The moment the boat slips into the mouth of the tunnel, everything changes. It turns thick and humid, clinging to my skin.
The boat jerks suddenly, gliding forward on sluggish, churning crimson water and the scent hits harder now. Iron and decay. It burns the inside of my nose and my stomach knots.
Then there’s a sound, a mechanicalclangoverhead. I look up just in time to see a long, black spike slam down from the ceiling. It misses me by mere inches, burying itself just beside my shoulder.
I shriek and drop flat on the floor of the boat, heart in my throat before another spike slams down, then another. There’s no rhythm or warning, just violence. Pure, fucking violence. The boat rocks harder, tipping left, then right and I clutch the wood until my fingers ache.
Just as I feel it’s safe to lift my head but as soon as I do, I hear a metallic grind, followed by a shriek. In the walls on both sides of me, panels slide open to reveal spinning saw blades, huge and jagged, glowing red at the edges.
They roar to life, rotating wildly and sparks fly as they scrape the stone just inches from the boat’s edge. I press myself flat again, flinching every time the blades howl past.
When the saws stop, the boat suddenly lurches, caught in a sharper current and I’m forced to slide halfway out, one leg dipping into the warm, thick water.
Panic claws up my throat as I scramble to pull myself back in, my body slamming against the inside edge with a grunt just as the boat rights itself again.
Everything is shaking and the lights flash faster, but I still notice odd shapes hanging from the ceiling up ahead.
“What the fuck is that…” I whisper to myself.
At first, I think they’re decorations. Just props meant to look like guts and organs, but as I drift closer, I realize they’re fucking real. Human intestines, blackened and strung like garlands. Severed arms and legs swing lazily, dripping gore into the blood river below.
As I start to enter the area, one brushes my face and I skreich, instantly wiping the sticky fluid from my cheek before gagging violently.
When it seems I’ve finally got through that section of this horrifying amusement, everything starts to calm down, but I’ve got this bad feeling that was only a run up to the finale, which is terrifying.
I sit up, but as soon as I do, I spot him in the distance.
Wrath.
Standing in a second black boat farther down the tunnel, his silhouette tall and intimidating in the crazed flashing lights. His glowing eyes fix on me, and he doesn’t flinch at the blades, the blood or the horror surrounding us. He belongs in it. He’s part of it. He fucking is it.
The boat jolts again, this time faster, dragged forward by the current and I hear a new sound—water crashing.
My head turns forward hesitantly, and I spot it coming up. A wide, red curtain, gushing down from a jagged hole in the ceiling. I barely have time to brace myself before the blood hits like a wall, slamming down on me with violent force.
It pours over my head, into my mouth and my eyes. It’s warm, almost hot, and thicker than water, almost syrupy. I choke, sputtering, soaked through, the weight of it making the boat sway dangerously.
I crouch, gripping the edge like a lifeline. All around me is fucking chaos, the lights pulse wildly, red and white, red and white, like a heartbeat gone mad. The walls groan and it feels like the tunnelis breathing. Why the fuck did I come in here? Then it reminds me, and I turn my head.
Behind me, I notice Wrath’s boat has somehow gained speed because he’s suddenly closer now. I swallow hard because I know, deep down, this tunnel is nothing compared to what happens if he catchesme.
He won’t care if I’m covered in blood and guts. That monster is going to fucking devour me. And just the thought brings an unexpected, delicious drop in my stomach.
When the tunnel tightens and narrows, walls pressing in, I refocus on the front, and I see them. Mirrors lining both sides, and as I pass them, they don’t show me. Not really. They show versions of me twisted, ruined, bloodied, screaming or being torn apart, and in one... smiling back at me with Wrath’s red eyes.
My chest squeezes tight as I try not to look. But the whispers begin in my ears—low, hissing and garbling versions of my name.
I jerk away, heart hammering, as the water shifts suddenly beneath me, and I hear something brush the bottom of the boat. I freeze when the clawing at the wood starts until without warning, pale grey fingers with bloated knuckles, nails broken or gone entirely, reach out of the bloodied river.
One hooks over the side of the boat, fingers twitching inches from my leg, longing to touch me. I flinch back, holding my breath and blinking hard, unsure if I’m now fucking hallucinating.
But it lets go just as suddenly as it came, vanishing beneath again.
I barely catch my breath before the boat lurches into the next section and here, the walls are wrong. Embedded into them arefleshy and veiny faces. Covering every inch. Eyes shut tight, mouths open in silent agony, like they’ve been frozen mid-scream.
I duck lower, instinct screaming at me to get the fuck out of here.
Then, without warning, they all awaken.