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You were not supposed to be here. Not in a place like this, at least. You were on your way home from working overtime, before you were tricked into the dark, grimy shadows of the underpass. You could have sworn that someone was saying “help” faintly in the distance, and maybe it was poor judgment on your part, but you felt obligated to at least see what it was. It was only after that you realised, when you could no longer find your way out, that you had fallen into a trap.
Something kept you in here, preventing you from leaving. A thing—not a person—because it was surely not human. Male, maybe, from what you could gather, but that much was it. The walls were dark where you sat, seeming to breathe in and out from all around you, and the hint of other living things existed right where you couldn’t see. Perhaps that’s what you heard begging and pleading—maybe their fate was worse than yours.
The thing from before had told you—with that soft, almost cheerful tilt of his voice—that he made all of those corrupted souls all by himself. Proudly, even. That he touched their souls and bent them until they split open and became those odd, little messes. You were left wondering why, as he spoke, that very same fate did not reach you.
When you asked him about it, he only smiled, answering you with something vague.
“Because, silly, your soul is already broken,” he said lightly. “There’s hardly any point in damaging something that’s already ruined.”
It was difficult to process his words, but they settled into your gut coldly. He said them with amusement strong in his voice, that silvery blue hair catching in the low light whenever he leaned in close. From such a close proximity, you could see clearly how his face creased and how the stitches barely held his skin.
“Now, I’m curious,” he went on, his voice dropping to something soft and sing-song-like. “How long do you think you can sit here until you break even further?”
“I thought you just said that there’s no use in ruining me even further,” you replied flatly.
The thing hummed. “Oh, yes, that’s true,” he considered, before revealing a wide, awful smile, allowing you to feel his breath on your face. “I want to see what would happen anyway! Isn’t that the fun of discovery?” he asked, tilting his head playfully, letting his hair brush against your arms. “Do you think you’ll scream at first? Beg, maybe? Or will you try to fight me off?”
You let out a soft sigh, and he giggled at your resignation. You only wanted freedom, really. You longed for fresh air, daylight, and comfort, but this thing had been right in the cruelest way possible: your soul had been stripped thin and washed out, so what use was there in leaving at all? To some extent, this whole ordeal felt like a scheduled punishment.
Earlier, if you were to circle back to your thoughts, then you had seen him make a newcomer into something smaller, like a dried-up little object, before tossing it off into the dark, where it writhed into something living, yes, but wrong. You didn’t see much of what it became, but the way it scuttled away, fast and panicked, made you shudder with dread.
Still, with even that aside, the way he seemed curious kept coming back to you.
This thing—Mahito—found it fun. He liked to amuse himself with it, stretching and folding his body in ways that made you feel physically unwell. Everything about him was impossible. His arms could lengthen and warp and reshape as if the limitations of flesh were only a concept. When you perceived him with disgust—not fear—he, however, seemed offended.
“You’re really not impressed?” he pouted, though at his words, you understood that his earlier reaction was superficial. He wanted to provoke you; that was it.
You just didn’t want to feed into what was prolonging your misery.
“Not really,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady and brutally honest. You were afraid that much was true, but you were not impressed with a show that was supposed to end with your demise. Again. You wished to go home. You wanted to sleep in your own bed, and instead, you were left in a cold, wet space that smelled of death and sewage.
Then, you added, “If you’re going to kill me anyway, then there’s little point in me pretending to be impressed.”
At that, a smile broke out of him, bright and mean. “Kill you?” he repeated as if the thought tickled him. “Oh, no, no. That would be far too boring. As I said before, I want to break you, not kill you.”
Mahito leaned in even closer—close enough that you could look him directly in the eyes and see the lack of a soul glinting in the depths—and flinched back at last. His smile looked almost tender if not for what he was.
“I’d like to see what you would do,” he carried on, his voice lowering into a whisper that barely concealed his mounting excitement. “I want to break that soul of yours. But if you resist, then I’ll let you go home. Maybe.”
Your eyes widened in hope at his too good to be true promise, even if you knew better than to trust this thing.
“R-really?” you stammered out.
He hummed knowingly, as if he sat on top of some big secret that he hadn’t revealed just yet. That alone should have been your warning, but the hope of your return kept you going. It was all that you had left.
“Oh yeah,” he went on, his voice shifting into something light and conversational. “Totally. Definitely. All you must do is endure me, which I can assure you is easy enough.”
An immediate frown anchored over your lips. “Endure you?” you echoed, trying to back away, finding only the cool press of the wall behind you.
He nodded with excitement. “Oh, yes. That’s right,” he confirmed, his restraint slipping as soon as you allowed him to consider the idea. “It’s simple, really. Humans hate being out of control, don’t they? So… if I can break you in my way—then I’ll add you to my little collection,” he said, keeping what he had planned intentionally hidden for now, “but if you endure me, then… I’ll let you go home.”
“What’s the catch?” you blurted out.
His smile drooped into something almost lazy. “Well, I might get bored for one and choose to turn you anyway,” he revealed. “But… don’t worry, I like you,” he promised. “I might just want to play with you again, and I wouldn’t be able to do that if you’re dead, huh?”
You gulped, not liking how that sounded. Mahito, otherwise, continued to loom. His presence was heavy, and he smelled of wet earth and copper. Before you could react to his strange words, he reached out with calloused hands, dragging his palms slowly up your thigh. The friction of his skin made you recoil slightly.
“What’s the matter?” he teased, his smile widening before he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You weren’t shaking this much before. Is it the cold, is it fear, or are you… just as excited as I am?”
As he spoke, his shoulder began to shift. Whenever he rearranged his limbs or stretched out his body, it gave you pause. You screwed your eyes shut to block it out, however you could, because you were unable to focus for far too long on the way his skin rippled and folded inward, warping into jagged, uneven shapes.
“Oh, but don’t look away,” he goaded, his fingers digging slightly into your skin as if to test your limits. “If you can stay still, if you can keep your mouth shut while I explore, then maybe you can live through this. Unless you snap.”
“I-I won’t,” you declared.
Mahito scoffed at you. “Oh? Is that so? We’ll see.”
Moving quickly now, the teasing touch he had provoked you with turned into something else. His palms slid down from your shoulders, coming to grip along your hips with strength that felt bruising. Before you could gasp, he lunged and flipped you over on a whim so that your stomach lay flat against the concrete. The taste of iron and dust filled your mouth as you struggled to breathe against the cold ground.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, pressing his heavy weight down, pinning you into place. “It’s a shame that I’m missing the right parts to get into you, huh? It’s almost a waste.”
A wave of desperate relief flooded into you as you realised the gravity of his confession. Right. This thing was a monster; it lacked the proper anatomy to invade you. You were safe from the horror of him, but then, you remembered it just as suddenly: he could change his body. The relief ended up being short-lived.
A sudden, blunt prod of pressure began to insistently poke against the meat of your ass; not a hand, not a limb, but something thick and firm. It felt hot and organic as it pulsed, pressing hard against your skin, tearing past the fabric of your clothes.
You whimpered once in protest, which was enough for him to catch onto.
“Oh, is that the sound of you breaking already?” he mocked.
Your composure, although it was on the verge of shattering, was still present.
You did not give in just yet.
“Fuck no,” you hissed out.
He hummed at your persistence. “No? Wow, you really are so fun to play with!”
He continued without being provoked that time, the shape between his legs growing at a violent pace. Before you could even think to scream, his hands were on you again, hooking his thumbs into the swell of your buttocks, parting them aside. As he pushed in, the mass grew slick and eased into you with a surprising lack of effort, but from within, your limit was close. His makeshift cock grew inside of you, stretching your inner walls to a breaking point. You writhed out of instinct, you wept; you tried to claw your way out of the intrusion, but his weight kept you rooted on the spot.
Then, to your mounting horror, he began to move. The sensation was sickeningly gritty at first, as if he were made from something coarser than human flesh. Each time ground against your insides, you tried to clench around him to prevent passage, which only made it worse. The terror fully peaked, however, when his arms began to elongate, the bones snapping and stretching like pulled taffy. You went utterly still as he wrapped them around your torso, pinning your arms to your side like a fleshy, suffocating straitjacket.
And he held you there, pinning you into the filth as he pumped into you, leaving you gasping for air. Finally, he eased the grip just far enough to allow himself to pull back, the wet sound of his exit echoing in the underpass, leaving you empty, but short of relief—
For he did not seem to be done.
He gripped your waist once more, flipping you over to your back so that this time, you could face him.
“It’s curious, really,” he spoke again. “Even now, you seem to be holding onto something.”
“Barely,” you admitted. You did not mind death anymore.
“Oh, not just barely,” he corrected you. “You could be screaming. You could be fighting me, but no, you’re acting on reflex, but the struggle is not there. You’ve accepted this.”
You tried to look away as he forced eye contact. “Well, I guess I’ve accepted death, that’s all,” you revealed. “If it’s going to follow after anyway, then I might as well give up.”
“Again with thinking I’m going to kill you,” he caught you, his smile returning. “Why would I give you what you want?”
You gulped thickly, watching with wide-eyed terror as the impossible mass in between his legs began to shrink away into nothingness, folding in on itself and receding back as if it had never been at all.
Thinking that the sickly intrusion was it, you tried to catch your breath, but then he was looming over you again. Before you could react, he grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back to meet with his lips. When he kissed you, there was no warmth in it, only the foul, metallic taste of his tongue invading your mouth that time. You tried to recoil from it, a muffled whimper catching in your throat, but Mahito was just as relentless as he was before.
His tongue grew when it was in your mouth; the muscle thickened and lengthened, branching out like a wet tentacle. It forced its way past the initial cavern and slid down to the back of your throat. You gagged the whole while violently, unable to process the sensation of something, and writhing so deep down your gullet.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to endure the feeling, blurring the dim subway light as you surrendered to panic. Your hands and legs thrashed wildly, kicking against the grime as you tried to take in air, but could not. Mahito did not flinch as it happened, but he did hold you down, crushing you into the dirt as he continued to explore your insides with his tongue.
Finally, he pulled back once more, a horrid, wet, sucking sound filling the air. He blinked down at the way you slumped over the concrete and found faint amusement in the way you gasped for air, still choking on the taste of him. He looked almost giddy at the sight, his eyes bright with manic glee as he watched you tremble in the filth.
A moment later, he reached down, his rough thumb dragging across your lips, coming to settle beneath your chin.
“Is that enough to break you yet?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.
You couldn’t find the strength to speak, your throat swollen and raw, but you just about managed to mouth out a silent “yes”.
But, to your despair, Mahito did not move to kill you just yet, instead clapping his hands together decisively, looking all the more delighted than before.
“Oh, so not entirely just yet,” he concluded, seeing something in your eyes that was akin to surrender, albeit not defeat. “How about we find out just how much more you can endure?”
A scoff of broken, hysterical laughter left you at his promise.
So, he wasn’t finished, was he?
You realised it then:
He was just getting started.