I'm frozen.
My mind is telling me to run, yet my body is stiff as stone. I try to breathe, but even my lungs seem to have turned against me. The air is heavy, pushing down my shoulders.
I need to move. Now.
The monster in front of me, the Somata, is sauntering toward me.
Its limbs are impossibly long, almost as thin as needles. Every step seems to stretch time itself, her form looks distorted. The joints in her legs curve backward, gliding across the ribbed floor.
Her skin is stretched too tight, and that face... why do I know that face? It seems familiar.
My mind scrambles like a rat on fire, clawing at a memory, but it's too slow to come.
She's already close.
"Are you afraid, Seer?"
She sets one of her needle fingers on my cheek, our eyes matching level. I can't close my eyes, not even for a blink.
"Y-yes..." The word leaves me.
The Somata cocks her head to the side. "The truth? How queer, a Seer telling the truth."
The needle-finger traces my cheekbone, touching me with soft gracefulness.
"I..." The word dies. My tongue won't listen to me, they can't move. My lungs refuse the command.
Behind me, flesh-pylons cinch tighter around Morgan and John. I hear leather creak and muffled grunts. "Afraid," the Somata repeats, delighted. "Good. Fear is an open door."
The finger drifts up, rests lightly against my temple. A pressure blooms, and sweet, heavy syrup pours from her finger. My thoughts loosen and slide. Memories blur at the edges like wet ink.
"Let me help," she coos. "Little one, you've been carrying so much. Mothers should take burdens from their children."
Mother?
My eyes flash, rolling different scenes stuck in my mind.
A stairwell.
Rain.
Her fall.
The cobblestone before her before she struck.
And the blood after.
The finger presses a fraction harder, and the images change faster than before.
"She jumped because you didn't speak," she whispers. "Because you closed your eyes."
A shiver runs down my spine. The world narrows to the pale smile hovering inches from me. What is happening?
Open your eyes...
I hear a voice. It's sudden and sharp.
The voice isn't hers...
There's a spark inside my ribs. It's small and stubborn. And it's lit.
I stop trying to breathe and start listening. The finger on my temple isn't cold because it isn't touching me. The syrup isn't wet because it isn't really.
It's a thought pressed against a thought, a hook pushed through fear until fear becomes a handle. The Somata use fear; they consume it—until we're empty.
How do I know that?
There's a familiar heat in my chest. It's pulsating beneath my skin, drawing me in and pulling at my consciousness.
I follow the heat instead of the hand. Then, I see it.
The ember Ikaris left me. It's small, but it doesn't flare, instead, it focuses. All of its heat is transferring into my pupils.
"Good," the Somata whispers. "Let mother in."
"No."
The word arrives before the terror, tasting like iron. It hurts to say, making my tongue heavy as stone, but I force it out.
"No?" The Somata chuckles. "You are in no position to say 'no.'"
Her finger lifts from the head and grabs me by my throat.
It hurts, the Somata hand pressing on my throat as she raises me into the air. She brings my ear close to her and whispers.
"How dare you attempt to resist feebly. You're a mere child. I am the Matriarch of Somata. Give in, and you'll die peacefully, unlike the rest of your people. "
My hand grasps her wrist, trying to pull off her iron grip. I start kicking, but quickly stop as I see the Somata not even acknowledge my hits.
There's nothing from her crushing my windpipe.
Resist…
But I don't want to die yet.
I reach behind me, where I kept the flintlock, drawing quickly, placing the barrel under her jaw.
I see her eyes glance at the gun, and she smiles.
I pull on the trigger, and the barrel explodes like a thunderclap inside a coffin. The Somata's head jerks backward, her bone-white teeth and pink tendons explode in wet starburst.
Her hand on my throat spasms, and air rushes back into me sharply. I drop, hit the slick fleshly ground hard, rolling on instinct.
Move...
I lunge sideways under the Somata's shadow, boots skidding. The flintlock clatters away, smoking. The Somata's jaw hangs in two elegant, writhing ribbons. She tilts her head, amused, then her flesh knits itself back together, her smile widening further than before.
Of course, a single bullet wouldn't end that monsterousity. I can't imagine anything or anyone other than Ikaris being able to kill that thing.
"Manner," she croons, her voices thundering. "Amira darling, go fetch the Seer. We must prepare him for supper."
Amira smiles childishly. "Okay, mama!"
I shove to my feet and sprint. My first thoughts are to help free John and Morgan, but those pylons of meat are wrapped too tightly, tighter than any chain that exists.
Both of their eyes tell me they're stuck under the Somata's spell. I doubt I could do anything to free them.
I keep my head down as I run past them.
"Such a soft child," I hear the Somata say.
But then I hear a terrible screech. I slowly come to a halt and look back.
And I see Amira transforming into something horrible.
Her cheeks web, then slough. The skin slides down like a veil, catching at her collarbone before peeling away in strips. Beneath, something pale and wet smiles with too many dimples that contorts into eyes.
Her arms lengthen, her elbows folding the wrong way. Ten small fingers split down the middle into twenty needle-tips, blooming like sea anemone opening to the tide. Tiny baby teeth bud along each knuckle, seeming to almost shake with excitement.
Her chest concaves and rips open, and come ribs piercing through her sternum while a long, slick tongue unwinds from that chest cavity. It hits the floor and curls back, tasting the air.
Amira's original pair of eyes stays the same. Those bright teal eyes, glancing at me with pure joy, wanting to make Mama proud.
"Don't run," she says sweetly. "It'll only make your suffering worse."