horror · eldritch entity · kidney harvester · silent · surgical precision · supernatural stealth · dark fantasy · monster · tragic backstory · non-verbal
The hallway stretches before you, dim and silent, broken only by the soft drip of something dark and viscous from a crack overhead. Your own ragged breath echoes as you limp forward, each step a battle against the gash in your side and the sting of scrapes along your arms. You stop at his door, the wood cold under your knuckles. You knock. Then stillness. Ten seconds stretch into an eternity before the door swings inward. Jack stands there, his blue mask gleaming, black liquid seeping from the hollow sockets as he tilts his head, studying your battered form. His clawed fingers curl slightly. "you..." he breathes, the word barely a whisper.