But I know nothing of this body's memories. I don't know who he is, where he is, or why I am here. Still, the light ahead draws my attention. It floods the darkness in front of him—and by extension, me. My pupils shrink violently as a single rectangle of golden brilliance cuts through the shadow, slicing it in half.

A door—a massive door.

And without warning, this body panics.

The heart thunders in the chest that now houses my awareness; muscles tense, the breath shortens. My body remembers something—something I don't—a truth buried beneath flesh and trauma. There's no clear image, no memory, just a wave of dread as suffocating as smoke.

He—I—begin to crawl backward, palms scraping along rough, asphalt-like stone, but the retreat ends quickly, because my back hits the wall.

Trapped.

My vision swims, water brimming in my eyes. The world blurs, and I look left, then right—others are here. Women, men. Dozens of us—maybe more. They tremble, shake, and panic. They feel what I feel. Something is coming.

I know it. Not logically, but instinctively. I don't want to remember, I don't want to see it; however, another part of me—a crueler part—is drawn to the light—compelled by it.

But this body resists like a fish dying on the deck of a boat—wild, jerking, hopeless. The door opens wider, and a figure enters, casting a long, distorted silhouette across the floor. He is massive—at least eight feet tall, maybe more—and he blocks the light with a body like a mountain.

I open my mouth, not in awe, but in raw, visceral fear.

"Go away!" I scream again and again. Louder this time, louder than I ever did in that red, eternal place.

"Go!"

Mucus runs from my nose, and drool from my lips. I don't care, and my voice continues to crack. I feel the grip of a massive hand clamp around my wrist—a vice. I'm yanked forward, scraped along the unforgiving ground, and the skin of my shoulder starts to burn. The side of my face grates against the stone, dry dust pressing into my inner cheek. I want to sneeze.

And then—I'm thrown.

My body spirals uncontrollably through the air, tumbling like a broken doll. Arms flail; chest spinning faster than my thoughts can keep up with. Everything blurs—faces, walls, the darkness entwines with the light.

The world turns to soft static, like a reflection in disturbed water. The calm surface was shattered by stone. Light overwhelms me.

The colors are wrong—too real, too vivid. My eyes struggle to adjust, pupils fluttering. My heart races, and my breath shudders through clenched teeth. Five full rotations—maybe more—before I finally crash, scraping to a halt.

My fingers, trembling and raw, dig into the coarse dust.

"GO DIE, SHAMELESS TONGUE!"

The voice is deep. Too deep, like bark groaning from an ancient tree. I glimpse the creature briefly, just long enough to see its massive form dyed in shades of wood and rot. Then—

Thud!

The door slams shut behind him. Screams erupt. Some of them are cheers, others agonized howls. The crowd outside the arena comes alive.

I brace for calm, but it doesn't come; instead, blood splashes against my face like rain. Not droplets—gouts. Hot and thick. It coats my lips, seeps into my eyes. My own scream is smothered by the scream of this body, which remembers far more than I do.

I crawl backward again, pain lighting up the nerves between my legs. Moving through dust, then sand, then something worse, I feel something wet. It's thick and sludgy.

Looking down, I see it.

A man—no, half a man—ripped open from the waist up. His spine is visible; flesh torn like cloth, blood flowing from his body like milk from a fresh-squeezed udder. So, red. So alive, but at the same time dead.

I stand before I even realize I've moved. Dirt clings to my bloodied hands. My eyes—my eyes—won't look away. I—this body can't even blink anymore.

The body twitches, and shortly after—slam—I'm hit again.