When Ryan opened his eyes again, he was not in the convenience store. Instead, he was surrounded by darkness—a suffocating, all-encompassing blackness that seemed to press in on him from all sides. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to his feet, or at least what he thought were his feet. He looked down, but instead of his usual sneakers and jeans, he saw… claws. Long, sharp claws, attached to sinewy, muscular limbs that were definitely not his own.
"What the…?" Ryan's voice came out as a low, menacing hiss, completely foreign to his ears. He stumbled back, tripping over something and landing in a crouch on the cold, hard ground. His heart raced as he looked around, trying to make sense of where he was and what had happened to him. The last thing he remembered was being shot, and then… this. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife?
But as he examined his surroundings—rocky, jagged terrain with a perpetual darkness that seemed alive—he realized this wasn't any kind of afterlife he'd ever heard of. This place felt wrong, like a nightmare brought to life.
Ryan spotted a pool of dark, viscous liquid nearby and crawled over to it. Leaning over, he peered into the reflective surface, and his breath caught in his throat—or at least, where his throat should have been. Staring back at him was a creature straight out of a horror movie: a lean, insectoid figure with gleaming, cold eyes and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. His skin—or was it carapace?—was dark as night, blending seamlessly with the shadows around him. The creature in the reflection was terrifying, and it took Ryan a moment to realize that it was him.
"This… this can't be real," Ryan whispered, backing away from the pool. But no matter where he looked, he couldn't find any sign of the world he knew. Only more darkness, more of the strange, alien landscape.
Then, like a dam breaking, memories and instincts that weren't his own flooded his mind. He saw flashes of battles, heard screams of terror, felt the rush of adrenaline as he stalked prey in the shadows. Names and faces flickered through his thoughts: Helcurt, Thamuz, the Abyss. It was like trying to watch a hundred different movies at once, none of them making sense.
Ryan clutched his head, trying to make the images stop. "I'm… I'm not Helcurt," he muttered to himself. "I'm Ryan. Just… Ryan."
But the world didn't care about his confusion. A sound—a deep, rumbling growl—echoed through the air, and Ryan's new body tensed, reacting on instinct. He turned, and in the distance, he saw a group of creatures moving towards him. They were huge, muscular beings with glowing eyes and jagged weapons, their presence making the very ground tremble.
"Oh no," Ryan whispered, realizing they were heading straight for him. His first instinct was to run, but something deep inside him—some remnant of Helcurt's warrior spirit—stopped him. Instead, he crouched low, melding into the shadows, his claws at the ready.
As the group of creatures approached, they stopped short, their leader—a massive, horned figure with fire in his eyes—raising a hand to halt them.
"Helcurt," the leader rumbled, his voice like an avalanche. "You survived."
Ryan blinked. They think I'm… Helcurt? He glanced down at his claws, then back at the creatures. If they thought he was this Helcurt, maybe they wouldn't kill him. Maybe he could figure out what was going on.
But before Ryan could come up with a plan, the leader stepped forward, narrowing his burning eyes. "Why are you just standing there, assassin? There is work to be done."
Ryan swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "Uh… yeah, about that… I'm, um, not feeling so great right now. Maybe I could… sit this one out?"
The leader's eyes narrowed further. "Sit out? Since when does Helcurt shy away from battle?"
Ryan's mind raced. "I, uh, hit my head pretty hard in the last fight. Might've scrambled something up here," he said, tapping his head. "But don't worry! I'm sure I'll be back to… shadowy, assassin-y stuff in no time."
The leader stared at him for a long, tense moment. Ryan's heart pounded in his chest—if he even still had a heart—and he wondered if he'd just signed his own death warrant.
But then, the leader grunted. "Very well. We march on without you. But do not think you can avoid your duties for long, Helcurt."
Ryan nodded, trying to hide his relief. "Sure thing, boss. You guys… go do your thing."
As the creatures moved on, leaving Ryan alone once more, he let out a long, shaky breath. He had no idea who these beings were or what they expected of him, but he knew one thing: if he wanted to survive, he'd have to play along, at least until he figured out how to get out of this nightmare.