Amias couldn't hold onto a single thought; only darkness remained as the world collapsed around him. He tried to keep the jaw from closing, straining against it, but his efforts were futile. The jagged, needle-like teeth punctured his flesh, sank deeper, and found his organs with terrifying ease. Bones shattered like glass, and as the maw continued to chew, his body was reduced to little more than a ragdoll.
Each bite grew more violent, more agonizing. As he writhed inside the creature's mouth, rendered utterly motionless, a jagged tooth pierced through his eye and went past it to his brain; another crushed his spine. The angler chewed and tore at him until there was nothing left but pulped meat. He screamed a raw, primal cry of suffering. The pain was beyond comprehension. Unfathomable. Relentless.
But he would not die.
With each bite, as fast as his body was destroyed, it regenerated. The cycle repeated endlessly. He felt everything: every rip, every tear, every bone split in two again and again. There were no thoughts. No logic. Only the searing, constant agony of being devoured alive.
Every time the creature paused just for a moment, it began again. Teeth upon teeth eviscerated him, ripping off limbs, gouging out organs, and shredding bones. He remained alive, and it drove him mad. Slowly, with every repetition, Amias's mind began to unravel.
His nerves lit a thousand flares, each one signalling desperately as they fired through shredded muscle and cracked bone.
His skin flayed and reknit in a loop so vicious, the freshly sealed flesh was torn open again before it could even settle.
Organs split and reformed, only to be ripped apart the moment they took shape.
His lungs collapsed and reinflated like a bellows and would pop like a balloon.
His heart burst again and again, pumping blood through veins too broken to hold it.
He screamed, but nothing came, just a wet, choking gurgle as he drowned in his own blood.
There was no numbness. There was no relief. Only the curse of feeling it all, every second, every snap and tear carved deep into memory. He was supposed to be dead. He was dead. His breath had stopped. He never grew tired. He no longer hungered. No thirst. No rest.
And he endured it all. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. It happened all day and all night; the cycle would only repeat again and again, over and over. A cycle which he would never escape and never hope to escape.
But...
He was the Gravewalker, cursed to live and die in tandem. He bore the blood of gods that regenerated him infinitely and bore the fruit of ambrosia, which granted him immortality. Even if his human body was torn apart over and over, it rebuilt itself. Each time stronger. Each time more resilient. Because while no man could survive this torment, a god could.
As the gruelling days passed, he had slowly morphed into a being beyond human; he was now truly walking the steps of divinity and...
He moved.
Barely at first. His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. The teeth still dug into him, still tried to consume him, but now his flesh was iron. His bones diamonds. Through sheer force of will, he began to push. The creature's mouth tried to close again, but this time he stopped it. Bit by bit, he forced it open from the inside; his tendons were steel as he pushed.
The pain remained, but it no longer controlled him. It had become a dull, hateful fire that fueled him as a sadistic grin stretched across his face.
He reached up and tore one of the beast's teeth out, using it as a weapon. Then another. And another. Endless rows of fangs, ripped from their sockets and driven deep into the angler's own gums from within. With every strike, he carved his vengeance into the monster's flesh as blood began to pool.
The creature howled and finally, with a violent lurch, spit him out.
Amias collapsed onto the ground, naked and reborn. His shredded clothes were gone. His once-athletic frame now looked sculpted by God: cut muscle, veined arms, a body worthy of Olympus. His eyes glowed a cold, merciless grey. Madness had replaced clarity. His sanity was a distant memory as he laughed madly, putting a hand over his face.
The angler lashed out with its hooked claw from its skinny, unnatural arms. He caught it midair and ripped it off with a simple tug.
It screamed, thrashing in rage and agony. The other claw came down. He tore that one off too.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped toward it. The dark, cold atmosphere of this dreary place only heightened Amais's divine pressure. The god's blood he had inherited was not yet known but he could feel a spark of its hate in him as he stared at the angler.
The angler could no longer move. No longer defend itself. And Amias had returned to its mouth, pried it open once more, and one by one, torn out every last tooth. Jagged. Vicious. Dozens upon dozens of them in the tunnel but it mattered not; he ripped each out mercilessly, hearing the beast's cries, but it did not matter until finally the mouth was empty, the only thing remaining the blood, which pooled down its wide maw. The beast could no longer eat. No longer hunt. No longer consume.
And he left it there broken, crippled, but alive.
A river of blood flowing from its mouth.
A bloated husk.
Starving.
Doomed to rot alone in the depths of the maze.
A manic grin formed upon the Gravewalker and he laughed wickedly before eventually subsiding and turning one last time with a sinister grin.
Amais now walked; he was dazed, distraught, and disoriented. He collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by everything he had endured in an instant. Time blurred and faded; nothing made sense. He slipped into a deep, restless dream he wouldn't remember. His eyes closed, not from fatigue. No, he didn't feel tired at all but from the desperate need to escape. He couldn't move, yet his mind screamed for a break. So he surrendered, drifting into a state of weightless nothingness, of empty rest.
When his eyes opened again, he saw the moose, the majestic steed, carrying a man wreathed in flame; glowing together, the both of them cast an orangish-blue. Ancient runes shimmered along its silver coat. One of its antlers had been broken, but still, it ran. It was as valiant as ever, charging forward even as something monstrous gave chase from behind. Though battered and burned, the moose did not falter, its body cloaked in unending flame.
That's really fucking cool. Amais thought in a daze.
The man of fire reached down and lifted Amias with ease. His eyes glowed hollow and white. Strangely, the flames didn't burn; they felt warm, almost comforting.
The moose galloped down a narrow path that wound through the endless dark. The gulper followed but came to a stop as it caught sight of the angler.
Its hunger had been redirected.
As the gulper paused to claim its new prey, the Gravewalker and his rescuers disappeared into the distance, leaving the beast behind in a cloud of ash and silence.