Chương 46: Epilogue: Your Day Will Come

Anti-piracy note: If you are reading this on any platform other than Royal Road or Amazon, this has been pirated/STOLEN. If the author who wrote it has any name other than ShawnD or ShawnDePasquale, it is STOLEN. Please report this book if you are reading it ANYWHERE other than Royal Road. Thank you for your help fighting piracy. Epilogue: Your Day Will Come 47, 315… 47, 316… The unmaking hurt just as much the second time. And it lasted longer. Iris had counted the seconds.

The first unmaking had been unbearable but mercifully brief. This one stretched on and on, until she worried she'd lose count. But she didn't. 47, 316 seconds so far. She wondered how long the next one would be. The woman, who had been called Summer, learned to scream less and dissociate more. That was progress. She didn't mind the pain. She'd experienced a different but equally unbearable agony long before the maggots invaded. At least, that's what she told herself over and over again. And she almost believed it.

It was hard to describe where she was in those unmade moments, because the place was simultaneously nebulous and tactile. All-consuming. When you were unmade, your body no longer existed. You were torn apart to the molecule, but each of those trillions of separate molecules shared your consciousness. And they all felt pain. Then all those molecules were slashed into ribbons with tiny razors.

Despite sharing a single mind, every one of those molecules felt its own endless suffering, which all funneled back into your conscious mind. And although it undeniably hurt worse than any physical torture she'd ever experienced, and she'd experienced a lot in her life, Iris reminded herself just how much worse the alternative was. 47, 317… 47, 318 — POP. It ended as unexpectedly as it began. 47, 318 seconds. Or what felt like 47, 318 seconds. Time didn't work the same way in the unmade place.

She'd learned that the first time after what felt like hours of agony had been mere moments in the real world. This time? She had no idea how long she'd actually been gone. Could've been minutes. Could've been days. Iris couldn't begin to understand how any of this worked. She was nothing, and then she was something, just like that. Nothin' to it, Ris. The phrase surfaced unbidden, an apparition of a man she'd hoped never to hear again but was unable to finish killing.

The memory made her stomach churn with the bitter sting of an interrupted duty. The end of the world may have cheated her out of the final word, but she wasn't done with him. Iris' thoughts cleared as the sudden absence of pain overwhelmed her. Once she stopped hurting, she was somewhere new. Somewhere dark. Cold. The air smelled like oil and rust and something chemical that made her sinuses burn. Her vision adjusted slowly to the dim light filtering through gaps in corrugated metal walls. A warehouse?

Concrete floors stained dark with things she didn't want to identify. Chains hanging from exposed beams overhead. Metal tables bolted to the floor. Rows of empty cages lining one wall, doors hanging open like hungry mouths. She tried to take a step and stumbled. Her center of gravity was too high. She looked down and saw broad shoulders. No tits. No curves. Arms thick with muscle she'd never had and hadn't earned. Large, calloused hands that didn't belong to her reached up and felt her face. Strong jaw.

Stubble rough against her palms. Short hair. No. She spun, looking for anything reflective. Found a metal panel on the far wall, dented and scratched but reflective enough to show her— Him. A man stared back. Mid-thirties, maybe. Muscular build. Shaved head. He looked like someone who'd done time. Someone you'd cross the street to avoid.

"Oh, fuck me." The voice was deep. Rough. Definitely not hers. This wasn't like being Summer, at least that body had been female, even if it was young and blonde and nothing like Iris Monroe had been in life. This was…

"Interesting choice of words," a familiar voice grated from the shadows.

"How do you like the new meat suit?" Vexikor. He'd introduced himself as her Guide, but he acted more like her handler. And worse, aside from being a nasty-looking imp, listening to Vexikor was a physically unpleasant experience. His words resonated deep in your bones, a gravelly vibration that felt like it could shake your teeth loose. But layered over that was a metallic edge that grated directly on the nerves; it was like the shearing sound of broken glass scraped across concrete.

It was the voice of a being who found music in ruin, a deep growl of power punctuated by the triumphant sound of things breaking.

"Zone Two," Vexikor continued, circling her new body with an appraising eye, "requires a certain... presence. Authority. Physicality." He gestured at her broad shoulders and thick arms.

"Teenage cheerleader wouldn't exactly inspire terror in a torture basement, would she? This body is someone your Final Girl will fear on sight."

"This is very fucked up, Vexy," she growled. Still getting used to the voice.

"Do not call me that," the short, wine-colored thing grunted. His kind despised nicknames. Names meant something. They were important. Not just to imps, but many demons as well. It was considered rude to call someone by anything other than their given name or title. In some circles, you would lose your head over such a transgression. But Vexikor knew that wasn't going to happen here, especially from this insipid human.

"You will address me as Vexikor." He caught her with his yellow eyes.

"I won't tell you again."

"How long was I gone?" Iris asked, testing her new voice. Vexikor checked his notes.

"Couple hours. Give or take. Why?" His smirk told her he knew exactly how long it had felt. The imp adjusted the black vest he wore over his crisp white shirt.

"Did you enjoy the unmaking?"

"Yeah, it was a real party," Iris said. Vexikor felt a slow, satisfied pull at the corners of his mouth. He liked the mild annoyance in her voice. It turned him on to get under her skin. Figuratively and literally. However, the latter would have to wait until the games were over.

"Glad to see you lived to fight another day," he said with all the warmth of a coroner reading a death certificate. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Iris remained silent. Vexikor shrugged, consulting his notebook. Iris bit her cheek to keep her gorge down. She couldn't unhear Vexikor gleefully detailing the book's anatomy for her before Zone One began.

"The binding is the flame-gnarled hide of a Firebeast," he'd said, his fingers tracing the spine.

"Quite rare, as they typically burn until there's nothing left. But that isn't the most impressive part. The pages are flayed from the bodies of infants." He had savored her discomfort then, and now, the memory was as foul as the object itself. Fucking hell. Had it only been a single day, Iris wondered as Vexikor opened the notebook and began reading to her the results of the previous Zone.

"Your biggest accomplishment was completing the ritual," he said as he circled her. Iris had to agree; though, it was a shame she hadn't gotten to see how badly the Lake Mothers fucked up Nora.

"But they won. The girl is moving to the next Zone, right?"

"True. But it's no reflection on you." Vexikor shook his head in a way that read clearly as: silly, stupid, human.

"You Adversaries are always so competitive. The only thing you need to worry about is pleasing the bossman. And so far, Maltheris is... satisfied." He let that last word hang. A threat. The implication was clear to Iris: Satisfied until he isn't. All men are the same. Even demons.

"What's next?" She asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. Or his voice. Whatever. She really wanted to move things along so she could get back to the game and away from the stench of unwashed asshole that followed Vexikor around like a loyal dog.

"Yes, let's talk about next steps." Vexikor snapped the notebook shut.

"Zone Two." He revealed the name of the next zone to her.

"Seriously?" Iris laughed.

"I don't come up with this shit," he replied, checking his notes.

"Anyway, this one is based on the torture films you humans love."

"Like Saw?"

"I guess. I do not fuck with human entertainment," Vexikor stated, his lip curling.

"You all are into some dark shit, even by demonic standards." He held up a too-long finger.

"But I'm told there will be elaborate traps that force the players to choose between pain and survival."

"So, who am I now?"

"You're the King." He gestured at the warehouse around them.

"And this is your basement, waiting for you to fill it with... let's call them 'challenges.'" Iris, who still thought of herself as Iris for now, looked around through new eyes. The chains. The metal tables. The cages. These were meant to be her tools.

"You want me to build torture traps," she said, tone dead.

"Literally Saw."

"You're to build tests," Vexikor corrected.

"Tests of will. Tests of morality. Tests of how much pain one can endure before they break. The Final Girl and her party will navigate your maze. Solve your puzzles." He leaned in close enough that she could smell him, fighting back the desire to wretch.

"And somewhere in this building, you'll be watching, waiting. Forcing them to make impossible choices."

"How long do I have to prepare?"

"They're in a Safe Area now. Eight hours of rest and recovery. Which means you have eight hours to turn this place into a literal hell." He closed the notebook with a snap.

"Should be plenty of time."

"Eight hours? Are you kidding?"

"You'll have help." Vexikor wagged his finger.

"Some creatures will do the actual construction work. Your job is planning and direction. They will build whatever you want."

"Creatures?" Vexikor smirked, barely hiding his excitement.

"Number Twos. They're helpful. You'll see." He pulled his LifeLine out and started typing.

"Let me get them sent up." Iris surveyed the warehouse, taking in the exceptionally high ceiling, mulling over what type of maze even to build.

"And it'll be the same group as before? I'm making this for them."

"Indeed." He held up a four-fingered hand.

"That Final Girl…" He checked his notes." Nora caught the boss's eye. You two had chemistry at the end there." The name brought back flashes of the way that girl kept fighting even when it was hopeless. The way she'd recklessly protected her friends. And that last moment, Iris's eyes found Nora's right before the mask came off. Now, Iris felt something nasty twist in her. She's mine. She'd spent years surviving before the maggots came. And in all that time, she'd never met anyone like Nora.

A girl who seemingly operated on instinct, luck, and a stubborn refusal to fucking die. Summer had been the hunter. Nora had been the prey. And somehow, the prey had won. She didn't know why, but something about that lit an inferno within. Maltheris wanted to see what Nora Price was made of. Iris wanted to be the one who tore her open to find out. But she was pretty annoyed by how vague the directions were.

"No other instructions, Vexy?"

"Look, doll, we gave you a new app on the LifeLine to help move things along. Don't stress. Just have fun, Summer," he added.

"That's not my name."

"No shit. And mine's not Vexy," he laughed. Iris checked her LifeLine, ignoring the awaiting achievements, and moved her thumb to a new icon that had appeared. A picture of a hand with a nail through it. She opened the Build app and perused the tools available to her. It was all organized by category, each one expandable into more granular controls. There was more than enough to turn this place into what it needed to be, but she still wasn't sure how she was going to get it all done in eight hours.

"Where's that help you promised?" Vexikor checked his own LifeLine.

"Should be here any—" The air in the center of the room violently inverted with a heavy thhwwwooorp, collapsing inward as if the universe itself had suddenly gasped. Where empty space had been a millisecond ago, a creature now stood, surrounded by a faint, fading vacuum of displaced oxygen. Iris recoiled.

"What the fuck is that?"

"A Number Two," Vexikor said, then checked his LifeLine again.

"There should be more than one coming through." What had teleported into the warehouse looked like a spider the size of a large wild boar, covered with dark beetle-like armor plating. Its head had a wide, flat crab face with massive serrated pinchers and a mouth that opened sideways like a camera shutter. Iris did her best to stay tough, but underneath it all, deep-seated arachnophobia reared its eight-legged head. The Number Two's legs moved too spider-like and spindly for her taste.

Plus, it made this chitter-chitter clicking noise with its mouth every few seconds that she knew would get annoying fast.

"What am I supposed to do with this thing? I need help building." Vexikor looked up from his LifeLine.

"Stop whining. These guys are excellent builders. That's the point of their entire existence."

"Maybe we have very different definitions of construction." She inspected the creature, taking in its massive pincers again.

"Can those things even hold a hammer?!" chitter chitter"Ha," Vexikor exclaimed.

"A hammer? You're thinking too human." The imp turned to the Number Two standing a few feet away.

"Hey, Gordy, show'em what you do." chitter chitter The creature's body held unnaturally still while multiple legs articulated beneath it, carrying the Number Two across the warehouse toward a pile of debris. Using its massive pincers, it began shoveling debris into its chittering maw. The damp chewing sound it made caused her stomach to churn, but what happened made that disgust feel quaint. The Number Two, Gordy, turned away from them, shifting its posture by lowering its front half and raising the back.

The back end of its abdomen was a twitching, writhing tangle of organic nozzles. They twitched and adjusted themselves like the nozzles on a 3D printer as they spewed forth a white substance and quickly hardened to create a long, fully formed side of a wall.

"That's drywall, but they also do wood and steel. Just gotta feed'em the right supplies," Vexikor said.

"Okay, Gordy, that's enough." The ends of each twitching nozzle squeezed closed, stopping the flow of milky goop. Gordy didn't acknowledge either of them, but it clearly listened to and understood their commands.

"The rest of them should be here by now. They must have a backlog downstairs," Vexikor said. Iris was stunned silent. She stared at the foul creature, hoping her stoic expression adequately hid her unreserved disgust. There was hardly a moment to recover from Gordy's… talents… before the air around the room warped again in several places. Thhwwwooorp. Thhwwwooorp. Thhwwwooorp. Thhwwwooorp. More Number Twos teleported into the warehouse in rapid succession.

One after the next, until close to fifty creatures were chittering at one another." Finally." Vexikor pocketed his LifeLine.

"Okay, that should do it." Iris's skin crawled, but she didn't dare let on to any weaknesses that could be exploited against her. They had had enough of those already, without her handing them over willingly.

"I'll make it work."

"Time's ticking." Vexikor closed his notebook and slid it into his jacket.

"Better get to it." He vanished in a puff of sulfur-stinking smoke. Iris stood in the warehouse, in a body that wasn't hers, surrounded by monsters waiting to help her build a torture maze. Eight hours. She looked at her new hands again. Large. Strong. Capable of violence in ways Summer's cheerleader body never could have been. Still getting used to her new body's gait, Iris awkwardly walked to the nearest metal table. Her meaty fingers along the surface. There were drill bits scattered on a nearby workbench.

Chains. Locks. A welding torch. A smile spread across her face. It felt strange on these unfamiliar features. Iris thought about Nora's group. They'd survived the first Zone through luck and desperation. But she was going to make sure this next one was about more than just survival. How much pain could you endure to save a friend? How much would you sacrifice to keep moving forward? When faced with an impossible decision, what would you do? Eight hours.

By the time they walked through that door, this place would be perfect. Iris began to work. END OF BOOK ONE