chapter 03: survival of the fittest

Chapter 03: Survival of the Fittest**

The church doors rattled violently as the villagers pounded against them, their shouts growing louder and more frenzied. Jack sat slumped against the cold stone floor, his hands trembling as he stared at the blood staining his skin. The voices in the church whispered around him, their tones alternating between mocking and soothing.

"Jack... poor Jack," one voice cooed, its tone dripping with false sympathy.

"You've been a bad boy," another hissed, its words sharp and accusatory.

"Let them come," a third voice growled, deep and resonant. "Let them see what happens to those who defy the Abyss."

Jack's mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of fear and confusion. He didn't remember killing the villager. He didn't remember anything after the nightmare. But the blood on his hands, the body at his feet—it was undeniable. The villagers had seen him, and now they were coming for him.

The doors groaned under the weight of the mob, their torches casting flickering shadows through the cracks. Jack scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. He backed away from the doors, his eyes darting around the church for an escape. But there was none. The windows were too high, the walls too thick. He was trapped.

"Open the doors!" a man's voice bellowed from outside. "We know you're in there, murderer!"

Jack's breath came in short, panicked gasps. He wanted to scream, to tell them it wasn't him, but the words caught in his throat. The voices in the church grew louder, their whispers merging into a cacophony of sound that made his head spin.

"Let them in," the deep voice commanded. "Let them see what you've become."

Before Jack could respond, the doors burst open with a deafening crash. The villagers flooded into the church, their torches casting an eerie glow across the stone walls. Their faces were twisted with rage and fear, their eyes locked on Jack like predators closing in on their prey.

"There he is!" a woman shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Jack. "The monster!"

Jack raised his hands in a futile attempt to placate them. "Wait—I didn't—I don't know what happened—"

"Liar!" a man roared, stepping forward with a pitchfork in hand. "We saw you! You killed Thomas in cold blood!"

The mob surged forward, their torches held high. Jack stumbled backward, his back hitting the altar. He was cornered, with nowhere to run. The villagers surrounded him, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the tension was palpable.

"Burn him!" someone shouted.

"Burn the monster!" another echoed.

Jack's heart sank as he realized what they intended to do. He looked around desperately, but there was no escape. The villagers closed in, their torches held menacingly close. He could feel the heat of the flames on his skin, the smoke stinging his eyes.

"Please," Jack begged, his voice breaking. "I don't know what's happening to me—"

"Silence!" the man with the pitchfork snarled. "You'll pay for what you've done!"

The villagers grabbed Jack, their hands rough and unyielding. He struggled against them, but there were too many. They dragged him to the center of the church, where a pile of wooden debris and straw had been hastily assembled. Jack's stomach churned as he realized they were preparing to burn him alive.

"Let the flames cleanse this evil!" a woman cried, her voice trembling with fervor.

Jack was forced to his knees, his arms pinned behind his back. He could feel the rough texture of the straw beneath him, the heat of the torches growing closer. The villagers began to chant, their voices rising in a horrifying chorus.

"Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!"

The man with the pitchfork stepped forward, his face twisted with a mixture of rage and satisfaction. He lowered his torch to the straw, and the flames leapt to life, spreading quickly through the dry material. Jack's breath caught in his throat as the fire crept closer, the heat intensifying.

But then, something strange happened.

The flames reached Jack, licking at his skin, but he felt no pain. The fire danced around him, but it didn't burn him. He stared in disbelief as the villagers' chants faltered, their eyes widening in shock.

"What—what is this?" the man with the pitchfork stammered, taking a step back.

The voices in the church grew louder, their whispers turning into guttural growls. The shadows on the walls began to shift and twist, taking on grotesque shapes. The air grew colder, and the flames flickered unnaturally, as if they were alive.

"Fools," the deep voice boomed, echoing through the church. "You dare lay hands on the chosen one?"

The villagers froze, their faces pale with terror. The shadows detached from the walls, forming into monstrous figures with glowing eyes and jagged claws. The figures moved with unnatural speed, their movements fluid and predatory.

"Run!" someone screamed, but it was too late.

The shadowy creatures descended on the villagers, their claws tearing through flesh with sickening ease. Blood sprayed across the stone walls, and the air was filled with screams of agony. Jack watched in horror as the villagers were slaughtered before his eyes, their bodies torn apart and left in gory heaps.

The man with the pitchfork tried to fight back, swinging his weapon at one of the creatures. But the pitchfork passed harmlessly through the shadow, and the creature retaliated with a swift, brutal strike. The man's head was severed from his body, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Jack wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The carnage was mesmerizing in its brutality. The creatures moved with a terrifying efficiency, their every movement calculated and precise. Within moments, the church was silent, save for the crackling of the flames and the dripping of blood.

The shadowy figures turned to Jack, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkness. They circled him, their forms shifting and writhing like smoke. The deep voice spoke again, its tone calm and commanding.

"You see now, Jack? You are not like them. You are something more."

Jack's mind reeled. He looked down at his hands, still covered in blood, but unburned by the flames. The fire around him had died down, leaving only smoldering embers. The bodies of the villagers lay scattered around him, their lifeless eyes staring accusingly.

"What... what am I?" Jack whispered, his voice trembling.

"You are the vessel," the voice replied. "The Abyss has chosen you. Embrace it, and you will become unstoppable."

Jack shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want this... I didn't ask for this..."

The creatures hissed, their forms flickering like flames. "You have no choice," one of them snarled. "The darkness is a part of you now. You cannot escape it."

Jack sank to his knees, his body wracked with sobs. The weight of what had happened—what he had become—was crushing. He had no control over the darkness within him, no way to stop it. The voices, the shadows, the blood... it was all too much.

The deep voice softened, its tone almost comforting. "You will learn, Jack. In time, you will understand. The weak perish, and the strong survive. This is the way of the world."

Jack looked up, his eyes red and swollen. "What do you want from me?"

"Survive," the voice said simply. "Endure. Prove your worth."

The shadows began to recede, their forms dissolving into the darkness. The church was silent once more, the only sound the faint crackling of the dying flames. Jack sat alone amidst the carnage, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the bloodstained floor. But eventually, he forced himself to stand. His legs were shaky, but they held. He looked around the church, at the bodies of the villagers, and felt a pang of guilt. They had been afraid, just like him. They had only wanted to protect themselves.

But they were gone now, and he was still here.

Jack stumbled out of the church, the cold night air biting at his skin. The village was silent, the streets empty. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay here. The voices in his head were quiet for now, but he knew they would return.

As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The shadows seemed to follow him, their presence a constant reminder of the darkness within him. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain:

The nightmare was far from over.