The God's Game

Storm

Author warns you!

The chapter contains disturbing imagery and an explicit depiction of violence. Skip to the next chapter if you are uncomfortable! Take care!

River woke up to darkness and screams.

It was the guttural cry of an animal clamped between the unforgiving jaws of a predator. The poor creature was unleashing one desperate shriek after another, with no rhyme or rhythm. They iced River’s blood in his veins.

Sharp nails of torment plucked on each voice cord to the edge of snapping, producing the cacophonous tune of suffering. It was a wail only a wounded beast could make as it stared into the cold eyes of death. River tried plugging his ears, lest they rupture and bleed, but he was paralyzed. His body obeyed no commands, and he could only wait helplessly.

The shrill lament made his insides squeeze and cramp in visceral terror—the kind that grated his nerves raw. His throat closed, restricting air from entering his lungs. He tried shutting his eyes, hoping it would block out the sounds. His eyelids seemed to be ripped off his face because, no matter how much he tried, he could not even blink.

The wails subdued to pathetic whimpers like a jarring musical performance entering its outro. Then it died.

River stilled, not daring to flick a single eyelash. His ears rang in the aftermath of the abuse it suffered, yet he listened in anticipation. When silence persisted, he let go of the breath he had been holding onto for a semblance of comfort.

River was the cured skin of a slaughtered animal, stretched thin by the iron grip of fear. Now he was pounding to the tempo of panic. His thumping heart and hammering pulse held hands as they deliriously danced to the beat,together.

When he felt like he could breathe again, he turned his eyeballs, glancing around to see where he was. Above him was a low stone ceiling, festered with an insidious mold that crept across the grained surface like a malevolent curse. Drips of stagnant water occasionally fell with a soft, echoing plink. It carried the essence of decay from above and tainted the air with the moist, laden stench of rot. He had no clue where this claustrophobic hell hole was.

You know where it is.

He heard the rain outside. Violent gusts of wind were tugging on a window pane. The hinges clattered, forcing themselves to hold on tight. There was a deep rolling of thunder and a howling of waves. They were merely ambience like sounds from a dream or a different lifetime. They were faint, muted, and not real enough to ground his mind.

There's a storm coming—a fucking  big one.

Another shriek sliced through the air—a bloody knife stabbing into the silence. River’s skeleton jumped out of his skin. The heart that had just slowed down broke into a maddened sprint again.

The fresh bout of screams was louder, sharper, and rawer. They were accompanied by a nauseating, wet squelch. It was impossible to pinpoint the source of the sickening noise. It was akin to the slosh raw pork loins make when being seasoned . Or a mischievous child playing with oozing mud. He did not know what it was, though.

You know. You know what it is.

It was a vile harmony. The sloshing conducted the choir of screams, guiding it to a quivering crescendo. The animal huffed and grunted, heaving in between cries, begging to be relieved for a second to breathe.

It was only granted enough air to unleash another blood-curdling screech.

Make it stop!

Next second, everything stilled.