A man sat at a table playing a game eerily similar to poker, but each of the cards pulsed like raw flesh, and when they landed on the table, a sickening wet slap– like a drenched towel hitting the floor. With each landing card, fluids began to pool on the surface of the table.


    The man''s opponents weren’t normal either. There was a floating eyeball with thousands of hands, a serpent with the face of a human and its tail stripped to the bone, a human-esque figure that seemed to be made out of literal nothingness. Its body could simply be described as a translucent darkness.


    The final was a human figure whose body was the same shade as blood. Two horns extended from its head, and its tail looked like a pitchfork. As it grinned, it revealed far too many teeth, at least a thousand lay within its mouth.


    “So human,” the figure with blood-like skin spoke, “how are you enjoying our match of high-stakes Looth? We modeled it after a game you’ve played before. But the stakes—ah, they are far higher than a mere human can even fathom.”


    As it began to laugh, the shrill sound pierced his eardrums, it was as if thousands of tiny needles were piercing his brain. The human began to grit his teeth as he thought of what he would lose.


    The human-faced-serpent hissed, “Ever ssince you were sssold here, we’ve played our fair ssshare of gamess. Ah— have you even won once?”


    The man opened his mouth to respond. Nothing. No sound, not even a whisper, came out. His voice had been seemingly ripped out. Stolen.


    The serpent began to grin “Ah.. Cat got your tongue? Or perhapss…”


    The blood-like figure threw its head back as it began to cackle, the sound began to drill into his head as if a glass was piercing his eardrums. The air began to thicken, it was almost suffocating–the nightmare had only begun.


    His only way out, his only salvation, was to win this horrific game of Looth.


    The man looked at his hand. He had drawn three flesh cards. He wiped the cold sweat that was dripping down his face. Each of these cards held a twisted secret.


    The first one was a picture of a sun with a nightmarish smile, the teeth looked like they could be daggers. As he focused on the card, the skin on his skin began to singe from the heat that radiated from the fleshly card. Smoke began to flow from his burning skin. He quickly shifted his focus to the next card


    The second card was that of a purple-faced figure wearing a robe. As he began to stare at the card, the face seemed to flicker constantly, from joy to sadness to rage. His throat constricted as he focused on the card. The air began to thicken, and his throat began to constrict; he was having trouble breathing. His heartbeat began to quicken as he stared into its eyes, which seemed to be the shade of the eternal darkness that enveloped space.


    The final card illustrated something very simple: what appeared to be an ocean. The Ocean appeared to be serene and calm. As he focused on the card, he could see the waves crashing about. But when he looked deeper, he realized—the ocean was alive. That''s the only way he could describe it.


    The man stared at his hand. Each card was horrifying in its own right. He had three choices, each would surely spell his doom. He took a deep breath as he looked at the cards. There was no going back now; this was his only way to escape this hellscape.


    Stolen story; please report.


    As he gripped his cards, his breath quickened. He knew this was his final chance at salvation. He steeled himself; he had to escape, no matter the cost.


    His mind drifted to the countless games he played–each one a desperate attempt to claw away from this nightmare, how many had he lost? How many pieces of himself had he given up for the slim chance of victory to escape this hellscape?


    He remembered the countless smiles his family had given him—before they came. Before that, horror overtook his world. Before his sale to these horrific beings. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the horrific things that happened to his world.


    He placed all three cards down on the table.


    Heat began to radiate from the sky as a sun appeared, and its horrific smile began to widen as if mocking the man.


    The air began to thicken as the robed figure appeared in the sky, its face flickering even faster as its midnight eyes stared at the man.


    Water began to seep through the cracks in the floor, and surged as if trying to swallow the world.


    The shrill laughter of the blood-like skin figure rang through his ears “An excellent choice… Fufufu… Truly good…”


    The man''s vision began to fade into darkness as the shrill laughter of the blood-like skin rang through his ears...


    ….


    The man glanced around and saw that he was in some sort of prison. He looked at his feet and noticed they were shackled. He looked around at his surroundings and noticed that the walls were made of rough stone and covered in patches of moss and grime.


    The air was damp, cold, and filled with the scent of mildew. The flickering light of a torch mounted on the wall cast long, eerie shadows across the small, narrow cell. The faint clinking sound of chains echoed from deeper within the prison, making his skin crawl.


    His head ached as the laughter still seemed to resonate in the corners of his mind, but it was fading, slipping away into the distance. With each passing second, his thoughts started to clear, and he realized the gravity of his situation. The shackles bound his wrists tightly, and the rough metal pressed into his skin.


    “What the fuck is on my hand.” He looked down towards his right hand, where a tattoo lay, not of ink but of scar tissue. What was even more eerie was that the tattoo included the three cards that he had played, the smiling sun, the seemingly alive ocean, and the dark eyes of that purple-robed figure.


    He strained his eyes, searching for anything that might offer an escape. His breath quickened as panic slowly began to creep in, but he refused to give in to it. A soft, muffled sound echoed down the hallway, like footsteps, but they stopped just as quickly as they started.


    He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his nerves. There was no way he was going to stay here forever. He had to get out.


    The faint sound of a door creaking open somewhere in the distance startled him. His heart raced as his mind scrambled for a plan. Would someone come for him? Or was this some twisted joke?


    A dull voice filled the air as the footsteps began again. “Ah, look at all of these valued materials—fresh from the picking board.”


    The footsteps began again, and a figure dropped in an ashen-colored robe appeared in front of the man''s cell. “Hmm, the unique one of the batch. Tell me what your name is, material?”


    The man attempted to speak, yet his voice was gone. It had been taken. The man took his right hand and placed it on his neck. His voice seemingly returned, “I don''t know.”


    The man in front of the cell smiled, his teeth grey and rotten, then said, “A unique one indeed.”