You put your right hand on your knee to stand up and with a strained wheeze you manage to get back on your unsteady feet. It takes everything you have to maintain balance and to not just collaps back into the ground. The room continues to spin and a spasm forces you to hunch over and evacuate your half-digested lunch on the cracked marble floor. Between the obvious bits of meat and bread you see dark, coffee-like substrate, informing you of an open, bleeding wound somewhere in your stomach lining. You feel anemic and you wipe your mouth with the back of your shaky, right hand. The two monsters are still sitting in front of you and continue to watch you with their mouths slightly agape. They clearly thought you were dead judging by their surprised reaction and faces. Your hazed mind screams that you have to escape. This is your only option. Your shaking legs wobble a bit, but you stand rooted in your spot. The deer in the headlights again. But you feel there is something else that is wrong and your left side pulsates in response. The numbness slowly weakens and pain grows, as it digs deeper into your body. You look down nervously and see the mangled, distorted flesh, that was once your left arm.

Monsters. You look up shell-shocked, back to the invaders and see your blood on their hands and clothes. Your legs are about to give out and you hear them say something to each other or to you, but your mind doesn't recognize any words. Fear. Primal, deep rooted fear floods your mind. The fear of your ancestors, when they faced a superior predator. Cold dread fills your body and all thought is blown out of your head for a moment. You turn towards the hole in the wall and manage a few unsure steps. But soon enough you have enough control of your legs and you take off.

You probably run on fumes and feel your afterburner already sputtering, but you have to run and escape. Staying would only bring you to an early grave and you try to quell the stabbing, familiar feeling at the back of your mind. Your heart is thumping violently, almost painfully in your chest and your mutilated arm is uselessly flopping about, as you put every ounce of your remaining strength into your aching legs. You come across the wet spot where they've taken the slut. A mixture of stale urine and blood, spotted with a few white, dental islands. Despite your dire situation, your imagination still somehow finds the power to run wild and dream up the most horrifying scenarios picturing your fate at the claws of these demons. You cannot stop. Both running and fantasizing. The purple portals are still there, with more monsters still coming out of them, but the portals seem to vibrate, growing and shrinking randomly in size at a fast pace. A couple of monsters are forming a circle around them and seem to quietly chant, as etherial gusts of delicate, soft light travel from them into the abnormal portal sphere.

You managed to leave the parking lot behind you and reach the flush meadow across the road, but with your current, raddled state you know you won't make it much further. Injuries are nothing new to you, but this is beyond next level. The crippling thought of defeat and certain death worms into your weary brain. You wheeze with every step and feel your strength quickly waning. The adrenal glands in your body have exhausted their supply of the lifesaving hormone and the pain and fatigue creep back in to fill the growing vacuum. Your lungs are burning, while they try to filter the oxygen from the air. You continue to raggedly shuffle away, with only sheer will keeping you barely on your unsteady feet. But the pain in your left arm draws razors across your taxed mind, the blood loss is too great and you can no longer persevere in this anguish. Your legs capitulate, you fall to your knees and almost keel over, but you manage to catch yourself with your good arm. Focus. You look over your shoulder back to the clinic and see monsters in hot pursuit, the hellspawn leading. Strange. They are more than capable to catch you in just a few meters. Why did they give you such a big headstart. One of them even is part horse for gods sake. You don't even feel the impact of your torso hitting the ground and your vision starts to blur. The blood oozing ouf of your wounds stain and wet your body. You extend your right, tired arm and try to drag yourself away from the incoming ball of fur, fangs and claws, however the nails on your right hand uselessly scrape against the dirt and stones and one breaks off. Once more you reach out to try to crawl away, but your body only convulses in vain. This is it. Collecting the final remains of your energy you look back again only to see the deadly, fuzzy, black mass flying towards you, red in the distance and then nothing.

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