The world narrowed to two points of light – the massive, milky-white eyes of the two-headed cyclops staring down at Hillel. One eye floated high above the other, both fixed on him with a cold anger that rooted him to the spot better than any chains could have. His heart hammered against his ribs as time seemed to stretch and warp in the oppressive air of the farm.
This can't be happening, Hillel thought to himself, his mouth becoming bone-dry as fear took hold. I need to move. I need to run. I need to do something! But his body refused to listen to his desperate commands.
Then, without warning, the assault began in earnest.
From the giant's left head, the lower one, the eye lit up from within like a lantern filled with cold fire. No visible beam shot forth, but an invisible force slammed into Hillel with crushing weight. His muscles seized instantly like water being turned into ice, turning rigid and cold. His limbs locked in place while his breath caught painfully in his throat as a burning weakness spread through his body like poison coursing through his veins. It felt as though his very life was being methodically extracted by that hateful stare, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind.
I can't breathe... I can't move... How is this happening!? His mind screamed as panic rose within him.
At the same time, the right head, perched higher on the grotesque shared neck, opened its mouth unnaturally wide. A disjointed chorus tore through the air, the many sounds bypassing his ears and drilling directly into his skull. A resonant drone shook the ground beneath his feet, rattling his teeth and vibrating through his bones. Intertwined with this were sinister whispers that slithered around the edges of his hearing, saying awful things.
Hillel's vision blurred at the edges as reality itself seemed to waver. The grotesque organ-plants surrounding him twisted and pulsed in rhythm with the dreadful sound. It felt as if all his senses were being overwhelmed all at once.
A massive shadow fell across his body before he could fully comprehend what was happening to him. One of the giant's hands – a pale, wrinkled slab easily five times the size of Hillel's head – swept down toward him like someone casually swatting away an irritating fly.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Hillel watched it coming but remained unable to move a single muscle. His mind screamed desperate warnings that his body simply could not obey.
This is it, he realized with terrible clarity. I'm going to die right here, right now.
The enormous hand struck him square in the chest with devastating force.
The impact felt like being hit by a falling tree at full speed. Air burst violently from his lungs in a rush. He heard, more than felt, the sickening crack of his ribs breaking beneath the blow – the sound reminiscent of dry branches snapping underfoot. The world around him dissolved into a chaotic blur as he was thrown backward through the air, tumbling helplessly before crashing hard into the thick mud several yards away from where he had stood.
Pain washed over him in waves. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest against the damage. He lay gasping in the mud, struggling to pull air into damaged lungs while the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and trickled down his chin. Some even squirting out of his nose.
I need to get up. I have to get up now, the thought pushed through the dense fog of pain clouding his mind. I'll surely die if I stay here!
Through the haze of suffering, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps – thump... thump... thump – shaking the ground beneath him, growing steadily closer with each passing second.
Hillel clawed desperately at the slick mud, trying to leverage himself upward. His limbs shook violently, severely weakened by both the giant's paralyzing gaze and the brutal impact he had endured. His right arm hung nearly useless at his side, searing pain shooting through his shoulder with every slight movement. After what seemed like an eternity, he managed to get to his knees, then staggered unsteadily to his feet, swaying dangerously like a sailor on a storm-tossed ship.
When he looked back over his shoulder, he immediately regretted the decision.
The massive form of the two-headed giant was terrifyingly close, moving toward him with deliberate, unstoppable steps through the swirling mist. Its milky eyes glowed with undisguised hatred, both heads fixed on him with the focus of a predator that has cornered its prey.
Fear clawed relentlessly at his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He turned and ran – or tried his best to run, stumbling awkwardly between the rows of strange, unnatural plants. Each step sent spikes of agony through his chest as his broken ribs ground against each other beneath his skin.
His lungs burned with every breath, feeling as though they were filled with broken glass. The ground beneath his feet shook more violently with each passing moment. It's catching up to me! Where could he possibly go? The endless rows of crops stretched out in every direction through the impenetrable mist. The gray fog provided hardly any concealment. He definitely wouldn't be able to make it to the farmhouse.
Think, Hillel! Think!
His mind raced frantically for any possible hope of escape or survival. The coffin... how did I manage to get out of it? The memory flashed vividly before him. When he was pushing against the wood, he had felt a strange heat before the top was blown off.
Was that actually real? He wondered desperately. Can I somehow do that again?
He tried to focus past the overwhelming pain and fear, searching deep within himself for that elusive spark, that inner fire that had somehow saved him. Sweat and blood mingled on his face as he clenched his fists tightly, gritting his teeth against the pain while silently pleading for salvation.
Come on! he begged inwardly. Burn! Please burn!
A faint warmth flickered momentarily in his chest, offering a brief spark of hope – then cruelly vanished, leaving nothing but cold fear in its wake. Despair flooded his mind.
He had wasted precious seconds in his futile attempt. The ground suddenly shook violently beside him, causing him to stumble directly into a slimy plant stalk. Something wet and viscous immediately stuck to his sleeve like glue. He jerked away in disgust, looking up as the giant towered over him once more, its massive form blocking out the little light filtering through the clouds above.
The twin heads lowered toward him, their faces contorted with rage, hitting him again with both devastating attacks simultaneously. The deathly gaze locked his limbs in place, weakness flowing through him like ice water had replaced his blood, making his knees buckle beneath him. The terrible voice roared in triumph, the whispers growing into a maddening chorus, showing him vivid flashes of nightmares – eyes being plucked like ripe berries, hearts beating wetly on fleshy stalks, his own face staring blankly from the center of a grotesque flower.
Is that...my future?
His vision swam violently; the world tilted and spun around him like a broken carousel.
No! I have to fight this! Hillel bit down hard on his lower lip in a desperate act of defiance. Pain flared immediately, sharp and clarifying. He tasted his own blood, warm and metallic – a real sensation that momentarily cut through the overwhelming fog of supernatural assault.
But it simply wasn't enough to save him.
A massive hand slammed down with the force of an avalanche, pinning him firmly against the cold mud. The immense pressure squeezed what little air remained from his struggling lungs. Mud splattered across his face, filling his nose and mouth with the nauseating smell of decay. Before he could even attempt to react, the giant's remaining hand closed tightly around his head, thick fingers digging painfully into his scalp and jaw with bruising force.
His heart began pounding out of his chest when he felt the giant begin to pull his head away from his body. His neck strained against the pulling strength, tendons screaming in protest, a horrible popping sound emanating from somewhere near his ear.
It's really going to tear my head off! The horrifying realization hit him with the force of a physical blow.
The terrible truth washed over him like ice water. This wouldn't be a quick or merciful death. The monster fully intended to pull him apart piece by piece while he remained conscious enough to experience every moment of agony.
Raw terror, unlike anything he had ever known, flooded every cell in his body. His heart pounded frantically in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. His lungs burned desperately for air they couldn't reach. Trapped, helpless, and facing an imminent and brutal death, something deep inside him finally shattered utterly.
All his accumulated fear, pain, and desperate will to survive coalesced into a single point of burning determination. The dormant heat he had been searching for suddenly ignited, not as a gentle spark but as an explosive eruption of raw power. It didn't merely fill his chest; it surged downward through his trapped right arm like wildfire, concentrating with intensity in his hand, making his bones feel as though they had become white-hot metal.
I will not die here like this, he promised himself with newfound resolve. Not today. NOT LIKE THIS!
As his physical hand strained uselessly against the giant's implacable grip, the air beside it began to shimmer and distort. A shape gradually formed in the dim light – semi-transparent and glowing with power, the color of fresh blood mixed with burning embers. It was a perfect replica of his own hand floating parallel to his physical one, meshing with the giant's pinky finger. As Hillel's fingers desperately tried to clench into a fist, the phantom hand mirrored the motion exactly, becoming a clenched fist of ghostly power.
Time itself seemed to stop entirely around them.
The phantom hand crackled to its most solid form in a dark red glow, pushing through the pinky of the giant's hand that was wrapped around Hillel's lower torso. There was no loud crack of impact but rather a sickening, wet tearing sound that turned his stomach – like meat being violently ripped from the bone. The giant's finger, as thick around as Hillel's wrist, tore clean off at the knuckle, separated as easily as if someone had plucked a flower from soft soil.
A deafening roar of pain and shock erupted simultaneously from both of the giant's misshapen heads, the sound so powerful it seemed to physically shake the air around them. Its crushing grip loosened instantly as it yanked its mutilated hand back toward its body. Thick black fluid sprayed in a wide arc, smoking and hissing ominously where droplets struck the ground. Hillel fell hard onto the mud, finally free but still gasping desperately for breath, waves of pain pulsing outward from his damaged chest and strained neck.
He looked up through vision blurred by pain and exhaustion, utterly stunned by what had just occurred. The giant stumbled backward several steps, clutching its profusely bleeding hand tightly against its massive chest. Its milky eyes had widened with pain and apparent confusion – perhaps even the first stirrings of genuine fear – as it stared in disbelief from the severed finger twitching grotesquely on the ground to the tiny human who had somehow caused such damage.
Hillel gazed down at his right hand, his eyes focusing on the phantom appendage that seemed to pulse with power.
What in the world is this?