Chapitre 41: Survival (3)
My breath comes heavy, each gasp dragging raw against my throat. My face presses deep into flesh—cold, firm, unyielding. My eyes, once a clear azure, now shimmer faintly, hollowed by the weight of despair. Around me lingers a stench, acrid and suffocating, thick with decay. It is a reek that tells stories of those who might have been friends, colleagues, or strangers once, but who now serve as lifeless companions in this macabre mass.
The faces around me blur into a tapestry of diversity. Dark skin, pale skin. Black hair, blonde, or brown. Young faces and weathered ones, male and female alike, pressed together in a grotesque intimacy closer than any embrace. The press of bodies is suffocating, tighter than my hands could ever clasp.
And then, my gaze falls on a child. A tiny, unmoving form in the distance, draped in stillness. The maggots writhe over its lifeless body, feasting, their movements like a ritual dance—wild and hypnotic, circling like fire-worshippers at their pyre. My stomach churns. I nearly retch, the bile clawing its way up my throat.
I bite my tongue, hard enough to taste blood, forcing myself back from the brink of my own collapse. My eyes burn as I swallow down the nausea, veins bulging against my skin as though ready to burst. For a moment, I wonder—if I pressed harder, could I choke on my own tongue and escape this hell? But I dismiss the thought. No. To die here would make me no different from them.
They are dead. Different in life, perhaps. But now they are all the same. I force myself to confront it: their faces, frozen in agony; their bodies, each carrying a unique story of suffering. Whipped, beaten, violated, burned, shot—endless horrors written on their cold flesh. The torment they endured refuses to leave my mind.
But I cannot think about it. I must not. My teeth grind as I try to block it out, to stop myself from spiraling into their memories.
The cart lurches beneath me, wheels creaking against rough terrain. The weight of my fellow captives—no, my former equals—presses me further into this ghastly pile. Through a narrow crack in the wooden walls, I glimpse the crimson glow of the moon hanging high in a blood-streaked sky. The gallop of horses fills the air, their rhythmic pounding a cruel heartbeat to this nightmare.
And then there is the laughter. The coarse, mocking laughter of the two men driving the cart. It echoes like a hammer against my skull, searing into my mind. They laugh while I suffer. They laugh while I drown in death.
I close my eyes and try to remember warmth—a soft bed, a steaming bath, a hearty meal. Bread, lentils, eggs, pizza. Anything but this. But the memories elude me, slipping through my fingers like sand.
The bodies press harder against me, cold and unyielding. Their weight pins me, their stench invades my senses. I can't breathe. I can't move. My ribs feel as though they'll crack under the pressure. My vision dims, and despair threatens to take root.
But then, something stirs. A flicker of defiance, a spark of rage.
I cannot die here. Not like this. Not for nothing.
The thought ignites a fire deep within me. My fingers twitch, a painful tingle spreading through my numbed limbs. I grit my teeth, biting down harder to stifle a scream as my muscles strain against the suffocating weight. My nails dig into the flesh of the bodies above me.
I will survive.
A growl rises in my throat, raw and guttural. My vision sharpens, focusing on the crimson moon beyond the crack in the cart. The glow washes over me, painting my world in blood. My body trembles, veins bulging beneath my pale skin.
And then, I bite.
I sink my teeth into the flesh of the corpse closest to me. It tastes of rot and decay, maggots squirming between my lips. I gag but do not stop. My teeth grind against sinew and bone, my jaw aching as I tear into the cold, lifeless flesh.
I do not apologize. I cannot. Not now. I tell myself I will atone in whatever afterlife awaits me, but for now, survival is my only creed.
The taste of death coats my tongue, but something primal awakens within me. A surge of strength courses through my body, my muscles tightening, hardening. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, loud and relentless. My blood burns like fire, coursing through me with newfound vitality.
My hands push against the weight above me, trembling with effort. Slowly, inch by inch, the lifeless forms begin to shift. The mound of bodies tilts and slides, some rolling away, freeing precious space around me.
The cart jerks to a sudden halt, the horses neighing in protest. I hear the crack of a whip, followed by the heavy thud of boots hitting the ground. The laughter stops.
I press on, my arms trembling as I lift the last of the bodies from my back. My legs shake beneath me, barely able to hold my weight. Sweat drips from my brow, mixing with the blood and grime that coats my skin.
I rise, unsteady but unbroken. My breath fogs in the cold night air, each exhale a testament to my defiance.
The men stand silhouetted against the crimson moonlight, their expressions frozen in disbelief. They do not speak, their mouths hanging open in silent shock.
I laugh—a bitter, rasping sound that sends shivers down my spine. My hair hangs in matted strands before my face, but through it, my eyes burn with an unholy light.
"I am God," I whisper, my voice trembling but resolute. "God of Creation. Father of All."
The words hang in the air, heavy and absolute.
My crimson eyes lock onto theirs, glowing like embers in the frigid darkness. My lips curl into a grim smile as I take a step forward, my body still trembling with exertion.
"And this night you shall be killed by my hands."
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