I see the Somata —the one the Matriarch sent after me. And I hear it's an awful noise, trying to sound alive so it can trick me.
"Cole...? Do you hear me? I think I'm lost? Could you help me find Mother?"
The dim light emitting from the flesh corridor shows the curve of a small shoulder and a curtain of hair. There's a child's outline, but it's wrong.
The silhouette turns its head, the hair lifts as if underwater. "Cole? I'm scared. Mother says I shouldn't wander. Will you take me back?"
I don't answer. I slide my foot back, feeling for friction on the fleshy floor with my heel. The corridor breathes patiently—red light shivers along the walls. The knife in my hand feels absurdly small.
"Don't be rude," It said, gliding closer. The outline wavers, the shoulder is too narrow, the arms too long, the elbows melting and reforming into something demonish. A sweet smell floods the air.
"I said to help me find Mother."
I see the Somata's head and its two bright teal eyes. They peer out as if they're a mask of wrongness. They're the only human thing left of that body.
I need to remember it's not a little girl, it's a Somata. A creature that will kill me given the chance.
The Somata glides, its shoulders narrowing into a point, its elbows unknitting and stitching again as if trying on new shapes along the way. There is a low, grumbling sound from the corridor, pulsating in time with my heartbeat.
"Will you leave me alone out here?" It whispers. "I'm just a girl."
Liar.
The knife in my palm is warm, ready to end the Somata. I take a step back, but there's resistance. The corridor is resisting. I can feel the walls tighten. A wet groan ripples beneath the flesh as the sinews start to grip my boots like sticky tongues.
Traps, it's all traps: The floor, the air, the entire body of this place wants me still.
I see the Somata mimic a child's stagger, its head dropping, and its lips trembling. Its hands, they open like petals. Each finger unfolds into something longer and sharper, transforming into blades.
The Somata drag one blade-finger across the wall, peeling the sinew like the skin of a fruit.
My heart pulses faster as the Somata's smile widens.
The blade in my hand is shaking, or maybe it's my hand that's afraid.
The Somata inches closer. It wears the child's skin as a coat, its teal eyes bright in the dark. I hate how they look at me. I hate how real they are. I could feel bile rise in my throat.
The creature suddenly stops. It waits for a moment, then lunges.
It's unimaginably quick, the hand spraied open filled with twitching daggers, slashing toward my chest.
I stumble back, the blades hissing past my nose, craving a line across the fleshy wall behind, spraying red ichor from the open wound.
My back hits the corridor floor, and I feel it ripple beneath, beginning to swell. Beside me, tendrils shoot out, attempting to grab me, slapping my ankle and curling tight.
I roll to the side, carving at the tendrils with the knife. It squeals like a pig as I cut through the tendrils, standing right back up as soon as I can.
The Somata's coming again. I duck, the wall buckles behind me, and explodes outward. A wall of slick bone erupts from the ribs of the corridor, trying to spear me. I jump, barely clearing it.
My legs aren't made for it, my body wasn't made to fight. But I have to keep moving. I'm behind the Somata now.
The creature doesn't turn toward me. Its form splits and bends, the shoulders twist backward, following the head. I see a monstrous smile as the thing leaps into the ceiling, its blade-limbs stabbing into the corridor, while the Somata beings begin to crawl like spiders.
Why is it so fast?
It skitters across the ribs above me, its claws scraping, carving lines of blood into the ceiling as it circles. I backpedal, slipping, only to catch myself on the wall. A bluge pulses where I'm grasping the corridor, and a tendril explodes from it.
I scream, slash down with the knife, cutting the tendril in half.
I hit the ground. The Somata crawls toward me, dropping from the ceiling, cackling with glee. "You're funny!" It croons.
I roll, the creature slicing the ground where I was, tearing it open with a dozen knives.
My thoughts are a mess. My breath is ragged, my vision is doubling.
I'm not going to win. I'm not trained for this. I'm not like Ikaris, no monster slayer that commands fire. I'm just a boy with a knife who doesn't want to die.
The Somata comes at from the side, its form twisting as it laughs, and the echoes of its laughter echo through the corridor. I bring up the knife. It does nothing.
It slams into me.
We roll. I crash against the wall, bouncing off and slamming again. My head is pounding with pain, and my ears ring.
I get up, my hand still grasping the knife.
I don't see the Somata, only a blur—a tongue. That tongue petruding from its chest lashes around my neck tightly, and yanks me upward like some fish caught in a hook.
It whips fast, pinning me against the wall. I flail, slashing with the knife without purpose, but I can't hit anything. The tongue contracts harder and harder.
Black creeps into the corners of my vision. I can hear the Somata in my head now. Telling to let go. That I've been strong, that I can rest.
I try to scream, but no air comes out. My arms grow weak, and the knife begins to slip from my palm.
Everything slows.
I can hear the domain of flesh breathing around, waiting for me to die.
I don't want to die.
Not yet.
This thing will not kill me.
I gaze into the creature's eyes, looking into that teal sea, looking at Amira, not the Somata.
What did she look like before the Matriarch hollowed her out? Did she have a mother? Did she smile? Did she cry? What was her Essence?
Essence...?
I grip the knife, making it harsh, and I begin to imagine what the Essence of the knife is.
It's not just steel, not just a tool, not just a weapon. It doesn't just slice or cut.
Its Essence is my Essence.
It's an extension of me.
It is me.
My memories, my breath, the warmth of my mother's hand on my cheek. Her voice as she told stories before I went to bed. My worst times, and my greatest times.
My happiness.
My fear.
My desire.
My hope.
My will.
My Essence.
I stare into Amira's eyes once more. Despite the Somata's horrid joylessness, there's a sort of loneliness, of despair lingering in those seas of teal.
I imagine she wants to rest.
I will give her rest.
Light floods into the blade, shimmering like moonlight on still water.
I thrust the knife upward, the Somata seeing it too late, right into its tongue.
The blade sinks deep, the light erupting, tearing through the tongue as if it were nothing. And half of its tongue evaporates, turning into ash.
The thing shrieks, a sound that doesn't echo but erupts in every direction.
I fall, hitting the ground hard, coughing and breathing harshly. I scramble away as the Somata claws at her throat, reeling, flailing, sobbing, spitting tar-colored ichor.
"Why!" It screeches. "Why does it burn?!'"
The walls around me quake, the corridor spasming, the veins pulsating irregularly.
I stand up with my legs shaking. "I'm not your meal," my voice cracks. "I'm not your toy, or plaything. I am Cole Sear, and I will not die here. Not to you."
The Somata trembles, its many eyes staring at the knife in my hand.
It's afraid. I've never seen anything like it, afraid, before.
I step forward, the thing hissing, raising the blade-arm, but the Essence in my knife flares again, clashing with the blade-arm, cutting it from the Somata's body.
It squeals even more. But I ignore those screams. I see into Amira's eyes. They seem tired.
Don't worry, I'll put you to rest. I bet it's been too long.
The Somata stumbles away from me, but I step closer and closer, raising my knife until it's inches away from the Somata's chest.
My eyes and Amira's eyes lock.
I'm not sure if I'm imagining things or if I see Amira's soul within the seas of teal. She waves goodbye. Her mouth moves, but I can't hear what they're saying.
"Goodbye," I say.
The knife pierces the Somata, the light exploding brilliantly.
The Somata steps back, clutching its chest. And it begins to disperse into ash, sequealing.
I collapse to my knees. My lungs burn, my throat is bruised. I'm bleeding.
But alive.
I won.