Chapter 308
Dushlok
Content Warning:
This chapter contains intense depictions of physical suffering, body horror, and extreme transformations that may be disturbing to some readers. The events and imagery described are purely fictional and are presented solely for narrative and artistic purposes. The author does not promote, glorify, or support gore, violence, or actions of this nature in any form; they are included only to convey the severity of the character's experience within the story.
IAM opened his eyes to pure hell.
Before he could even begin to register where he was, a burning sensation exploded inside his stomach, so sudden and so violent that it erased all thought. It was not a simple pain—it was an all-consuming one, the kind that tore through the body in waves, the kind that could force the mind to shut down or the heart to stop from sheer shock alone.
It was the worst he had ever felt.
Unfortunately for IAM, that merciful darkness never came. He could not even scream. His body locked, every muscle seizing as violent tremors ran through him. His jaw was clenched so tightly it felt as though it might shatter, and all he could do was shiver as red-hot tears streamed down the sides of his face, burning their way past his eyes and into his ears.
The sensation only grew worse.
It was no longer just fire. It felt as if countless things were crawling inside him, writhing, tearing, burrowing through flesh and nerve alike. The agony spread outward from his core, flooding his chest, his limbs, his spine, until there was not a single part of him that was spared. Every nerve screamed at once, overlapping into a single, endless surge of torment.
He could not endure it.
His body convulsed, and he vomited.
But what came out was not bile.
Dark objects of varying colors spilled onto the ground in front of him, wet and heavy, landing with soft, sickening sounds.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain receded.
It did not vanish, but it dulled enough for thought to return, leaving IAM gasping, his vision swimming, his mind struggling to make sense of what lay before him. He stared at the shapes for several seconds, unable to comprehend them, as if his brain refused to accept what his eyes were seeing.
Slowly, with a trembling hand, he reached out.
His fingers closed around one of the objects and lifted it.
It was warm.
It was heavy.
It was unmistakably organic.
He brought it closer to his face, his breath hitching as the details came into focus—the slick surface, the faint pulsing that had not yet fully stopped, the unmistakable shape carved into his memory from countless lessons and diagrams.
…It was his heart.
A wave of dizziness and confusion washed through IAM's body.
Was… was this really his heart?
It shouldn't be there...It couldn't be there. It was supposed to be inside his chest, beating, hidden, protected. Not in his hands. Inside... Not outside. Not exposed to the air like some discarded object. His eyes widened as he slowly looked away from it and toward the rest of what had spilled from him.
Only then did understanding begin to dawn.
Intestines,liver, kidneys, stomach, fragments of organs whose shapes he had only ever seen in diagrams or during lessons, never in reality—never like this, never torn from his own body and scattered before him.
All of it was supposed to be inside him.
All of it was... necessary.
He couldn't live without them. That was impossible. A human body could not function without its core, without its organs, without its heart. The thought sent a surge of panic through him so sharp it nearly rivaled the pain itself. He needed them back. He needed them now. If he didn't put them back where they belonged, he would die. He had to. There was no other outcome.
Driven by blind terror, he began to crawl forward, dragging his broken body across the ground. His hands shook violently as he gathered the bloody pieces, pulling them toward himself as if they might slip away, as if losing sight of them for even a second would mean losing his life altogether.
These were important... These were irreplaceable.
But what could he do? How could he return them to where they belonged? How did one put their own insides back inside themselves?
He stared at them for what felt like an eternity, his mind spiraling, searching for any answer, any instinct, any memory that could tell him what to do. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached for one piece again.
His heart.
He drew it closer, closer still, until it hovered near his mouth, his breath hot against its slick surface...
And then—
The burning sensation roared back.
It was instant. Overwhelming. A violent resurgence that surged through him like molten fire, forcing him to convulse, to thrash, to writhe as if his body were being torn apart from the inside all over again. The agony clawed through his nerves, through his chest, through the hollow, ruined space where those organs were meant to be, and IAM could do nothing but shake in his own insides as the torment reached its peak once more.
Why was this happening?
Why, why, why!!!
Why! Why! Why! Why! Why! Why! Why!! Why!!!
Amid his internal cries, IAM felt something strange—a shift, subtle at first, then undeniable. His body… it was changing. Not just the pain, not just the organs—it was everything. He could feel it deep in his bones, in his blood, in the skin that was suddenly alive with sensation he had never known.
A searing fire erupted across his scalp. Hair sprouted in wild strands, thick and fast, only to grey, then bleach to white, before falling away in clumps, leaving his head bare and raw. His skin tightened, wrinkled, roughened, as if decades were being forced upon him in seconds. His bones creaked, stretched, and groaned under some invisible weight, and then, with a horrific plop, his eyeballs seemed to bulge unnaturally from their sockets. He was aging, dying, with every nerve screaming in protest.
Just as he thought he had reached the apex of horror, a massive crack shattered the sensation, and his body began to shrink. Limbs shortened, fingers curled inward, legs folded unnaturally, yet something miraculous occurred: his skin softened, became smooth again, supple as a newborn's. Tiny hands and legs formed, the impossible transformation compressing him into infancy, helpless and raw.
But the reprieve was fleeting. Hair sprouted in thick black curls, muscles and bones expanded, and his body surged forward into youth and strength once more. And then it did not stop. Age and youth tore through him in unrelenting succession: old, baby, young man, middle-aged, ancient, infant. The cycle twisted and tore him apart, each instant carrying the full, unbearable weight of a lifetime's growth and decay in seconds.
The pain was unimaginable. Every cell, every nerve, every fiber of his being was stretched and compressed beyond comprehension. He felt the collapse of old age, the fragility of infancy, the awkwardness of adolescence, the fullness of adulthood, the frailty of middle age, the death of old age—over and over, faster than thought, impossible to endure.
Seven cycles. Seven hellish repetitions. Each cycle a crescendo of agony, each return a mockery of relief, before, finally, the world stilled. The shifting, the tearing, the burning ceased. IAM lay spent, drenched in his own insides, trembling, barely able to comprehend the impossible ordeal he had survived.
As uncontrollable tears streamed down his face, he felt like he could shatter entirely, like his mind would finally snap under the weight of what was happening. No… why hadn't he gone mad yet? It would have been easier—so much easier. No thoughts, no feelings, no awareness of the agony and the impossible chaos of his own body. If only he could surrender to insanity. But it refused to come... Not yet.
Through his tear-blurred vision, he became aware of his surroundings, and a chill spread through him that had nothing to do with temperature. He was no longer in any recognizable world. All around him, the walls of his prison pulsed and throbbed, slick with moisture, coated in a mix of saliva and digestive fluids that ran in rivulets and dropped in heavy, glistening masses. The air—or what passed for air—was thick, oppressive, and pungent with the sharp, acrid tang of acid and decay.
The space stretched impossibly around him, cavernous yet intimate, the walls rippling like living muscle. Large folds of tissue pressed and shifted, oozing a slimy film that made every movement feel like wading through thick, unrelenting glue. Occasionally, he could see partially broken-down matter, fluid layers swirling in uneasy currents, chunks of unrecognizable shapes floating in the acidic bath. The smell was overwhelming—a combination of heat and a raw, primal scent of a creature at the very edge of death.
The environment seemed alive, aware, and utterly indifferent to his presence. It was impossible to tell where one fold ended and another began; the light—or what little he could see—caught on the fluid in ways that made the space seem infinite, a churning, breathing cavern.
IAM's stomach churned, not entirely from nausea, but from the terrifying intimacy of it all. He was surrounded by what should have been destructive but natural processes, yet there was something… wrong, something that made every instinct in him scream. Every sense told him this was not just a stomach, not just a digestive organ—but a dying one.
With a grunt, IAM forced himself shakily to his feet, his naked body trembling from every lingering pang of agony. His eyes darted around, searching desperately for any sign of escape, any irregularity in the pulsing, slick walls that might lead him out. But before he could even take a single step, the stomach around him convulsed violently, the folds of muscle contracting and recoiling in an uncontrollable rhythm. The acid-slick walls pressed and twisted against him as if the creature itself had realized his presence and now wanted to expel him.
A sudden, shuddering heave ran through the entire cavern, lifting him off the slick surface and sending him sliding along the undulating tissue. Gouts of fluid and partially digested matter surged around him, the smell intensifying into a choking, suffocating wave. The pressure forced his chest to compress with each violent contraction, and he felt himself being pushed upward, carried by the monstrous wave.
It was as if the stomach were alive in its own panic, trembling and shuddering, violently purging everything within. The walls rippled in erratic waves, squeezing, twisting, and propelling him forward. With a final, forceful spasm, the chamber expelled him abruptly, and IAM was launched through the opening, propelled into the unknown, slick and slipping from the creature's body.
He landed like wet meat among the other unidentifiable objects, his body exposed to the outside world for the first time. The air hit him with a shock that rattled his very bones—carrying a tang of decay, bile, and something more alien, more primal, than anything he had ever known.
Waves of madness and chaos surged through him with each ragged breath, twisting his mind in knots. Thoughts scrambled, emotions collided, and the raw shock of survival collided with the lingering pain of what he had endured. It was too much. His vision blurred, sounds and sensations overlapping in a grotesque symphony, and before he could process even a fragment of it, his consciousness gave way. He collapsed into darkness, unconscious, his body trembling from the ordeal.
If he had been awake, he would have seen the creature that had just expelled him, now lying still and broken.
Its colossal form stretched like a monstrous worm, segmented and immense, its massive antennae twitching faintly even in death. Its body was primarily black and white, slick and glistening, a grotesque titan brought low.
As it neared the end of its life, it let out one final, ear-shattering screech that ripped across the sky, a sound of fury and despair, before its massive form slumped to the ground, lifeless at last.
And so, IAM's first day in Dushlok came to an end... and it was safe to say it wasn't exactly pleasant.