ã€ŠLambs to the Slaughterã€‹


 1. Chosen Wolf

    ¡°Rise and feast, chosen wolf,¡± a voice booming, resonating within him, not as a plea or a command, but as a force of nature beckoning him to yield and obey.

    ¡°Feast? Feast on what?¡± He had tried to say it out loud, but nothing dared to escape his throat.

    Awareness only came gradually to Ezra. Was he dreaming? Within his dreams, he was rarely a participant but more of an onlooker, never quite able to influence what was happening.

    But it was real. He was trying to move, to try to feel the ground beneath him, but there wasn¡¯t anything.

    ¡°Think of what they did to you,¡± the disembodied voice called out again, almost pleading, mirroring empathy.

    ¡°What did they do to me? Who?¡± Ezra knew exactly who, deep down.

    His classmates¡ªhe just knew that it was them he was supposed to think of. And yet, he decided to play dumb and act like he had no idea.

    Then, suddenly, visions of the past appeared, as though there was an old tube TV right before his eyes.

    The looks on the faces of others. The things they bothered to say to him. Days spent at home instead of being in school. People talking behind his back, making things up, and twisting things further and further. Until now, there was still a slight flicker of hope¡ªhope that this was just some elaborate joke he was at the end of. But no, something had Ezra in its clutches¡ªsomething much worse.

    ¡°You can get payback for what they did to you.¡±

    The voice was trying to convince him, whispering, trying to lull him into doing its bidding.

    Ezra, however, started to not even register the words anymore; instead, he focused on trying to move, trying his hardest to get a feel for his extremities, much like trying to regain control during sleep paralysis; he focused on his toes, and even without the sliver of a response, it aided him in ignoring the sinister nothings that were being whispered in his ear.

    But only for so long.

    <hr>

    ¡°You could reign free over them; show them. You could make them pay, make them scream, or make them fear you. They deserve it; we know that they deserve it. You could rip at them for every year they took from you. Why resist? Remember,¡±

    For every word spoken, Ezra¡¯s senses flared up, only for the tiniest moment of a second, almost as if to showcase how much control he was under. He was supposed to feel the power of whatever was holding him, right down to the marrow of his bones.

    The visions, previously only a reminder, now turned more grand and intense; Ezra wasn¡¯t just rewatching his life anymore; he was reliving it. The looks, the words. The feeling of being a disease, spreading wherever it dared to stay.

    ¡°Remember,¡±

    He did. Every single thing. Again and again.

    ¡°Remember,¡±

    It surprised Ezra himself that he wasn¡¯t trying to lash out. To make it all stop. Between the laughter and everything, he stared past it all, trying to cut ahead through these memories and look at what was keeping him here.

    ¡°You resist. Why resist? Why resist? Do not resist.¡±

    The voice went on and on and on. Chipping at his walls, every word allowed him to feel for just a second.

    ¡°Resist no more, be a wolf, rip their throats, tear, cut, break, and cast asunder. Kill, kill, kill, kill.¡±

    The commands grew more forceful, gaining a physical aspect beyond merely allowing Ezra to know he was still residing in his body.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Every word was a knife, and every sound was a stab aimed at whatever it wanted. Its frustration made it manifest in actual pain. Cutting away at bones and his throat.

    Flashes of light as he felt something jam into his eyes.

    And yet, even in pain, Ezra wouldn¡¯t have dared to imagine yielding.

    ¡°Cease, Cease, Cease. Why resist? Suffer. Pain. Obey Wolf, obey, and make them pay. Change, devour, and consume. Kill the lambs, seek the lambs, hunt the lambs, eat, EAT, change, and kill.¡±

    <hr>

    How long had it been? Even the thought of screaming proved pointless; every time Ezra attempted to, it was as if a hand was desperately keeping his mouth shut.

    ¡°How? How? How? How does he resist?¡±

    It sounded desperate, confused, and baffled as to why this could be. The disdain in its voice made it sound like it had just realized what kind of pest it was dealing with.

    The flashes of pain came few and far between, until eventually they stopped altogether.

    A lapse in concentration, a careless moment. Whatever it was, Ezra felt himself wake up in full, like blood shooting towards icy fingers, warmth along with the feeling of sore muscles.

    He shot up, looking around, his eyes assaulted by the color white. It was all around, no matter where one looked, without any sense of depth or length between one point or the other, a rubber cell without the padding.

    Ezra was fascinated by the sight before him. A room, completely clad in white, without any way to tell how high or how far the room went on.

    He felt his entire body pulsing, reminding him of the pain he endured.

    All too familiar as well was the on-set of a migraine, Ezra felt approaching: little blobs of gray, followed by little flashing lights, promises of pain, and an aversion to bright lights for the rest of the day.

    However, the shapes perceived by Ezra had a much more genuine shape to them. And were getting larger.

    Somehow, he knew he wasn¡¯t a few minutes away from wanting to pop some painkillers; he was starting to see something, something that wasn¡¯t used to being seen and didn¡¯t want to be either.

    It moved erratically, trying to escape his gaze, but it wasn¡¯t hard to track it at all.

    ¡°How?!¡± the voice asks in genuine shock.

    Ezra was still hoping he would wake up any second now. He questioned nothing. Why he was here and whether any of it was real. Because why would he? Did it matter? Either he would wake up, or he would have to accept this insanity and try to deal with it then.

    The sensations from before, the pain¡ªhe could still feel the attempts being made, but it got easier and easier to resist. It almost felt like he was returning the favor. It was almost as if he were clashing swords with something, and he was starting to win.

    ¡°Cease,¡±

    We hadn¡¯t quite reached panic in the tone of Ezras¡¯s captor; concern, however, was getting quite audible.

    For some reason, Ezras¡¯s mind was picking up on something that started out as nothing but nonsense and gibberish. But then, slowly and surely, it started to make sense.

    Voices, many of them, speaking to one another. It was impossible to discern how many. It was more akin to frenzied chanting than anything.

    It was until he heard the one voice that was familiar calling out, but not to him. But to something else, for help.

    And it answered.

    There was no sound at all, and it still felt like a comet had crashed down behind Ezra. Something had heeded the call¡ªsomething powerful. Its presence alone made Ezra shake.

    ¡°You¡¯re stealing from us,¡± said a voice like velvet, clashing against the crushing aura Ezra could feel. Female, soothing almost.

    ¡°Now, how does he do it, I wonder?¡± honest contemplation in her voice, genuine interest. Though they weren¡¯t audible at all, one could feel every single step she took.

    Ezra, against better judgement, turned around.

    A set of teeth, surprisingly discernible against the coat of white all around, smiling widely, and a floating pair of yellow eyes, attached to a barely distinguishable feminine shape. A soft gray silhouette, pacing back and forth, just at arm¡¯s length.

    ¡°I do not enjoy dealing with thieves or humans. And yet you took enough for yourself to warrant attention.¡±

    She took a step closer. The ground beneath seemed to shake, trembling, just like Ezra did.

    ¡°Hmm, you know, don¡¯t you? You knew from the moment I got here that I was not to be trifled with. Someone who is in your position would feel empowered, and yet you? So quiet and respectful.¡±

    Her grin grew impossibly wider, the outline of her silhouette barely containing her teeth in a plausible manner.

    ¡°You just know. The wolf who refuses to be. You resisted for far longer than most; I wonder if it would have been any longer if you didn¡¯t break free.¡± A low chuckle. One could have mistaken it for a schoolgirl¡¯s laughter.

    She walked circles around Ezra, giving off the sense that all that was keeping him from being disemboweled on the spot was the fact that he was interesting, even if only for the moment.

    ¡°If you are so eager to play the role of a lamb, then by all means, play. But you would know better than to reject the hand offering to feed you.¡±

    ¡°Consider what your kind did to actual wolves and ask yourself if that fate would not suit you better than what is happening outside this little realm of mine.¡±

    Although Ezra couldn¡¯t see it, he felt a hand, the backside of it ghosting over his cheek.

    ¡°Such a waste.¡±

    It was the last thing Ezra heard before the push and the seemingly infinite fall after.

 2. The Halls

    Ezra fell, his back meeting the cold ground, forcing the air out of his lungs. A few laboured breaths later, he set himself upright, still sitting.

    ¡°The school hall?¡± he said out loud, surprised to hear his own voice.

    Lockers lining the walls to his left and right, the polished concrete beneath him¡ªa sight Ezra was familiar with, though to a less intimate degree, considering how little time he spent in school compared to others. It was relatively dark; the cheap fluorescent lights above were not quite dead but not quite eager to share what little life they had in them.

    Ezra, feeling recovered, stood up and walked forward. He couldn¡¯t quite shake the feeling that something was watching as his instinct assaulted him with that pressing feeling, that push from within, telling you something is close.

    His mind tried to wander, tried to calm him, and tried to concern itself with things that mattered very little, like the sliding wooden doors the principal had installed, clearly taken by some force to have what must have been the desire to get a Japanese touch inside his school.

    The principal was quite the character outside of the very unconventional choices when it came to the architectural uses of space. Like the aforementioned sliding doors, instead of the cheap normal installations or the emphasis on natural light, which meant many lockers had to make way for windows. Having to manage what could be considered a very ¡®experimental¡¯ school was bound to attract characters like that.

    He stopped at one of those windows, now hearing more than just the drumming of his heart. Rain lashing, almost beating on the window. Beyond it, nothing but a veil of black. None of the lights outside worked. The only thing one could see was the faint silhouette of rain beneath the blanket of darkness.

    Usually, rain would have been a source of calm for Ezra. He never knew exactly why, maybe as a testament to the safety he felt when he didn¡¯t have to be outside, or maybe he just liked the cold the rain brought with it.

    But something wasn¡¯t right about this. It didn¡¯t feel like there was much of anything beyond the rain, like the confines of these walls were the only thing that was... there.

    His contemplation was cut short as a scream echoed through the halls, genuine, life-fearing terror evident in its pitch. The moment he turned around, his body suddenly had its own ideas about what it wanted to do. He was met with painful spasms, his legs giving out, sending his knees down into the polished concrete.

    Again, the flashes of light in his vision, this time with the familiar pain of the migraines he usually got, only this time, the flashes of light and the aura that came with them completely engulfed his vision, effectively blinding him. He suddenly knew things. Feel things, as though someone was shoving information right inside him, courtesy of an icepick, that Ezra swore was being shoved into the top of his head.

    He suddenly knew that there were boundaries all around. He knew he was being watched constantly, and he knew something much more important. A warning? Or a promise?

    ¡®Hide and run, or be consumed¡¯

    The message buried deep inside, branded into the mind. A taste of something yet to come.It seemed like that was all there was¡ªa simple slap to the head meant to prepare you, to frighten you.

    Ezra didn¡¯t feel frightened, but morbidly curious instead. Run and hide from what? The pieces Ezra caught about what was going on began to fall into place. It was obvious he was meant to run and hide from the wolves, something he was supposed to represent.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    That ¡®girl¡¯ that pushed him out of whatever make-belief, pocket rubber-cell he was being kept in, said something about him resisting and freeing himself. As much as Ezra would have liked to pat himself on the back for that, it meant there would be others that didn¡¯t. People that would be around here, doing what they were told. People that would cause someone to scream, just like someone did a few moments ago.

    Without contemplation of it being the right decision, or a smart one, Ezra moved forward, towards the scream, in a scramble that almost had him planting his face into the ground again.

    He went down a flight of stairs, still shaking from the muscle spasms, barely making it down without falling, hoping against his odds that he could still offer help to whomever was screaming for their life.

    Another hallway, remarkably similar to the one before, down to the most minute details. A carbon copy, void of any personality. As if plucked and then set down.

    Everything was the same, except for the person standing far off in the distance, almost frozen. Ezra could almost taste the danger in the air. He didn¡¯t approach the person; he couldn¡¯t. The switch was flicked inside him.Approaching that person was too dangerous, every fibre inside him screaming for him to stay put and to observe. A minute passed. Then another.

    Slight movement, stepping just inside of the edge of the lights, barely revealing a school uniform. Another step, then a tremor visible on the student¡¯s body, like being forced to move in a different direction. Another step closer, the student¡¯s long blonde hair cascading down. A girl, she seemed to struggle to even go backwards, like she had just figured out how to move her legs and was taking her steps in the wrong direction.

    Her arms suddenly bent, her elbows stretched away from her body, her hands close to her front, where Ezra couldn¡¯t quite see them. She suddenly bent backwards, in such a manner that you could just barely see the tip of her nose.

    It was when there were audible cracks, followed by the erratic movements of her limbs, that Ezra¡¯s hesitance proved right. Something was holding her, something tall, hiding within the shadows, massive chopstick-like fingers grasping at her limbs... playing with her, like a child playing with a doll, moving her around, slightly shaking her.

    A dull step forward, large, heavy. A twisted visage, showing its frenzied smile, warped and elongated in its features, bending over to accommodate whatever kind of body it was hauling itself around in, arms thin as twigs but as long as the sturdiest branches.

    It was groaning, chuckling, and amusing itself by playing with her, making her dance half-heartedly on the cold floor, her legs giving out under the pressure eventually, then bending under a wet cracking sound, which seemed to amuse the creature greatly. What put Ezra under greater duress than witnessing this creature treating someone like a toy was the fact that he could still make out the laboured, painstaking breaths of the girl, still clinging to life as best as she could. It was the almost silent, muffled pleads that truly horrified Ezra beyond anything he witnessed.

    The movement stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened when he suddenly saw the girl being turned around, slowly, almost mockingly. He saw the bloodied body of the girl being put on display, gently swinging from one side to the other. It was then that the face of the creature was illuminated by what little light the hallway held, looking directly at the frozen Ezra.

    The creature¡¯s mouth opened wide, revealing rows and rows of teeth. It opened far enough that the flesh around had to accommodate its stretch by ripping itself.Against all reason, Ezra took a step forward, with force behind it, only a single step, as if it could have made what happened to the girl undone. The creature, on the verge of engulfing the girl¡¯s head, stopped, seeming surprised and chuckling, its voice distorted and gurgling from the blood pooling in its mouth

    It threw the girl to the side, its spindly arms coming to the ground, supporting the steps it took, shambling forward, a distinct lack of grace in its step. Not that it cared. It stepped properly into the light, revealing its horrifically formed body, requiring it to bend down to even take steps forward, its facial features excluding its now bloodied mouth, hidden beneath clumps of greasy, knotted hair.

    Its mouth opened once more, blood spilling down on the ground. One of its arms rose up straight ahead, its index stretched out, pointing right at Ezra, laughing manically. And before Ezra could take another step, he spotted the outlines of hands grasping for him in his peripheral.

 3. Rulebreaking

    Surprising both himself and creatures alike, Ezra ducked before meeting the same fate as the poor girl. Scrambling forward half on his knees, half on his hands, with an ineptitude that could raise the question of whether or not Ezra would break his neck himself before any of the monsters could.

    He felt one of the twig-like fingers brush against his back, desperately trying to grab onto him, but only giving him a slight nudge towards more prosperous destinations... like the open arms of the creature who had just thrown away its former playmate.

    Ezra¡¯s only instinct was to move away, out of the crosshairs of his two pursuers. Despite the dire situation, somehow, he found himself able to think, to make deliberate decisions, almost as if time had slowed down for him, within seconds he spotted the half-opened door to one of the classrooms just up ahead, barely within reach of the creature with the girl beside it.

    Ezra was counting on both of the bloated figures being slow, seeing just how much they struggled to even stand properly in the hall, their massive forms not allowing for much flexibility or grand movement.

    Within the same second his thoughts concluded, he sprung towards the classroom, the wails of the two abominations echoing through the hallway, each of their laboured steps fuelling Ezras¡¯ desperation.

    With just a few seconds to spare, Ezra quickly grabbed the door by its side, trying, and promptly failing, to open it.

    ¡°FUCK THIS,¡± his scream overshadowing the wails that were growing louder, his attempts at forcing his way inside only led to the sliding door to refuse further.

    Desperate, Ezra squeezed himself into what little room there was, pushing against the door with his leg, completely oblivious to the wooden splinters wedging themselves into his hand that were pushing in tandem with his leg.

    Gurgled roars spurned him on, managing to squeeze himself through just in time, before he could be grabbed, falling to the ground, a pair of spindly fingers trying to reach through the gap.

    Ezra couldn¡¯t rest whatsoever. The creature, now maddened, pushed against the door, which gave in almost immediately, it now pushing its entire appendage, grasping desperately at the air.

    Now having stood up, Ezra immediately began to shove, throw and otherwise move the chairs and tables in front of the door¡¯s general direction, throwing one chair directly at the hand grasping for him, earning him an annoyed grunt.

    It looked terrible. With only one exit and nothing to adequately defend himself with, he knew any blunt object around would be useless against the creatures still struggling to break into the classroom.

    Ezra looked towards the windows. They would usually allow themselves to be opened via latch, though, unsurprisingly, there wasn¡¯t a single one found on any of the windows, as though professionally removed, or simply never having existed.

    Ezra laughed at the absurdly stacked odds against him, but more than that, he was angry. Angry that it was so blatantly obvious that there was nothing you were supposed to do.

    Run and hide. That was all you were supposed to do, just so you could end up like that girl.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    That poor, poor girl. Her silent anguish was still on Ezra¡¯s mind. He could feel his anger boiling up for her sake. So helpless, and so damn silent, just to be thrown to the side.

    Ezra¡¯s nails dug into the palms of his hand, his entire arm shaking. He wondered how it would feel for the roles to be reversed, for the creatures outside to be in a position of dread, of fear, to be the ones who were toyed with.

    ¡°My, you have quite the thought for violence, my little pretender,¡±

    That voice, the velvet like voice, almost a hushed whisper, words spoken from behind smiling teeth.

    ¡°Had enough fun now?¡± She asked, as Ezra looked towards his right, a vague silhouette, any only the cheshire smile, with those bright yellow eyes, now a vague shade of orange in them as well.

    ¡°I can feel that rage of yours, you know? It¡¯s incredibly impressive how quickly you turn fear and terror around into wrath. Having you around as a lamb is quite the detriment indeed.¡±

    Her form wasn¡¯t as transparent as it was before, her outline more defined. Sitting on a conveniently placed table, far enough away from Ezra to not make out every detail, but he could have sworn he caught glimpses of long blonde hair.

    ¡°You played pretend for long enough now, don¡¯t you think? Now be a good boy for me, would you?¡±

    The two creatures outside grew quiet, almost as if they didn¡¯t dare make a sound while she was around.

    ¡°To warrant my attention twice now, quite the accomplishment, I must admit.¡±

    Ezra was fed up so much that her presence didn¡¯t have the effect on him like before.

    For a second, he thought about asking questions. But it didn¡¯t matter to him why anything around him was the way it was. What kind of game it was that was being played here, or who she was? None of it mattered at that moment.

    The only thing that mattered here. Obedience was all that mattered. To roll over at the whim of some entity and do its bidding.

    But it took no contemplation, it bore no hesitation, when Ezra said only one thing to the entity sitting in the shadows, two brief words telling her exactly how na?ve, how ludicrous her demands were.

    ¡°Fuck you¡± was all he needed; it told her how little control she had over him.

    Ezra, feeling the animosity radiating off of the corner she was sitting in, grabbed one chair lying on the floor, swinging it at the nearest window-panel.

    Nothing. The glass didn¡¯t even crack. He swung again and again, yielding nothing but laughter from his left side.

    ¡°There is nothing out there, silly. You don¡¯t get to just bash your way out of this,¡± genuine loud, and deep laughter followed from her.

    But, where despair and terror should have overcome Ezra, only rage followed once more. Rage against the finality of the situation.

    He hammered away at the window; every following blow was more intense than the one that came before it.

    It became obvious just how determined Ezra was to not yield until his last breath, that he would claw, tear and bite until they ripped away everything from head to toe, and even then, he would most likely spit at them, just for the sake of disobedience.

    ¡°Such a waste it would be to throw you away. So zealous... oh how fun this game could be if- ¡°

    Words cut short by one blissful sound, the sweet shattering.

    ¡°Ho-how are you doing this?!¡± the surprise in her voice was pure fuel for Ezra, preparing to swing yet another time, just before he felt the very chair he was using crumble to dust in his hands.

    ¡°You... you are cut off! You are bound by the rules of la- ¡°

    Ezra took one purposeful step towards one table he had thrown to the ground, his blood boiling within. With strength one would call surprising to be his own, he lifted the heavy table, flinging it towards the breaking window, his own triumphant roar reverberating through the room.

    The sound of the rain pierced their ears shortly after the smell, a source of bliss for Ezra.

    He lept towards the window, behind him, the numbingly loud sounds of walls being ripped though, the familiar wails of the abominations in the hallway inching closer, the strain of their movement desperate and so endearing.

    Ezra took only the slightest second to look down into the endless dark that waited beneath, and before he let himself drop into what he thought was his death under his own terms, he didn¡¯t go without what he thought was his last act of defiance.

    Turning towards the approaching beasts, and giving them the most warranted visual of his middle finger, together with a smile that challenged even the mysterious entities.

 4. Contemplation, and Change

    Falling was a sensation no one should have a sense of familiarity with, yet Ezra found himself falling once more

    What little light the school building offered quickly disappeared within the depths of darkness Ezra was hurling himself towards. The first few minutes were fear-stricken. Expecting death at any moment.

    Many minutes after that, he was considering whether this was another try to break him down.

    Leading up to what Ezra thought was at least an hour, he started to tune out to the falling sensation, still anxious, but also... bored. Ezra never wasn¡¯t a patient man, not even for what he believed to be his own death.

    In a way, him lowering his guard was meant as a sort of challenge for anything watching him to home in and try their luck.

    But nothing seemed to bite. It was just him heading down the abyss.

    His mind wandered, not towards why any of this was happening, but towards what that smiled girl said, that he was stealing from ¡®them¡¯ and that his actions warranted attention twice.

    To quote Ezra himself from within his mind: ¡°Sure feels nice to piss on their shoes.¡±

    He began to contemplate some of the inner workings of this ¡®game¡¯ he was part of. Two sides to play for, one being the designated winning side, with the goal to hunt and kill the other. All of that was clear.

    What wasn¡¯t was the end goal.

    Sacrifice, seeking something among the people they force into this game, doing it for the sake of it, none of it mattered, even if Ezra wasn¡¯t stuck at the moment.

    Perhaps it was the very fact that Ezra cared so little about the surrounding details, the fact that he could focus so much on resisting just for the sake of resisting. Perhaps it was exactly that what made him special.

    He hoped for the opposite. He hoped that he wasn¡¯t unique, hoped that other people stuck in this game were resisting, just like he was, and that they were doing it better than he was.

    Quick flashes of that smiling being¡¯s reaction flew before his eyes again, the genuine shock he witnessed, even for just a second when he defied the apparent rules of this... realm.

    The taste of the terminology was sour for Ezra, it feeling wrong to even entertain the idea of being stuck in some twisted little spiel of eldritch entities in some realm of sick entertainment.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    He already imagined a situation where he would be told that the things set in motion would be beyond his comprehension.

    Ezra comprehended just fine what kind of role he and everyone else were supposed to play. There was no point in caring beyond that, even if he couldn¡¯t deny the slight flicker of curiosity.

    Still falling, slowly concluding that he wouldn¡¯t ever stop doing so, led to Ezra calming down, and to trace his steps back to his acts of defiance, perhaps gaining understanding about the machinations behind him being able to do so.

    Defiance and rage is the conclusion he came up with.

    The first being part of his nature, Ezra more than once referring to himself as a ¡°Contrarian asshole¡±

    The rage, however, was new to him. No one, especially not himself, would have called him a wrathful man by any length. And yet the situations he found himself in brought that emotion forth, every time without fail.

    But just as he did with many things in his life, warranting moments of introspective, he didn¡¯t entertain thoughts of his mental state for any longer than he deemed necessary... which meant a few seconds at best.

    Yet... that feeling, the experience back when he managed to escape for the second time, when his blood boiled, the need to escape and defy. The surge of power he felt. It wasn¡¯t just the adrenaline pumping through him back then, though one could have easily mistaken it as such.

    Something changed back there, even if only for a moment, almost as if his nature changed. Was it a freeing feeling? A feeling of loss?

    He couldn¡¯t quite narrow it down to any of the above. It was just something that... was.

    Something that seemed natural in a way, almost like being able to express yourself in another language perfectly, without being able to really put the nuances and complexities to the test or explain why they are the way they are.

    So instead of trying to explain it to himself, he simply started to revisit that moment, revisit it, and then alter his intent.

    He didn¡¯t want to escape like he did before; he wanted to stand on solid ground again. It didn¡¯t matter where.

    His concentration grew to the point where the falling sensation was completely blurred out, and he just focused on being in the same state of mind he was back then.

    The beating of his heart, suddenly louder, his hands cramping as if they were desperately grasping at something, a flash of red light, as if the blood vessels in his eyes had lit up for the tiniest second.

    Everything stopped, even his breath, and for only a moment, it was as if though his intent was let loose into the void, his will set upon it, without any other choice but to listen.

    And then... he found himself on his knees, the ever-familiar feel of polished concrete beneath his fingers, his gaze slowly lifting upward, the halls not clad in darkness, but set aflame for him to witness, the dark not daring to blind him any longer.

    And there were whispers, frenzied whispers of ill intent, beckoning for guidance, wolves asking for their prey.

    And he heard the silent pleas of those lost and scared.

    Ezra was entranced, his vision adjusting further, spots of colour moving. He knew what it meant; it was just natural to know. He saw players on both sides.

    He felt the calling to join them in the hunt, felt his body cramping up, the change, the shock in his eyes as he saw the nails of his fingers slowly extend, sharpen.

    He was changing into one of them, and part of him almost started to desire the change.

    It were the cries of help that brought him back, back from a brink he didn¡¯t realise he was so close to overstepping.

    He wouldn¡¯t be a monster.

    Not yet.

 5. Strain

    His resistance came at a price. As he stood there, trying to regain his balance and composure, Ezra became acutely aware of his own body¡¯s protests. Every movement felt like an exertion, as if he¡¯d been running a marathon and collapsed at the finish line.

    His legs wobbled, threatening to buckle beneath him with each step. The cold, hard floor seemed to mock him with its solidity as he stumbled forward, hand bracing against the lockers to his right that lined the wall.

    Each breath came ragged and shallow, like his lungs were fighting for more than just air.

    A feverish sweat broke out on his skin, the black fabric of Ezra¡¯s school uniform clinging to his damp, overheated body as he stumbled down the dimly lit hallway.

    His movements were increasingly leaden, every step an agonizing effort that sent waves of weakness coursing through his limbs, yet he pressed on, driven by his stubbornness despite the torment wracking his body, even if the thought of just lying down and letting the heat take him, crossed his mind.

    The halls never seemed to end. One continuous stream of cheap metal, dirtied polished concrete beneath his feet and door after door, leading to the inside of classrooms, almost as if someone was taking the spots he was passing, and then setting them up in front of him ad nauseam.

    Hesitant to lock himself in the confined space of these copy-pasted rooms, he needed to rest, to sit and let his body deal with itself, with whatever poison he had accumulated, or illness he seemed to have caught.

    ¡°Here goes nothing.¡± He said to himself, expecting the worst, like something jumping him the moment he slid the door to the side, or even the walls, the ground beneath, or the very furniture coming to life to have a go at him. It really didn¡¯t seem too far-fetched anymore.

    Little figments, barely even flashes of thoughts, went through Ezra¡¯s mind, imagining him opening the door, then something grabbing him from the right, then from the left. Possible events he imagined that he wanted to be ahead of.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    His hand on the door, many more flashes, even imagining a rough layout of the room, disjointed thoughts all just to try to give himself a mental edge for what he could find inside, a maelstrom of worst-case scenarios.

    He imagined himself stumbling into the room, only to have the floor give way beneath his feet, plunging him into some hidden abyss, imagined the door trapping him, not dissimilar to how he was stuck before, imagined himself dying. Over and over.

    The next breath he took was heavy, his sickly state not doing him the favour of lessening itself. If he was going to be a few steps ahead of them, he had to act, not just think of thousands of possibilities of how he would die by simply sliding a door open.

    Instead of simply standing in front of the door, he pressed himself against the wall to the left, then checking both ways of the hall. He wanted to be quiet and listen, but the beat of his heart drumming up to his head, screaming for him to rest, didn¡¯t allow him much use of his ears.

    He stretched his arm out, clumsily grasping at the door¡¯s handle, doing his best to pull it open in a single motion.

    It opened with a loud thud; the sound echoing away after a few seconds and Ezra waited patiently.

    Nothing.

    After waiting for only a few seconds, he still wasn¡¯t confident enough to move inside. Instead, he opted to exercise even more caution.

    Leaning against the wall of lockers, he thought of something he could throw into the room, settling for one of his sneakers, hastily, and with more than a little trouble, he took it off, crept closer to the edge of the door, and threw it in.

    The worn footwear sailed through the air, hitting something solid and thudding to the ground.

    Utter silence still.

    Ezra took a hesitant step forward, his mind focused on reacting to any movement, stepping inside the classroom slowly.

    The room itself, much like the rest of the rooms so far, was barely lit. 4 rows of chairs, neatly placed on top of their respective tables, the rows and the chairs themselves aligned with almost military precision, without a soul, as if never touched before. It had more in common with a representation of what a sterile classroom was supposed to look like, rather than one that was actually being used on the daily.

    Ezra allowed himself to lower his guard, only by an inch, as he slowly approached the teacher''s desk, supporting his weight on it, nearly deciding to just collapse on top of it, his instincts forcing him to fall into the surprisingly comfortable chair and to face the still open door he could not be bothered to close, now that he was finally sitting down.

    His paranoia was still rampant, but overshadowed by his crushing fatigue. Even if he forced himself to stay awake, running, or even fighting back, was out of the question.

    With thoughts of dread and reluctant acceptance, Ezra closed his eyes to let his fatigue take him.

    At least if he died now, it would be in his sleep.

 6. Feeling better? Now commit some arson.

    He woke up, feeling the drool on his cheek, his face planted on the desk to his right.

    His senses flared up immediately, the feeling of intense lethargy completely vanished, the smell of chalk and polished wood filling his nostrils, his heart beating steadily, quietly, a hard contrast to the drumming beat before.

    His paranoia completely vanished, almost as if fully aware of his safety, the feeling of quiet serenity nearly identical to the feeling he would have inside the confines of his room at home.

    He could breathe and just sit and think. His hand grasped towards his nose, then to his eyes to wipe the sleep from them. It was when one smell, the smell of iron filled his nose, that he took a proper look at his hand.

    Dried blood all over, on his other hand as well, yet he couldn¡¯t find it in him to panic, even with the reminder of what happened. Ezra simply used the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes and cheek.

    He stood up, wincing slightly at the sound of the creaking chair, his bodily needs suddenly flaring up.

    How long since he had eaten anything? Or had some water? Ezra scanned the classroom, surprised to see bags littering the floor in sporadic patterns, something he clearly overlooked when he came stumbling in, seeking refuge.

    The bags were promptly collected; the tables bearing little compartments underneath for students to store anything they had, anything but the intended books, were quickly scoured.

    2x full soda cans, bearing no recognisable brand, like someone took a grinder to it.

    2x water bottles, their labels removed, and a handful of chocolate bars in greyish-white plastic packaging.

    The pattern became evident. The floors, the rooms, and now, even necessities. All uniform, all to imitate, to simulate. Any form of individuality ripped away.

    At first, there was hesitation to even try to consume any of the things he found, even after he had already bitten into the chocolate.

    Tasteless but filling, that¡¯s all it needed to be.

    Slinging one bag over his shoulder, knowing he couldn¡¯t just spend all his time sitting here, Ezra, so far able to just wing his decisions, had to contemplate just what he was going to do.

    Surviving? As if that wasn¡¯t just the natural state you had to deal with around here. Ezra stepped towards the door leading to the halls, leaning his head out to check for anyone aiming to surprise him. It was quiet, almost serene, even out there. He took deliberate steps, hoping against reason that it would stay like this.

    A bloodied imprint of his hand on one locker fell into his view, making him wonder why he even bled. He remembered becoming sickly, but not being hurt in any other kind. He crept onward. The further he went, the more his instincts came back with it, his body recognising that he was leaving his safe-heaven.

    Stumbling through the halls, walking downstairs, the halls never quiet changing no matter how far he went. That was, until he had seemed to walk far enough, far enough for that creeping feeling to have returned, telling him that he was going towards danger.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Almost immediately, with that feeling, only a step after, he heard a scream. Without even thinking, he ran straight towards the source, the bag he carried shaking wildly beside him.

    The screaming went on. In some macabre way calming Ezra, it meant that the person he intended to help was still alive.

    The halls, after having climbed yet another stair, finally adopting a new look, fewer lockers lining the walls, opening up more space.

    All this leading to the familiar doors of one of the biggest sections of the school, as far as Ezra could remember.

    The cafeteria. The blue, wide frame, holding two sturdy doors, almost like gates to a castle, sounds of duress behind them. Ezra wanted to be quiet, needed to be. He stalked towards the doors and peeked into the cafeteria.

    Pandemonium was describing it lightly.

    Fire everywhere, multiple gallon jugs littering the tables and ground, their contents spilled, fuelling the flames even more.

    A pungent smell of burnt flesh and oil, forcing a retching reaction out of Ezra, who then looked in amazement, to the middle of the cafeteria.

    Creatures clad in flames, writhing in pain, their forms charred, some of them convulsing on the floor, all still desperately crawling towards the one thing that was contending with them, on who was making the most noise around here.

    ¡°YEAH, HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING FREAKS,¡±

    A student, protected by an impromptu barricade consisting of many tables and chairs, the fire around acting as another layer of protection.

    In his hand, a taped together spear, poking at whatever dared to extend its charred appendages towards him, not quite having the intended effect of stopping any advances, but prolonging them.

    Ezra was still hidden in the chaos, scanning for anything he could use to help.

    Running into the fray would get him killed, either by fire or claw, but he had to manage to get the attention off of the other student, and then get out alive.

    The kitchen area to his right, looked like a prime spot to find anything of use, and with the chaos around, it didn¡¯t prove hard for Ezra to make a stealthy lap towards it, though the climb over the counter was more than a little awkward.

    It was apparent the kitchen had already been plucked. Not cleanly, as utensils and many packaged food littered the ground.

    A weapon, that¡¯s what he needed, and his choice, after searching for quite a while, fell on something that would do the perfect job: A meat cleaver.

    As he picked it from the ground, his eyes wandered towards half opened cabinets, inside, heavy bags, potentially carrying gold inside of them for Ezras current goal.

    Flour.

    With the fires around, deduced to be grease-fires, Ezra planned to aid the other student by amplifying the arson. The bags were quickly grabbed out of cabinets and cut to cause the fire to reach the inside of the bag faster.

    Ezra stepped outside the kitchen area, two bags strapped together with some kitchen-twine he had found, both slung over his shoulder, him for a split second imagining himself akin to a Krampus-like figure, because he too was baring ¡®gifts¡¯ that were nothing but fuel for the fire. Ezra used the entire capacity of his lungs to shout at the student, with eye contact between the two shortly following.

    He held the bound bags up high; presenting is panacea for the predicament they had found themselves in.

    ¡°FLOUR,¡± Ezra growled through the cafeteria. ¡°FUCKING DUCK¡± following after.

    The creatures, too caught up in trying to reach the student in his ever-dwindling fortress, didn¡¯t seem to care for the 20 pounds of baking ingredient hurling through the air towards them, and when the student they were so desperately clawing at, suddenly turned himself into the equivalent of a ball, desperately clinging to the side of a tipped over table, it was already too late.

    Ezra, luckily finding refuge behind another of the tipped tables, watched as the room went from well lit, to blinding in a few seconds, the sound of furniture scratching, pushed by the sheer force of the explosion that made his ears ring.

    He felt the intense feeling of having been burnt on his arm, but pressed through the pain to peek towards the student.

    Neither of them had got out unscathed. The student, sporting shaggy brown hair, and glasses, came hurling towards the door Ezra came through, the creatures around writhing on the ground, but the way relatively clear.

    Ezra sprung to his feet, doing much the same, almost crashing through the door, and waiting for the other student to make it through.

    The student ran right past Ezra, shouts: ¡°DON¡¯T FUCKING STOP RUNNING THEY¡¯RE PISSED NOW.¡± Ezra took a look inside, seeing at least 5 of the beasts, covered in flame, standing up, the distant sound cracking bones and searing flesh, their forms indescribable among the flames. But they were moving, every single one of them.

    And the screeching was indicator enough for how pissed they were.

 7. Lyles the name

    Ezra and the student ran down the corridors, not stopping before the pained groans were far behind them. The shaggy-haired, slightly malnourished-looking boy looked at Ezra with near reverence, as if he couldn¡¯t believe that he was just saved from a situation that had seemed hopeless. It looked like he was going to thank Ezra any second now, caught between wanting to approach him by just a few steps more but also wanting to check the corner they had just made for any unwanted participants.

    Instead of simply giving him a heartfelt ¡®thank you,¡¯ however, the student who very, very shortly threw his name out into the world,

    ¡°Lyle, by the way.¡±

    said this:

    ¡°Am... Am I overthinking it, or was that explosion really ridiculous?¡±

    Lyle, who then shortly realized that this wasn¡¯t the time or place for questioning the dynamics at work, began to scratch at his own neck.

    ¡°More ridiculous than actual monsters?!¡± Ezra retorted, though admittedly, he himself was taken aback by the effectiveness of his rescue as well, but more so because of the absence of any pursuers.

    ¡°I mean, for flour to have that much of a reaction, there has to be a very specific amount of dust in the air, not to mention¡ª¡± Reinvigorated by Ezra¡¯s statement, Lyle began his tirade, stopping when Ezra threw him a quick look of what he registered as annoyance.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°S-sorry¡± followed by a shy look to the ground.

    Ezra shook his head, but not in dismissal, but rather as a means to ease Lyle¡¯s mind.

    ¡°What for?¡± He said, trying to dismiss any ill will. ¡°If that¡¯s the sort of thing you worry about instead of potentially dying, you probably know what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    Lyle really took a liking to that; it was a simple form of praise. Simple, with a hint of questioning one¡¯s sanity. Very endearing in its own way.

    Yet, it did little to change one thing that had been bothering Lyle from the moment he actually talked to Ezra. Something wasn¡¯t right about him. Moving forward, there had been very slight peculiarities that didn¡¯t let Lyle relax around Ezra. Lyle had been saved; it was out of the question, and he was thankful¡­ and yet, that pressing feeling on the back of his head, like a finger hovering just inches away but not quite touching.

    It was an easy lie aimed at himself: ¡®I¡¯m just under stress. The guy looks a little bit on the ghostly side, but come on¡­ he isn¡¯t bad.¡¯

    But deep down, Lyle knew. His instinct was trying to get him away from Ezra. Something just wasn¡¯t right about him.

    It wasn¡¯t just the fact that his black hair and the corpse-like complexion didn¡¯t do him any favours. It was the way he, from one moment to the next, seemed to stalk along the hallway, soundless, predatory. It was the way he angled his hands at his sides, the slight bending of his arms and legs, as if he was preparing to pounce on the next thing he laid eyes on.

    His awareness peaked when he caught himself breathing loudly, the stress and anticipation taking its toll. And yet amongst all this, what seemed to make his heart beat loudest was the complete silence from Ezra, as if he wasn¡¯t breathing at all.

    Even with the occasional look from him to see if Lyle was still with him, the question still remained the same: Just who was he a danger to?

 8. Wormhead

    ¡°You know, I think I¡¯m starting to recognize you now, Ezra; you¡¯re the guy people liked telling stories about.¡±

    Lyle felt comfortable enough to talk out; despite having reservations when it came to his companion, it was the silence he wanted to get out of the way.

    Ezra stopped, looking over his shoulder awkwardly. His right eyebrow raised impossibly high, a slight smirk on his face, from the absurdity of bringing something like that in the middle of all this.

    ¡°Thanks for the reminder,¡± Ezra replied after a few seconds.

    "No, no, it wasn¡¯t all bad all the time. Like- ¡°

    ¡°Like ''stories¡¯ about how creepy I am? Or the one where people said I killed and ate that kid that went missing?¡± The first he said with a tone of amusement, the second with a tint of venom.

    ¡°That one was fucked up, but there were people who called others out on that one.¡± Lyle¡¯s answer was almost apologetic, as if he were speaking on behalf of the people who made the rumour up in the first place.

    ¡°Yeah, one. Ashwood.¡± Ezra said the name quietly, some distant familiarity evident.

    ¡°Yes, her and others too; just because you don¡¯t know their names doesn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t do anything.¡± Lyle said this with a lot of confidence, maybe even a little anger. ¡°T-that isn¡¯t saying that it makes it any better... not like they did much else.¡± He added, just to try to reassure Ezra that he wasn¡¯t condoning any of the rumours.

    Ezra¡¯s first instinct was to go on how some words from people who don¡¯t know him aren¡¯t much of a condolence, seeing how the rumours never quite stopped. Or how that Ashwood girl was the only one who actually walked up and checked in on him once in a while, which was the only reason Ezra could even remember her name, even if it wasn¡¯t her first name.

    But he didn¡¯t want to sour the fact that Lyle spoke out for those people either. Mostly because it didn¡¯t matter, especially not now.

    The two of them sighed, none of them to sure what to make of the other just yet, and they wouldn¡¯t have the time to try and change that fact, as their attention was taken away from their conversation, towards the far darkness of the current hall.

    Quite a distance away, a silhouette, carrying with it oppressing sounds of wet squelching and what the two of them could only describe as a faint buzzing.

    <hr>

    It was tall. Impossibly tall. Taller than the creature Ezra encountered before, but able to walk upright instead of barely supporting its own weight. It looked very human at first glance, but at the second, the missing arms and the layer of some kind of wet mucus dripping from its skin onto the ground were a dead-giveaway for anything but.

    It''s head... wasn¡¯t visible. The topside of the creature stretched so far up to the ceiling that the only explanation one could muster on how it was possible was that nearly half of its body simply phased through the material above.

    Each wet step in its ear-numbing sticky gait seemed more irritating than the last; you had to almost thank it when it decided to stand still. It seemingly took it¡¯s time to muster the two students with an unseeing gaze from further away.

    It just stood there, unmoving. Neither Ezra nor Lyle dared to take a step back, unsure if it was sensing the two of them at all. They didn¡¯t even try to look at each other.

    The moment Ezra tried to faintly whisper, the creature shuddered, some of its mucus now lining the walls. Then nothing for a few seconds, until the very faint buzzing they had heard before suddenly got louder.

    Ezra and Lyle scanned their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of the buzzing. Ezra closed his eyes to focus better, only to feel Lyle¡¯s hand on his shoulder. Ezra looked at him, Lyle¡¯s mouth open and his eyes staring up. His other hand stretched towards the ceiling.

    Above them, a shadow loomed, mucus dropping just in front of their feet, the buzzing ever louder.

    A long cylindrical tube-like body manifested, pushing itself down from the upper floor towards the two of them. Carcinomic growths lined themselves along its worm-like body, oozing more of the dubious liquid. Pulsating movements, not unlike catching one¡¯s breath, for every centimetre it managed to rappel itself down.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    The length of the wormhead seemed inexhaustible; it was now slithering across the ceiling, more and more length added with every pulse.

    In a slight spectacle, the wormhead slithered toward one of the cheap light fixtures, yet it¡¯s near-gargantuan size didn¡¯t cause the hallway to darken at all, nor did it seem to break the fixture itself; the light simply seemed to pass through it as did the wormhead itself, the fixture awkwardly sticking out of its body without either physically reacting to one another.

    Ezra and Lyle were but glass, the slightest misstep promising their shattering, unsure whether the lightest tremble of their fingers would cause the Wormhead to descend on them.

    The minds of the two of them worked in unison, both scanning for the same thing: a place to fall back to should the creature fail to pass by.

    A staircase next to the tall body, still only standing there. Close to it, an inconspicuous door, quickly identified by Ezra to be one of the janitor¡¯s closet imitations.

    The only way was forward. It was clear. It was just a question of who would be the first to take initiative.

    Lyle and Ezra, taking a risk and making too much noise, turned towards each other slightly, using slight gestures to communicate.

    Ezra pointed towards the staircase, which was met by a nod. He then put his palm up, pointing towards the ceiling, then to himself, then back to the ceiling again.

    After a second, Lyle¡¯s eyes went wide, his body tensing up even more. "No,¡± he formed with his mouth, which formed a source of frustration for Ezra.

    Before either of them could even try to have a gesture-based argument, they heard wet steps behind them.

    It was now clear that they couldn¡¯t stand idly anymore; a quick glance toward one another was followed by both of them making their presence known. Lyle choosing to curse the creature above out crudely,

    "Oi, you abused fleshlight!¡± while Ezra simply whistled very loudly. Whether it was to their delight or dismay, was going to be left open, as the buzzing that had been assaulting their senses stopped abruptly, followed instead by what could only be described as spontaneously imploding concrete of the exceedingly wet kind.

    The ''shadow¡¯ looming over Ezra and Lyle, suddenly more than just a metaphor, as physical rules suddenly insisted on including the Wormhead once more, began its dive towards the ground.

    The duo pushed each other against their respective sides of the hall, narrowly avoiding being crushed. The Wormhead crashed down awkwardly, vile screeching audible from its writhing body. The mucus it secreted splashed wildly, much of It hitting Ezra while Lyle managed to avoid most of it; in turn, he was hit by some of the debris around and above

    Ezra found himself troubled to move effectively. Nausea set itself up rapidly, while the Wormhead¡¯s flailing turned into more focused lashing towards Ezra.

    Lyle rushed forward, seeing the tall body stretched on the floor, stumbling against some of the lockers and over the debris around. He saw that the ¡®tall body¡¯ was in fact connected to the rest of the Wormhead, it¡¯s ludicrous length on full display.

    With most of the attention going to Ezra, Lyle was able to make it to the staircase, taking great care not to step into or anything that had movement attached to it. He looked back to Ezra, and with it the immediate contemplation of even attempting any help.

    Ezra himself, immediately aware of his predicament, shouted towards Lyle, seeing hesitation in his escape even through his, barely having the strength to even do so.

    ¡°RUN, DON¡¯T THINK ABOUT IT.¡±

    His shouting was swiftly met by a whip to his chest, completely knocking out the last bits of breath he had in him. Then a sharp pain in his right arm, a thousand needles digging into his skin and further beneath, and the sudden feeling of being lifted up and whipped around, being slung at the lockers against the edges of the ceiling, Ezra¡¯s stubbornness reaching unfathomable heights by not falling unconscious, despite being used as the world''s most blood-filled chewing toy.

    After he was thrown , he was left to lie on the ground, wincing, his breathing heavy, his vision clouded by his own blood.

    ¡°Had to end this way,¡± he thought to himself, wallowing only about the fact that it hurt this much. Clutching his eyes shut, he awaited his fate.

    ¡°Tsk, now look what they did to you, you little thief.¡± A touch to his cheek, that velvet voice treading the line between condescending and venom seeping into your core.

    Her, that girl that had been trying to goad him into giving into the call for power that had been announcing itself.

    When he opened his eyes, his blood wiped aside, he saw that Cheshire smile, but with it, yellow eyes and silky blonde nearly ethereal hair, adorned by a big black hat, big enough for the tip of it to not be visible from below.

    ¡°You little wretch have made me into a joke among the others. A human stealing power from the masters of this game... how exceedingly and utterly ridiculous." There was some real fire behind the wall of indignation she tried to put up. Even while she gently moved her nails along Ezra¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°F-fu- ¡° Ezra was cut off by her hand holding his mouth shut.

    "No, no, you die quietly. You only get to bark if I am the one telling you to.¡±

    There was force behind her grabbing, her hidden wrath boiling over.

    ¡°Look at you. Such delicate skin, all ruined. Quite a fulfilling sight, I must admit.¡± Her smirk grew even wider

    "If only you had more of a mind to use what you have stolen. A fitting end to die to creatures even I find abhorrent, well fit for a thief. Pathetic, but that is how you would refer to yourself anyway, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Her hand now rested beneath his chin.

    ¡°Or you become what you¡¯re meant to be anyway. The choice to be a wolf is not made lightly or at random, you know? There is always a good reason.¡±

    She leaned in closer.

    ¡°You were meant for this,¡± she whispered, her hand brushed a strand of hair from his face and behind his ear.

    ¡°You could be so much more. You just have to accept your lot.¡± Her voice then took on the quality of soured sweetness, both her hands clutching at his throat, digging into it.

    ¡°Be a dear, won¡¯t you?¡±

 9. Meanwhile

    Lyle had to watch as Ezra was engulfed by one creature. He saw one of the Wormheads split open, blood and viscera pooling to the ground, followed by teeth tumbling down below from deeper within it, until some of them stuck to the new flaps. Grabbing onto the arm of Ezra and throwing him towards the darkness.

    He was dead. He had to be. How couldn¡¯t he be? He didn¡¯t even make a sound when he got brutalised. Dead as can be. So then why was Lyle not disappearing down the stairs, but walking towards that inconspicuous door in hopes of finding something to help a corpse?

    ¡°Stupid. So stupid. You¡¯re an idiot, Lyle, a damn idiot. How are you planning to recover a corpse? What for? You wanna fucking eat him? That would be the only fucking use for him now.¡± He talked to himself through gritted teeth, mind and body acting as opposites.

    It was senseless. No matter how much he tried to rip himself away from it, his body forced him to look for something, anything, he could put together.

    He quickly scoured the little janitor¡¯s closet. Trash bags, a fire extinguisher, and a plethora of cleaning agents that had their names dully written on sticky notes, instinctively grabbing bleach and ammonia, looking at both of the gallon-jugs, then at the trash bags.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The flour dust explosion Ezra used to get him out of the cafeteria was enormous in its power, so in Lyle¡¯s mind, any other reactions in a similar vein could be just as ridiculous.

    ¡°Yeah, Lyle, store some chlorine gas in your handy trash bag. Great idea, you fucking brainiac. Geneva Convention? More like suggestion, am I right?¡± He berated himself further, stepping outside quickly. His chemical acquisitions happily sloshing around in their confinement, almost eager to be used.

    As he stepped outside, some of the mucus left behind by the Wormhead caught the eye of Lyle. His mind always did this to him. The world around him could be cast aflame, smoke could tar his lungs, monsters manifest, and he still would be more interested in how things around him worked. What would happen if he mixed the mucus into one jug? Would it help? Make it worse? Most of the time he wouldn¡¯t act towards finding it out, already preoccupied by the next thing that had caught his interest. It had blessed him with a surface knowledge of countless things. Things that had aided him in staying alive, and to that extent, he hoped that it could help him in saving Ezra, despite him insisting that he was dead, and would be running into his own death.

    His father always told him one thing:

    ¡®It takes a smart man to do great things, but a na?ve one to do good things.¡¯

    Lyle always insisted that doing great is better than doing good. A logical conclusion to come to, was it not?

    It was the first time it occurred to him that it was never about that. The first time in his life that Lyle really asked himself what kind of man he was.

 10. Hopeless

    Ezra looked into the glowing eyes of the girl kneeling beside him, shuddering as her hands wound themselves around his neck. Trying helplessly to raise his own hand to peel hers away, it uselessly dangling in the air, fingers bent at impossible angles, their insides more akin to powder held lovelessly together by ruptured threads and flowing crimson. Pain was completely absent, as if his body deemed it unnecessary to tell him just how broken down he was, or perhaps it could simply not tell him anymore.

    ¡°Patience has limits, little mongrel.¡± The slightest hint of frustration, bearing itself with the disdain in her voice, her constant Cheshire smile at its weakest yet. She leaned in closer, her voice losing its soothing quality. ¡°You have run amok for long enough. The novelty I assigned to you for your constant audacity is running very thin,¡± she pauses for a second, the two Wormheads around now daring to come closer even in her presence.

    ¡°So much potential in you, and yet you would rather die among filth?¡± Her eyes half-closed; there was actual frustration in her voice. ¡°Hundreds have seen their worth and taken action to grow. What is keeping you? The goodness of your heart for your fellow students? Don¡¯t try to make me laugh.¡±

    She rose from her kneeling position, looking down at Ezra, her arms crossed, the air of dismissal she tries to conjure clashing helplessly against the rising bitterness in her voice.

    ¡°Is this all you choose to amount to, then? Fine. The wretched, stubborn little thief dies. Alone.¡± She turns around, but not before giving a promise. ¡°Oh, and that little Lamb you so heroically assisted? I will make sure to watch as he matches your fate. To think all you did was to prolong his suffering. I will tell the ones smart enough to listen to take their time with him.¡±

    Out of all the things she tried to break him down with, it was the mention of someone else dying that rekindled some of the wrath Ezra was experiencing in bursts ever since this insanity started. He tried to find the strength to get up. He tried to tap into what he had before without even knowing what exactly he wanted to influence.

    The girl turned around, her usual smile all but gone. ¡°This?! This is what garners your wrath? This is what turns you towards desperation? You hopeless little fool... to lie to yourself even now.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The lower bodies of the Wormheads began to shudder, almost as if trying to contain the excitement of finally being allowed to rip into Ezra again, but with a quick look from the girl, they stopped in an instant.

    Ezra tried to repeat the same thoughts he had back when he escaped her for the first time. That unending need to defy, to escape. But his thoughts couldn¡¯t drift anywhere but self-preservation.

    His body refused to listen, too broken to be commanded by him. Frustration having grown ever rampant , the slight buzzing of the creatures, like flies

    ¡°This is even better than I had hoped, seeing you struggle like this.¡± She appeared in front of him again, still no sign of the smile she had before. ¡°

    ¡°You only deceive yourself. Selflessness is death. Compromises are rejections of potential. If you wish to die, then at least impress me before you do.¡± The more she spoke, the more she seemed to be disappointed that Ezra wasn¡¯t listening, that he didn¡¯t understand.

    ¡°I have seen you.¡± She said it almost quietly. Genuine. The meaning of it completely lost on Ezra.

    ¡°Sorry to disappoint,¡± Ezra said through gritted teeth, still attempting to get up, new scratches on the palms of his hands from helplessly grinding them against the ground again and again. ¡°Why don¡¯t you heal me up and see how much of a pain in the ass I can be?¡±

    Had Ezra looked at her, he would have noticed that she was taken aback slightly, having been used to only receiving short insults until now.

    Suddenly that buzzing again, followed by an angered question aimed towards them. ¡°You wretches, can you not ¡ª ¡° Her intended insult cut short by intense gurgling coming from further away, followed by sounds of wet squelching and heavy lashes against metal.

    The commotion caused a second wind for Ezra, now rolling to the side, noticing that the Wormhead behind him had disappeared, and with it the girl as well. Her presence vanished completely, unlike the presence of the creatures that had only gone out of sight.

    More clashing. Intense screeching and then swearing. First from afar, then closer.

    ¡°Shit, shit, shit.¡± Lyle tumbled out of the shadows, face covered with some fabric, a slight tint of yellow in the surrounding air. The moment he spotted Ezra, he lunged towards him. Lyle got behind his back, grabbing him under his arms.

    "You idiot,¡± Ezra blurted out, coughing violently as he was pulled along. ¡°Shut up! Let me think!¡± Lyle shouted, struggling to carry Ezra with him.

    Ezra, meanwhile, tried to think of ways to help, even if only a little. ¡°Backpack¡­ cleaver.¡± The words seemed so easy, yet only gurgles came out. Breathing became harder and harder until there was a constant burning, followed by a sudden umbral embrace.

 11. Lean into it

    Everything came in flashes. The screeching, the laboured breaths. Sharp prods and the feeling of his back dragged along the ground. And yet, it didn¡¯t feel like he was gone completely. He felt his body react to everything that was happening but felt completely removed from it in tandem.

    Much like the surrounding sensations, his thoughts came to him only in flickers. Warped thoughts of fear, barely piercing the wall he had put up around him at all times, even at a time like this.

    Why was he like that? That was the one question that managed to pierce through the fog. He had always observed everything from a distance, built up layer after layer, making, and then dismissing, every memory he made, like neglected photographs. Even now, it was like he was watching everything from afar, everything but the thing that had been his companion for some time now.

    Every bit of blood he lost boiled with repressed intents, swallowed pride and spite. Sanguine seals releasing memories of Ezra¡¯s life. All leading up to this moment. A thousand upon thousand of words uttered by others. Looks of disgust.

    Wrath. Observing it and casting it aside wasn¡¯t enough anymore. No denying it anymore. Nothing to cope, to forget, to dull. Just pure hate at everything around that had led to this moment.

    Memories flashed¡ªreminders he had played countless times in his head. Pranks people tried to play. Rumours told of him, of how disgusting he was. How they tried to convince others that he was looking at them with hunger, despite his eyes only ever looking down.

    How they tried to paint him as a danger to them, a tragedy waiting to lash out, despite him never retaliating. Neither with words nor force. And yet they always found ways to one up themselves.

    ¡°He¡¯s the type to torture animals; just look at him.¡±  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°Ew, Ew, he looked at me like he wanted to eat me. I swear he is just so gross.¡±

    "Please... don¡¯t hurt me.¡±

    Everything stopped when the last words echoed in his mind. The memory so vivid. The balling of his fist, the digging of his nails into his palm. The cowering student at his feet. The feeling of bliss to dominate...

    Memories turned fantasy. It wasn¡¯t real. A fake was planted to goad him into finally giving in. But all it did was to further reinforce the hate he had felt. The ones who had made this game tried to force him to be a monster. Their monster.

    Back then, when he felt the change, when he almost started to turn. He felt exactly like that now. The whispers of lambs and other wolves and the ones who ruled the game speaking of change, of something changing. Ezra¡¯s thoughts became clear and focused like they had never been before. Something in him, reaching out, grasping at something that couldn¡¯t be, didn¡¯t want to be, and yet did.

    Power taken from somewhere, waiting to be used, to be formed. Waiting to be made his own. A clear goal had set itself into mind, numbing and concealing everything that didn¡¯t have anything to do with it.

    Whoever and whatever they were, for whatever reason, they had created this sick game; he wanted to do only one thing:

    He wanted to hurt them. And with that thought anchored, if not engrained, into him, he had left the confines of his own mind for the first time in what felt like aeons.

    His eyes wide open, the halls shed in bright light, the creatures fully visible from afar, the feeling of Lyle desperately pulling him away from the chaos. His mangled hand still dangling and brushing against the ground, fingers at angles that defied any chance they would have of ever healing, his breaths laboured, lungs burning, and feeling full of fluid.

    A shock traveled through his body, drowning out everything around, even colour, for a split second, followed by the sounds of cracking. When he took a second look at his hand, he watched as the first of his fingers simply realigned itself, snapping back into place, the blood pooling on his palm retreating back into his hand, and his nails lengthening before his eyes, turning pointed, with slightly hooked endings.

    He felt the bones inside his chest ripping themselves free of the organs they had pierced. Torn muscles reattached string by string. While aware of all this, he focused only on the creatures at the front. Staring at them, biding his time, as if he were leading them into a trap.

 12. Tap in.

    Lyle struggled to pull Ezra¡¯s limp body through the halls; his eyes darted from corner to corner, hoping to spot the creatures that howled in irritation in the shadows. Perhaps he would have heard the screeching die down slightly if he hadn¡¯t been hurling insults throughout the entire ordeal, primarily at himself.

    Ezra was growing heavier. The peculiarity of that change was completely lost in the moment, written off by Lyle as fatigue catching up to him at first. The blame quickly shifted when he felt Ezra¡¯s body shaking, with spasms and sounds of choking following soon after.

    ¡°Not now, you gangly fuck. Don¡¯t fucking seize up on me now!¡±

    Out of the dark, not too far, one creature approached. Even under the sparse light, it looked different. The wet coat of mucus, now having much more in common, with a thick coat of foam clinging to its body. While its movements were awkward compared to before, drunk and less coordinated, Lyle was hoping for more. Signs of hurt, of pain. Not the steps of a creature scorned, such as it was.

    ¡°You see that asshole? We¡¯re gonna be swallowed up by the walking fucking cockhead over there. And you got the audacity to have an episode?! Fuck you,¡± He looked ahead, facing snarls, voice laced in pure spite, addressing the lumbering Wormhead directly, ¡°And fuck you most of all, you ambulatory cum-tube! At least have the decency to look hurt!¡±

    He did his best to sound genuinely angry, but the shakiness of his voice, the labored, erratic pull on Ezra... nails hammering the truth into Lyle. Terror, cold and all-consuming, gripped him like a physical force, threatening to overwhelm the last frayed edges of his courage. One wet step, and Lyle gasped. He knew the end was coming. Another wet step, and he shuddered violently. And then... nothing? No third step. Just otherworldly stillness. As if the world had held its breath. Lyle only felt the beating of his heart and the pressure of the blood behind his eyes, almost like a hummingbird trapped inside his skull, wings frantically beating against bone. Something changed.

    He remembered when he woke up, remembered the distinct shiver deep inside his spine after he had wandered, something announcing its arrival. Right now, it was just like then. Lyle¡¯s thoughts raced so fast they blurred into meaningless fragments. Wordless warnings from within. Then the memory flickered: a wall of writhing flesh... the stench of burnt copper... and a single word whispered over and over in a voice like shattered glass¡ª¡°Run.¡±

    And he would have, that was, until Ezra took an audible breath, and with it, hell let loose. Everything happened in fractions, one after another. The Wormhead shuddering, chunks of the foam from its body flinging all around, a ghastly shriek following, but it wasn¡¯t the mindless rasp Lyle had come to expect. It was a choked sob, almost a strangled whimper, laced with a chilling human edge.

    With a thud, the creature¡¯s head came crashing down on the ground. Even in the dim lights, one could see the drool dropping from its gaping maw, the flaps threshing back and forth in some grotesque parody of labored breath.

    Impossibly fast, a blur of foam and dripping jaws It wasn¡¯t so much sliding as exploding across the slick floor; Lyle couldn¡¯t even properly register how fast it was until it seemed too late. Instinctively, he tried to throw Ezra to the side and close his eyes to the inevitable. He heard a choked whimper escaping him even as it was swallowed by the noise. This was it. The last thing he was going to feel would be the wet slap of worm-flesh against his face. The crushing weight of it all¡ªthe stench, the terror, Ezra¡¯s uselessness, the echoing, hollow certainty of death¡ªpressed down on him. This was where it ended. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    And then, wailing. Pained and so incredibly loud. And the stench, by God, the stench... but with all of that put together, why wasn¡¯t he getting swallowed whole? Why wasn¡¯t he dead? Lyle cracked open one eye. Nothing. Just the grimy, chipped paint of the hallway walls under the flickering fluorescents overhead, the smear of blood across one of the illusive doors just ahead.

    What got Lyle to open his eyes completely and to look to the front was a deep growl, so distinct that he knew it wasn¡¯t the Wormhead. That growl came from the only other person in the hall. When Lyle looked in front of him, Ezra was towering over him. His oversized black long-sleeve shirt stretched thinly on his body. Tiny rips marred the black cotton, ripping further and further with every passing moment. It was like watching a stop-motion film where the photographer had forgotten to take pictures at even intervals. Ezra¡¯s frame seemed to jerk and spasm, muscles bunching and relaxing in quick, violent bursts, as though something was trying to escape the confines of his flesh, just to be pulled back over and over. His hands, what was visible of them anyway, were buried right in the gullet of its maw, forcefully peeling back two of its flaps, digging into the flesh bit by bit. Obscene cracks followed the jerky motions, little sounds of something hitting below, not unlike pebbles meeting the ground.

    Ezra held the creature in place, not budging the slightest. The humanoid part of the Wormhead tried its hardest to push forward, only to slip and slide on the foamy bile it was leaking. Each time it gained a little ground, Ezra would convulse again, his hands digging further into the creature¡¯s flesh It was almost comical how helplessly it flopped to the ground over and over, wet plops and smacks echoing through the halls.

    Lyle retreated, his boots scraping against the concrete as if the floor itself recoiled. Just seconds before his second step, he watched as the creature¡¯s struggle grew more desperate. It flailed helplessly in Ezra¡¯s grasp, trying to twist and turn out of his hold, trying to latch onto him. Its wails pitched obscenely high, erratic, coming in bursts. Feral pleads hitting deaf ears.

    The foamy substance of the creature flew all over the hall in bursts; the now ever more hulking form of Ezra wrangled the Wormhead on the spot, wrangling it as if dealing with a simple pest, culminating in a bout of strength that boggled the mind. Ezra exhaled deeply; the chill of the air fractured by the notion alone. Suddenly, as if shaken out like a blanket, the Wormhead shot up towards the ceiling, chunks of foam flying off of it, the lights around revealing twisted bits of flesh within the hardened substance.

    Like thunder, it sounded when the entire length of the creature was smashed against the wall after that. It was impossible to tell whether the cracks that echoed through the halls were from bone or concrete. It didn¡¯t matter. After Ezra had painted the hall, he immediately intimately conjoined the Wormhead with the wall to his right, destroying it, creating an impromptu way into one classroom. The steps he took after the flung creature were deliberate and heavy. Genuinely heavy, as the ground beneath them gave in, leaving massive prints. That moment of pure triumph wasn¡¯t meant to last. Just before Ezra could have followed up for a hopeful finish, the constant flux his body was still under seemed to reach a critical point. Random parts of his body increasing in size, only to be reduced the very next moment. Protrusions extending from below his skin, just for him to push them back in with his hands.

    Even now, despite everything that was happening, despite what he was seeing, Lyle¡¯s focus didn¡¯t go towards finding a way out for himself. One of the Wormheads was being kept busy. Emphasis on one. ¡°Where the fuck is the other one?!¡± he thought to himself. As if waiting for him to say those words, even without saying them out loud, his neck hairs stood up. More and more, it was obvious by now, that exact reaction, like someone whispering to you. Whispered: ¡°Something new has come.¡±

    And when he looked towards the furthest depths of the halls, the already half-dead lights even weaker. Eyes, so many of them, staring from afar. Even from that distance, the intent was etched into them so damn clearly that it almost rubbed off. Ravenous Hunger.

    ¡°Oh, fuck off¡± was the only thing he mustered.

 13. Cut off

    ¡°LET US IN. MAKE THE CHANGE.¡±

    The familiar broken record played in Ezra¡¯s head but dampened, almost too quiet. All those voices trying so hard, regurgitating the same useless soothsaying¡¯s.

    ¡°ACCEPT IT. ACCEPT THE GIFT WE OFFER.¡±

    On and on... and then silence, just when he threw the Wormhead through that wall. It felt good, so damn good, like a constant supply of your favorite feeling, the constant taste of your favorite food. Ezra looked at his hands, drowning in red. Feeling the blood, knowing he caused that thing to bleed, to have caused it pain, was simply ecstatic. And exactly that was the issue. It shouldn¡¯t feel like this. The realization that the longer he tapped into this''state¡¯, the more he opened himself up to suggestion, to changes he had no control over.

    Then the convulsions started, more changes announcing themselves bit by bit, more voices, different ones. Multiple choirs drowning each other out. Right now, Ezra¡¯s entire being was subject to their conductions.

    ¡°Grow.¡±

    One simple, brief word, and Ezra¡¯s forearm suddenly exploded in size, mass added unto itself from nothing, denser, higher, and so, so painful. He had given them an inch, and they were trying to take it all.

    ¡°THIS IS THE WAY.¡±

    How many times did this happen? How many times would he have to test his mettle against the call of the void? Resistance wouldn¡¯t be enough. Not anymore. They had their hands on him now, shaping his flesh the way they saw fit. Something had to be done.

    Ezra tore at the growth of his arm, ripping at it, but found his other hand simply stuck in the strings attached to chunks he clawed out, mending themselves around his fingers.

    ¡°THIS IS THE WAY.¡±

    No. It wasn¡¯t. This would never be. They weren¡¯t going to decide. Not then, not ever. He wouldn¡¯t let it happen. He just needed a way to cut himself off from their power. Tapping into it was easy enough, but getting out of it? The entire ordeal felt like clasping a live wire, impossible to break out of by himself.

    Even better, even during Ezra¡¯s little episode, he could see the Wormhead slowly getting up among the destroyed furniture. And just like Ezra, its wounds mended themselves. Bones realigning on its human underside. They couldn¡¯t even give him the victory of taking out one creature.

    And what about Lyle? Looking back, Lyle frantically looked back and forth between the broken classroom and the hallway to his right. He was mouthing words, none of them actually reaching Ezra; everything drowned out in the sounds of bone and a thousand voices who had their own ideas on how things were supposed to proceed. Something had to happen.

    He had to go about it differently. Trying to make sense of it wouldn¡¯t work. So, what if he went at it in a more abstract way? So far, it was all about resistance, about denial, and them trying to force their changes upon him from beyond. Until now, he could always close that door that allowed them to have influence. It was until he wanted to make use of their power that the door was forced to stay open. If all their power was a pool of sand, everything Ezra needed was only a fraction¡ªa tiny speck of that power. But with that door open and out of reach, their will now absolute.

    ¡°THIS IS THE WAY.¡±

    No. This was their way. Theirs alone. Ezra had to take the reins. He couldn¡¯t escape any of this; fighting it only stalled it. So instead of trying to break the rules, the ones he had only barely grasped, he had to bend them. Interpret them differently.

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    ¡°¡­¡±

    Nothing. The train of thought alone, enough to cause a change. Clarity given to Ezra for just a second, a second given to make his voice heard.

    ¡°I PAVE THE WAY.¡±

    No voices. No hands desperately trying to mold him into something new. Gone. All gone. His roar carried itself through the halls, his voice a deep rasp, echoing itself as if spoken seven times. It wasn¡¯t just a simple word or an empty promise. It was an edict. Unquestionable, incorruptible, and absolute.

    Ezra had reached into their pool of power, and with it a fraction of it was taken for himself, but its grains were slipping through his hands no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to them.

    Out of his daze, he felt the changes they had made revert. Growths and malformations gone, his head clear, and the only sounds of the world around him assaulting his ears, particularly that buzzing he was tiring of.

    ¡°Come on, come on." Lyle, meanwhile, was scrambling around in the bag that fell off Ezra in the hallway, looking up again and again, prolonging his search inside.

    Ezra wanted to call out to him, but the Wormhead in the classroom, whose entire upper body had disappeared into the ceiling, announced itself crashing towards Ezra; the maw closed, seeking to hammer him into the linoleum floor.

    Instead, it crashed against the former¡¯s arms, held in a crossed stance, the impact sending a wave of air throughout the room. The last standing tables skittered across the floor, their legs scraping against the linoleum with a high-pitched whine, and with a sudden sharp crack, shards from the windows flung themselves around the room. The ever-ongoing rain outside slipped into the classroom.

    With an intense push from his left arm, the Wormhead recoiled upwards, just enough time for Ezra to go for a swipe with his other arm. The cylindrical shape phasing through the ground beneath had other ideas.

    The second Wormhead clamped around Ezra¡¯s leg, hundreds of little teeth digging into his flesh. In the hall, he could barely even feel the damage done to him, but now every little prick and rip at him was a statement of how much strength he had left at the door, and more of it was slipping from his hands by the second.

    Trying to free his leg had proved more than a little difficult without the raw force he could exert before, now barely enough to hinder the creature from locking down with its flaps further. A stray thought gnawed at Ezra¡¯s consciousness, dampening the pain of the struggle. Lyle, where was he? When he looked at the broken-up wall, he expected to see his frantic ally still  rummaging through the backpack. Ezra couldn¡¯t help but smirk; maybe Lyle finally did the sensible thing and tried to use the distraction to save himself. It provided a sort of ease of mind.

    Looking back to his right, the drooling jaws of the first Wormhead hovered just inches from Ezra¡¯s face, which gave him an intimate look at the bleeding gums of the creature. It huffed and puffed, trembling like a man scorned, biding its time to attack. All it had to do was bite, and Ezra¡¯s entire head would be swallowed in an instant. He could already feel its warm breath turning wet on his skin.

    It felt as if everything slowed down when the Wormhead finally began moving¡ªsalt in the wound for the fact that Ezra was allowed to feel like he could make a difference for all but two minutes.

    The flaps of the creature shot towards Ezra¡¯s head, darkness nearly engulfing him whole, except for one thing. Something flashing up, light reflecting from something visible through the gaps. Metal embedded flesh, just where the humanoid body of the Wormhead ended. Lyle hadn¡¯t made his escape but was instead hacking at the neck of the worm, which recoiled upwards once more.

    The cleaver had its trouble to cause more than pain, the blade barely reaching any impressive depths, the flesh refusing to take significant damage.

    Ezra immediately capitalized on the moment. The embers of power he had left had to burn bright for just a second. He focused on the need to hurt the creatures around, and for only a few seconds he managed to tap into it again, the process even easier than it was before, though its benefits diminished, but the strength that he needed was his.

    One breath. A swipe from his nails turned claws to free his leg from the living clamp in the ground.

    The second breath, and his punctured leg was raised up and then stomped onto the creature¡¯s head; the force felt in the entire room, a foot-sized chunk of flesh parted, the opponent still alive but retreating.

    The third breath, and he lunged towards the remaining Wormhead, narrowly preventing it from attacking Lyle, the humanoid torso¡¯s abdomen ripped open by another swipe of Ezra¡¯s hand, guts just barely falling out, but then retreating back, the gushing wound mending itself slowly.

    The last breath, and Lyle was grabbed, thrown towards the broken windows and into the never-ending abyss, Ezra following, the feeling of hands barely out of reach for his neck the last feeling before everything faded to black.

 14. Where do we go from here?

    ¡°You got to stop doing this shit; wake up!¡±

    Ezra was shaken awake by Lyle; the letter was on one knee at his side.

    ¡°Morning Princess,¡± Ezra had a hand extended at him and only responded to the vocal jab with a grunt. ¡°Hope you¡¯re still yourself.¡± Lyle said with a quick pull,  Ezra extended his hand in tandem.

    Even with the dizziness, Ezra could feel a sort of serenity, as if he were allowed to relax. The light seemed brighter, nearly nurturing in its own way. Even the floor he was lying on didn¡¯t seem as cold as before. Were the two of them actually safe?

    Getting up came with some shakiness. Thankfully, though, without the explosive sickness the last time he tried the ¡®jumping out the window into the void¡¯ trick. Lyle instinctively steadied Ezra, worried that he would fall over. The two of them went along the hall, not finding anything to break the silence between them; neither of them felt the need to. The serenity was a gift none of them dared to taint with any words.

    Something caught the attention of Ezra after some walking. Just beside them, the two of them almost walked past it. An imprint of a hand on the right side, just at the end of the lined-up lockers. Lyle was startled by the sudden stop, but just looked at the imprint in tandem.

    "You... think someone¡¯s been through here?¡± The tone in Lyle¡¯s voice exasperated in a kind of ¡®this shit really doesn¡¯t end¡¯ kind of way.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ I think I was.¡± His hand pressed on the locker, fingers going over the dark red imprint. It was without a doubt his. It felt different; brushing his fingers along; it was as if the blood had engraved itself into the metal rather than just being a coating on top.

    ¡°Hey Lyle, we¡¯re on the same page about the halls repeating themselves the further you go, right?¡± He didn¡¯t look at Lyle while he asked, choosing to look at the door to the classroom just beside the lockers.

    ¡°I tried it out. They don¡¯t repeat; they¡¯re new halls every time you walk far enough or go up and down the stairs.¡± A much more sophisticated answer than Ezra expected from Lyle.

    ¡°So how can it be that we just got back to a place I¡¯ve been to before?¡± This time he looked at Lyle.

    ¡°You¡¯re the dude who hulked out, man, you tell me.¡± The pitch of his voice heightened, as if the question was a stupid one to ask. At least that¡¯s how it sounded to Lyle, who felt bad immediately.

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    Ezra went inside the classroom, finding it as scavenged as he had left it, some different bags still on the floor, emptied and tossed. Even the drool on the teacher¡¯s desk was still there. He sat down, his exhale purging any doubt left in his body that the two of them were in any danger for the moment.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re safe here, despite how weird that sounds.¡± When Lyle heard Ezra say that, he sat down in one chair, elbow planted on one leg, forehead resting against his knuckles.

    ¡°Hey Lyle,¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Lyle didn¡¯t look at Ezra when he answered; his knuckles gently scraped along his head, as if trying to massage away bad thoughts.

    ¡°Thank you for risking your neck back there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, Ezra. We both could start setting up a score on who¡¯s bailing out who. But uh, I¡¯ll be honest with you, you fucking scare me.¡±

    And there it was laid out in the open. It was strange for Ezra to hear it being said so openly. Even though he knew what he was going to mention, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a familiar sting in his chest.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the hell you did or how you did it, and I can¡¯t even say I¡¯m not glad that you could do it. But my mind just fucking won¡¯t stop going on and on about it. You were turning into one of them, weren¡¯t you?¡±

    Ezra listened but didn¡¯t have any idea on how to address Lyle¡¯s worries. Not questioning any of the machinations at play had proven itself helpful. It had kept his head clear and focused on what was in front of him.

    ¡°I think I was, yes,¡± Ezra says with a tint of sorrow, almost ashamed of the fact. But a question formed in his mind.

    ¡°But didn¡¯t you have to resist their influence? Didn¡¯t they try to turn you, too?¡±

    Lyle looked at Ezra, his nose scrunched up in thought. ¡°They? Who are they? The only thing I could point at was that warning that resonated in my head when I woke up, and I¡¯ve been running ever since.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t like it was that big of a revelation for Ezra; for Lyle, some truths of this entire ordeal became apparent.

    ¡°You know I got to see a few creatures in my time running around here... One of them still had patches of the school jerseys on his body. I thought someone got killed by the thing, but now I think I know better.¡± Lyle exhaled as he finished, just to go on.

    ¡°So why did they try to turn you into a monster? You think there is any sense in who they choose?¡±

    ¡°Maybe they choose the screwups.¡± Erza replies coldly. ¡°But worrying about the hows and whys isn¡¯t helping us survive.¡±

    ¡°Figuring out how any if this shit works is going to be what keeps us alive. I don¡¯t have the benefit of being able to go toe to toe with the crap we had to deal with.¡± Lyle sounded exasperated, saying that.

    Ezra nodded in response, knowing he couldn¡¯t keep on charging ahead blindly, especially not if it meant pulling someone else with him. Though it was apparent how much it bothered him to take someone else¡¯s worries into account, the slight grinding of his teeth showed as much.

    ¡°Well, what do you propose we do, then?¡± Lyle stayed silent for a while, contemplating their options.

    Waiting for an answer, Ezra spread himself out on the table, happy to rest for once, only for Lyle to get up and walk towards the Blackboard.

    ¡°How about we pull together everything we know so far?¡±

 15. Two idiots in a classroom

    The two of them compiled together all the information they could think of concerning everything they had experienced. They knew they were pulled somewhere else, and subject to different rules. Although they didn¡¯t have any direct confirmation, their classmates were turned into monsters while others stayed the way they were. So much about the general overview.

    The mechanics at work, or rather, the grasp the two of them had of them, were flimsy at best. The halls they walked in seemed endless, and with added info from Lyle, the two of them figured that it rarely seemed possible to be in the same location twice.

    "So... potentially there is an infinite amount of food if the whole ''repeating school halls¡¯ thing holds up. At least we won¡¯t starve.¡± Lyle said, scratching his chin.

    ¡°I only found chocolate bars and soda so far. But we know for a fact that the cafeteria exists. Only flour around there, but there probably was more.¡± Ezra mentioned, now sitting cross-legged on the teachers¡¯ table.

    ¡°You think places like the cafeteria are gonna be repeated as well?¡± When Lyle asked that, a lot more little variables came to mind for the both of them.

    How much of the school was actually replicated? And how accurately? Was there any way to influence, to seek out specific locations? Would there be any variation? Was it all limited strictly to the school? All of it, any thoughts they had towards it, paled in comparison to what was actually important. How would they approach their transformed classmates?

    ¡°Defending ourselves seems unrealistic. I tried stabbing them and burning them. Granted, the burning helped, but I didn¡¯t kill any of them. You saw how fast they just healed themselves... although they seemed a lot slower when you, uh, squared up to them.¡± Lyle noted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do it again. Wherever I got the chance to do what I did from, I had to cut myself off from that.¡± It left a sour aftertaste in Ezra¡¯s mouth, admitting it to himself. Lyle, however, only became more curious.

    ¡°Cut yourself off? How did that work?¡±

    Now there was a question Ezra had no direct answer to. How would one explain something that only makes sense to someone who would have done it themselves?

    "It''s really hard to put it into words. Think of it like being able to speak a language you¡¯ve never bothered to learn academically. You understand everything, and you voice yourself just as well, but the moment you¡¯re asked about the ¡®rules¡¯ of that language, it¡¯s like you faked it all along.¡± Ezra didn¡¯t even believe what he said himself.

    ¡°So, you really have no idea how you did it, huh? Well, overthinking it can¡¯t do us any good. I¡¯ll just hope you can do it again if push comes to shove. How about we just list off the facts so far?¡± Lyle grabbed himself a piece of chalk and listed the most important aspects they were aware of:

    -Hurting them is almost useless. Fire keeps them busy.

    -The monsters are former students; other students are left as is.

    -The school¡¯s halls repeat seemingly infinitely.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    -The rooms have things in them you would expect to be there.

    ¡°So, we¡¯re just repeating what we already talked about now?¡± Ezra asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

    ¡°I¡¯m writing it down for myself, and maybe anyone who finds this place.¡± Lyle said in return, tapping the chalk against the board as if the motion would reveal more things to write down.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think that anyone who hasn¡¯t figured this out by themselves is probably dead?¡± Harsh. Much harsher than Ezra intended it to sound.

    ¡°I have to put something down! What good is making it this far without trying to do something that could help, no matter how unrealistic?¡± Was it passion in Lyle¡¯s voice? Or desperation?

    At first, Ezra was going to speak out against wasting more time writing useless info on the blackboard but kept silent. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t have been the greatest idea to demoralize the only companion he had, or maybe the act itself started to resonate with him.

    ¡°If you want to put more things on there, let¡¯s try to put useful stuff up." Ezra scratched his cheek, suddenly self-conscious about going along with what he thought was wasted effort.

    ¡°Enlighten me then.¡± A thankful smile set itself on Lyle¡¯s face.

    ¡°Jumping out of the windows can save your life. I¡¯ve done it twice now, and both times I got transported somewhere else. Although the first time, I had someone very surprised that I managed to break the windows.¡±

    ¡°Someone?¡±

    ¡°Something. Looked like a girl with luminous, yellow hair and an enormous hat. Kind of witchy. Very prominent smile on her as well¡± Ezra said, the features of the girl recalled, the picture quite clear in his mind, but said with a clear hesitation, as if mentioning her would summon her.

    "Normally, I¡¯d say that sounds made up. None of the things I saw looked particularly girly.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t see her in the hall when you came running to save me?¡±

    ¡°¡­no? What did she do to you?¡± Lyle asked, his curiosity overshadowing the worries he had.

    ¡°She tried to convince me to be a wolf.¡± It sounded so wrong for Ezra to say it out loud. Such a ridiculous statement. It was no wonder Lyle started laughing.

    ¡°What did she try to do? Try to put fur on you?¡± His laughter died down shortly when he realized what the term ¡®wolf¡¯ meant in this whole debacle.

    ¡°That¡¯s what the monsters are called. Now I know why I was called a lamb as well. Christ, that really is on the nose.¡± The power dynamic became immediately clear to Lyle, and it didn¡¯t do his morale any favors.

    ¡°So that¡¯s what we are to them. People like me are just supposed to be butchered.¡± The defeat in his voice even got the Ezra, who didn¡¯t know what he could say to ease the burden of the truth.

    The two of them stayed quiet for a while, their minds wandering in the past. Lyle walked around the classroom, hands behind his head, in a fruitless effort to convince himself that he was relaxed. Someone had to break the silence; the only thing it would have taken would have been a single word, and yet neither of them was willing to take that burden. They needed some kind of outside force to get them out of this self-imposed trance, something to nudge them towards acting. Something as simple as hunger.

    ¡°Lyle, where is the bag?¡±

    ¡°The bag? Wait, you¡¯re right, it¡¯s gone.¡± The two of them scoured the classroom for it, coming up as empty as the bags that plastered the room when Ezra first scoured for supplies.

    ¡°I had it on me when we jumped out of the window; I know I had it. You think stuff you have on you just vanishes when you jump down into the abyss? We still have our clothes on, so is it selective?¡± His tone was clearly apologetic, blaming himself for losing the few supplies that Ezra had collected.

    It wouldn¡¯t have surprised Ezra if that was exactly how it worked. They had found one way to reliably escape life-or-death situations consistently¡ªwell, as much consistency as two separate occasions could provide. Sacrificing any misbegotten gains for your safety? Sounded like exactly the kind of bargain Ezra had come to expect.

    ¡°We better treat it like that¡¯s the case.¡± An exhausted groan followed Ezra¡¯s statement. The cards stacking against them seemed to pile up by the minute, but there was no getting angry about it. They had to deal with it, and Ezra was already contemplating what to do.

    ¡°Well, I know what to do, and you¡¯re not going to like it, Lyle.¡± He said, walking past him outside the door.

 16. Venture

    ¡°Stay here?! And do what exactly, Ezra? I¡¯m not exactly holding a fort down here.¡±

    Ezra didn¡¯t answer; instead, he was crouching down at the end of the locker wall again, examining his imprint. There was something about it, carrying something within it. Not quite the safety, like he believed at first, but something more primal. And the more time he spent in its vicinity, the more he began to understand.

    A pulse mimicking his own reverberated from the halls, culminating as a shudder reaching deep into his bones, and with it, the words cementing the truth.

    ¡°This is your domain.¡± The halls themselves conveyed the message, marking themselves as a part of him. Ezra tensed up. Again, he felt distant eyes watching, even if it was only for a second. Quickly, as it came, the halls were silent once more.

    The hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Assuring Lyle that he was alright, he stood up.

    ¡°Look, if anyone should be out there looking for things, that would be me. The less danger you got to be in, the better. Just trust me and stay here. That way, at least one of us will be safe if I can¡¯t find my way back here.¡± A strong exhale followed his last few breaths, as well as a few hastily made wipes at his cheek, trying to rid himself of the non-existent sweat.

    Lyle attempted to throw a multitude of insults towards Ezra, stopping short every time it started making sense why he¡¯d better stay behind. Not that he admitted that.

    ¡°How can you be so damn sure it¡¯s safe anyway, Ezra? I didn¡¯t feel that way until you said it was, but I¡¯m having doubts.¡± There was a slight edge to his voice, making it hard to discern whether it was an honest worry or just a means of prolonging his own anger.

    ¡°I can¡¯t force you, and I can¡¯t prove to you that you¡¯ll be safe here, Lyle. In the end, it¡¯s up to you if you want to trust my instinct. I¡¯m not going to beg you to stay if I can¡¯t assure your safety.¡±

    The two just stood there before Lyle admitted defeat.

    ¡°Maybe you won¡¯t, but I will. Stay safe when you¡¯re out there, Ezra. And make finding a fucking shirt a priority... you know, after you find anything else that is useful.¡± He then went inside the classroom again, leaving Ezra alone in the hall.

    Lyle¡¯s last comment suddenly made Ezra self-aware. Every piece of clothing on him was tattered, stretched to its utmost limit, or both. Without the need to do any preparations, not that there was anything but empty bags to carry with him, there was nothing left but to head towards uncertainty. A sudden wave of awareness washed over Ezra. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, and now every fiber of his being was attuned to his domain, to this isolated pocket of safety in an otherwise twisted world.

    His eyes seemed to glow with an inner light as they scanned the hall, taking in details he hadn¡¯t even noticed before. Every scuff, every crack in the paint, every loose tile¡ªit was all laid bare before him, like a map unrolling in his mind¡¯s eye. It didn¡¯t take long for him to reach the precipice, the dividing line between safety and the killing grounds. Standing there, at the gate between these two worlds. The unattuned eye could have never told the difference.

    Reaching his hand out, he felt a pushback, not meant as a deterrence but an invitation to put more purpose into the movement. It made him hesitate for a second. What exactly was he going out there for? Supplies, he needed to get supplies for himself and Lyle; nothing else was more important at that moment, except for something that seemed less likely the more time passed, and that was finding other survivors.

    With just a bit more force, Ezra pushed onward, leaving the embrace of safety and setting foot into hell once more. For the tiniest of seconds, darkness enveloped his sight, just to reveal the same drab-drunk halls he had come to be familiar with. Or did he? There was something off about the get-up of everything around. It was much darker than usual, the lights above on the verge of giving in to the last embrace. Lockers lined both the left and right sides but had space between them, and even in the dark it was obvious how much thicker they were, looking more like obelisks of cheap iron than simple storage units.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The air had this smell on it, rustic and heavy, like the taste of blood. It was cold, even keeping in mind that Ezra was walking around in rags; there was a biting chill latching itself into the marrow of his bones, unsure if it was a warning of what was to come. Keeping all of that in mind, Ezra turned around, stretching his hand out, intending to check if that pathway to safety was still there.

    Of course it wasn¡¯t. His hand simply wove around in mid-air. He couldn¡¯t help but shake his head and chuckle softly. Consistent rulings would have been too easy; things just had to change around erratically.

    ¡°What¡¯s gonna be next, huh?¡± Mockery in his voice, like he was inviting more hurdles and hardship into the halls, though the only answer was silence, complete and utter silence. Not even the far sounds of rain hitting the windows made their way towards him.

    ¡°I should be glad.¡± He told himself. No commotion had to mean no danger, didn¡¯t it?

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t make assumptions.¡± Said through his teeth while they were grinding against each other.

    He made his first steps further in, quietly sticking to the right side of the hall, as close to the gargantuan lockers as he could without touching them. Every step he took made him more comfortable in his own skin.

    ¡°No sounds, no dangers. I should be glad, right?¡± Just a stray thought that came to his mind. No screams, no whispers, and no feeling of being watched.

    <i>Thump</i>

    The floor seemed to agree, shifting ever so slightly under his foot. He paused, listening, but there was nothing¡ªjust the oppressive silence. Shrugging off the unease, he took another step.

    <i>Crackle</i>

    A faint sound, barely perceptible, like an eggshell breaking. But loud enough in the otherwise silent hallway. Then the feeling of skipping a step on the stairs.

    <i>Crrrack!</i>

    A hole in the ground, the linoleum splintering like cheap china as he plunged forward, his arms windmilling wildly, missing the last step into the unknown depths by just a hair¡¯s breath as he lept forward, landing with a grunt.

    Clank!

    The entire corridor howled with a shrill metallic sound, threatening to come crashing down, only to quiet down immediately after. With a deep breath, he pushed himself back up to his feet, brushing off the debris from his fall.

    Cough.

    And then all hell broke loose. The ground buckling once more. He hurtled down the hallway, legs pumping, arms swinging. He couldn¡¯t see where he was going¡ªhell, he could hardly see anything at all¡ªbut he knew he had to get to the end, wherever that was. Thump-thump-thump went his heart, echoing in his ears, matching the rhythm of his pounding footsteps.

    ¡°OH, COME ON!¡± he screamed out loud as the ceiling above dropped parts of itself onto the floor, small fragments at first, then stone-sized chunks came raining down on Ezra. His arms help up to protect his head; what little vision he had before, now gone completely.

    Just when the hail had seemed to stop, just when he began the motion to drop his arms, that¡¯s when he saw the door.

    SMACK!

    It went when he hit the door; the cracking sounds it made after were the prelude to Ezra bursting through and sliding into the room on the door itself.

    Behind him, everything fell apart, the ground crumbling, leaving only a massive chasm, stopping just short of the room Ezra now found himself in.

    Ezra lied there for a moment, panting, disbelieving, as he took in the destruction left in his wake. With a groan, he got up and wiped the dust out of his eyes to take in the room¡ªa sign not unlike the ones he knew around the school, the letters completely alien to his eyes:

    |?? ¦¤¦« C ? M ?| ? 0 ¦² T|  F ? ? N ¦¤|

    He checked his head, expecting something sharp to stick out of it, but found himself as healthy as can be. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lights of the room, almost blinding in comparison to the corridors before. Clothing of every shape and size was piled high on shelves, draped over chairs, and strewn across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of old, undisturbed dust and forgotten time and the faintest hint of old metal, as if the room had been sealed off from the rest of the world for decades.

    Half-heartedly arranged boxes stacked on top of each other, many little trinkets and knick-knacks cluttering the ground or spilling out of damaged cardboard. Looking back at the sign for a second time, it became fairly obvious what it was meant to spell out.

    SKREECH-SCRAAAAPE

    A shudder ran through his spine, not out of being startled but because of the sheer discomfort the sound caused, like metal being shaved by a discarded blade.

    ¡°Would have been much too convenient without company.¡± He whispered to himself.

    CLICK-CLACK... CLICK-CLACK

    Like stilts in the far distance tapping onto the ground, then that infernal scrape after.

    CLICK-CLACK... CLICK-CLACK

    The sign fell into his eyes once more, its meaning crystal clear.

    LOST AND FOUND

 17. Sea of fabric

    Ezra grabbed the first few clothes that looked like they could fit him. From pants to the finishing touch via jacket. As long as it fit, it didn¡¯t matter how it looked, there were more important things to worry about.

    Under the duress of those high-pitched noises, his eyes were darting around the room for any advantage. First, he thought about hauling it out of the lost and found and into the halls, though that didn¡¯t have the best track record thus far. Going further into the room, the sheer size of it unfurled before him. What looked like a simple lost and found, added beside the secretary, twisted into something that had more in common with an industrial thrift shop.

    CLACK... CLACK... CLACK... CLACK...

    Hearing the sound so clearly pushed Ezra further in; any thought of worsening his situation was pushed aside. One of the many cardboard boxes, much smaller than the rest, fell into his vision, different items sticking out. His instinct silently called out for what could be the most useful addition to his repertoire, yet¡ªa flashlight. In the blur of his movement, the vague outlines of the items sticking out had presented themselves vaguely enough for his mind to suggest the possibility of finding one.

    Moving even further into the back, his mind went towards potential uses of the things he had around him. Quick questions aimed at himself, contemplating whether it would have any effect if he tried to topple the shelves to inconvenience whatever was coming. With the cardboard box under his arm, he stopped at one of them, his other arm coming up at the upper edge of the shelf and pulling hard at it. Rather than topple it like he intended, instead he only heard a troubling crack, the stubborn wood resisting, but the force of the pull damaging some unseen part of it

    CLACK, CLACK, CLACK CLACK.

    Another pull had much of the same effect. The damn thing looked moldy and still stood there like someone went to the lengths to anchor it into the ground.

    ¡°Typical.¡± He whispered, resisting the urge to kick at the shelf. Now forced to keep moving. Would it have been absurd to contemplate if the room kept on expanding the further he went in? If the halls worked that way, why not the rooms as well? Further in, he found himself at a doorless entryway; beyond it was what someone could only describe as a sea of textiles. Jackets, vests, pants, even shoes, sharing the most miniscule of space between them. The industrial thrift shop, as he had called it,  culminated in this never-ending storage of the discarded.

    CLACK... CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK.

    It was so much closer that time, but nothing revealed itself near the entrance to the lost and found. Another look into the room ahead, the sheer mass of fabric just swaying gently on the racks, every item a phantom of what came before and after it. The same black fabric, the same drab undershirts, the white color washed out of them, and others adorned with buttons and collars that seemed too tall, too stiff for their kind. The first steps he made into this showcase were made with great deliberation; touching anything was bound to do something. Any wrong step, any touch, a potential unforeseen consequence.

    CLACK.

    Just once, he heard it this time. Rather than look behind him, he dashed inside; all pretense of care dropped in an instant, just to stay ahead of whatever was so keen on hunting him down. Row after row went by him, the most miniscule of changes in the clothes catching his attention during his dash. Some sleeves of the different articles of clothing were cut at weird spots, entire sleeves missing, but without the time to slow down and confirm these brief flashes of inconsistencies, they may as well have been tricks of his own mind to break up the monotony.

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    There wasn¡¯t an end in sight, no doors that promised to lead out of this potential death trap, but thankfully no uninvited guests had sought an audience with Ezra either. It was just him and the ever more distant clacking sounds that had gone after him for so long. He knew better than to hope it had given up, but with the noise the box he had with him gave off, now was as good a time as any to search for the smallest benefit.

    What came out of it was one useless item after another. Little broken pieces of plastic in different colors, pieces of shoestring, rusted parts of metal similar to the hinges of a door, and rolled up parchment. The only use any of this had was the noise it all made while Ezra hauled it around. Except for one little thing. A little rectangle that was still attached to a rusty, thin little circle. The box was quickly disposed of, thrown to the side where its contents spilled to the ground.

    A key-light. One of those you had to really press down on for it to even register that you¡¯re trying to bring some light into the world. The one he had didn¡¯t want to share. Pressing down on the small pressure switch, his thumb throbbing under the resistance,  it gave in shortly after. It made just enough of a difference to not get tossed to the ground like the rest of the box¡¯s contents.

    CLACK. CLACK.

    There weren¡¯t many choices to be made here. Going forward would only work for as long as Ezra didn¡¯t tire out. Fighting whatever was coming? He could already feel the faint influence, the thought alone, like a call to the void to come running. No, it had to be the last resort. Hiding was the only option. The light all around was much brighter than usual; hiding in plain sight would be difficult, just short of being impossible, with all the clothing hanging around everywhere. If he could somehow destroy the lights, he¡¯d be in a better position.

    But how was he going to do that? The dirtied bulbs hung above, completely out of reach on the high ceilings. Nothing to throw at them, no way to shut them off somewhere else. The cover of the clothing, while appreciated, was a poor substitute for the shadows. One particular idea sprung into his mind, a desperate haphazard one: if he¡¯d topple over one or more of the racks, perhaps that would be distraction enough for his pursuer to believe he pressed on and chase further, while he himself would double back and slip away. Hopefully towards the entrance.

    The rack was heavy, much heavier than the contents warranted. Unlike the wooden shelf in the room before, the racks allowed themselves to be moved with great reluctance; the impact they made was severely dampened by the cloth. Ezra managed to make it look fairly believable; some of the clothing was tactically rearranged from other racks to make it seem like he had gotten stuck before. After that, all he had to do was camouflage himself among the still-standing racks, hoping against hope that his bait would be taken.

    CLACK... CLACK...

    Why did the steps slow down? Was it onto him already? Did he waste precious time? Was his idea just that stupid?

    His heart almost beat over the steps that approached, not far from where he was hidden. Closer, stopping for a few seconds, then again.

    CLACK... CLACK

    Again.

    Clack... ¡°WHERE?! WHERE?! WHERE?!¡± Wet sounds followed the crazed wails, which were then followed by gurgles. There was so much pain in that voice, like it was calling out for help.

    ¡°NEED FIND. NEED FIND. WHERE?!¡± Ezra made himself smaller in response, nearly kissing the ground. Bits of unidentifiable rubble made its way towards him, and further, just barely visible through all the fabric, he saw the first metallic stilt hit the ground.