"...Cole... Cole...? Cole!"
My eyes snap open. There's black edging my vision. The ceiling overhead is made of cracked stone and not pulsating flesh. We're in a tunnel, somewhere past the ballast room. John and Morgan must've moved me after they woke up.
I can still smell blood, but not from the Domain, but from me—just mine.
A blurry shape leans over me, their voice, Morgan's voice, calling for me again. "Hey! Stay with me, lad!"
My vision sways, then steadies, as I see him crouching over me. My gaze shifts toward the wall, and I see John lying against the corridor, his leg still ruined.
"Is he awake?" John asks.
"I don't know? Maybe," Morgan taps my cheek. "You're in there, lad? Still alive?"
My mouth opens, releasing a raspy gasp, but I manage to respond: "Y-yeah, I'm alive."
"Saints be damned, boy, you're beaten to a pulp."
I try to sit up, but the pain paralyzes me.
My arms don't respond. My chest burns, and each breath is glass piercing my lungs. My body weighs more than lead. My spine refuses to obey. I'm cold despite the sweat. That warmth that I once had is now gone.
Ikaris's gift, his fire, stayed with the Matriarch. Now nothing can make me stand. Not even will. I feel like I'm out of all of it.
"Don't move," Morgan says, noticing my twitching. He presses a hand to my chest, gently moving me, placing me upright against the wall, next to John. "Just breathe, lad, the pain will slowly fade."
A cough escapes me, bringing a sharp taste of blood.
"What the hell happened back there?" John asks. "Everything felt like a dream, no, a nightmare where I had to watch two realities at once. I saw my drunken father beating... and I saw you, Cole. It was choking. It was numbing. It was... I don't even know what anything was."
"You were trapped," I whispered.
Morgan sits down, facing us, placing his hands on his knees. "The only clear thing John and I remember was walking into the chamber and finding that girl. Then, as we walked through the tunnel she led us through, she grabbed my hand and everything became fuzzy. And like John said, I too saw two realities: you facing a devil, and a memory. And then, it was just gone."
Morgan locks eyes with me, trying to understand what he saw. From his expression, he probably assumes that I knew what anything was.
John lowers his head, seemingly lost in thought. He's most likely suck on whatever the Matriarch showed him. I doubt it was anything pretty.
Morgan's stare weighs on me like an anchor. I can tell he has questions, and a lot of them. I would like to answer anything he'll ask, but even I don't fully understand it all. I wish Ikaris were here. He could probably explain it. Hell, he probably could've killed the Matriarch. I want to tell them everything. But the words are trapped.
I drag in a painful death, it's like inhaling glass.
"That girl," I begin, closing my eyes. But for a second, the girl's teal eyes are still there. Watching. Smiling. Not Amira. Just her shell. "It wasn't human, it was some twisted, hollowed-out version of innocence: belonging to the monsterish creatures of darkness known as the Somata. And they were hunting me."
"Hunting you?" John interrupts. "What do you mean by hunting you? Creatures of Darkness? Somata? You aren't making sense, Cole. Explain what happened."
"Hush, lad. Cole is hurt. He can barely breathe. Let the boy speak." Morgan places a hand on my shoulder as he checks my injuries.
John leans forward, frustration written all over his face. "I watched myself through a memory, Cole. A horrible memory that I hoped to forget. Then, I see a hellscape made of flesh. What was it? I saw you burning, and the monster screaming. I don't understand any of it. Why did I have to rewatch that memory over and over again, Cole? Why did this happen? I was only trying to help a little girl, and now you tell me she was fake, some kind of lure. You say Somata like I'm supposed to understand. What the hell are they?"
John grasps the sides of his head, looking toward nothing as silent tears pour out from his eyes. "Why? Why Father, why?"
Morgan glances back at John only once, before grabbing a bit of his shirt and ripping a few strips so he can wrap a few of my injuries.
I couldn't stare at John, so I lower my eyes so I couldn't see him. It's as if I'm staring at a different version of myself.
"That's what they do," I say.
John blinks. "What?"
"Somata. I'm not entirely sure what they are, but I know their beings from another plane of existence. They're demons who consume souls. They consume our grief and despair, treating us like simple toys. To the Somata, we're just meals. The thing we faced was some sort of broodmother, some kind of matriarch of the Somata, as it called itself."
John curses under his breath. "So these devils, these Somata, feed on people, on their souls?"
I nod as John clutches himself, thinking about the traumas he had to relive.
As Morgan finishes wrapping a few of my wounds, he asks about Amira.
"That child, Amira, if I remember correctly, she wasn't real? She was one of those Somata?"
"She was a child once," I whisper."
"Once?"
"Yes, once."
Morgan sighs, leaning against the wall after finally tying off the last makeshift bandage. He reaches into his coat pocket and grabs a flask, already taking gulps at it.
"How long have those Somata have been after you?" He asks.
"They've been after my mother for years, but only recently discovered me. Soon, it'll be two days since their hunt began."
"And what makes you so special, lad?" Morgan scoffs. "You some kind of rare commodity?"
"Something like that," I reply as Morgan begins to take another sip. "I am a Seer."
Morgan halts the flask, his gaze whips toward me. "A Seer?" He drops the flask from his face, putting it away.
"Yeah, a Seer. I can see things that ordinary people can't. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like the Somata are on another plane of existence. All I know is that they're evil."