The injured giant bellowed again, clutching the stump where its finger had been. Its milky eyes blazed with rage and confusion, yet hesitation marked its movements. This ant, somehow, now posed a threat to a creature of its immense stature.
Hillel scrambled backward on the slick mud, desperate to create distance between himself and the giant. The phantom image of the red hand had already vanished, leaving only a tingling heat in his right arm. The brief respite was over.
With a roar that shook the nearby organ-plants, the giant lunged. Driven by adrenaline coursing through his veins and raw terror, Hillel focused. His broken body couldn't outrun this monster—he needed that strange power again.
Heat surged down his arm, faster this time, and the translucent red hand reappeared beside his own just as the giant swung a massive fist.
Instinctively, Hillel threw his right arm up to block. The phantom hand mirrored his motion, meeting the descending blow. The impact jarred Hillel to his bones, yet the phantom hand held for a crucial split second, noticeably slowing the giant's fist before flickering out. The physical blow still glanced off Hillel's shoulder, spinning him around, but it wasn't the direct hit that would have crushed him.
Yes! It worked! Hillel felt a surge of wild hope. He now stood a chance against the monster. But the giant's roar had drawn unwanted attention. Heavy footfalls approached from two directions. Through the mist, two more two-headed cyclops lumbered into view. Hillel immediately averted his gaze. He couldn't afford to be frozen, not with three monstrosities bearing down on him. His hope of survival dimmed rapidly.
Clenching his teeth, he summoned the phantom hand again—it appeared instantly now, his proficiency growing with each desperate moment. He punched forward with his right arm as the injured giant advanced. The phantom hand, positioned differently than his own fist, moved in a wider arc and slammed into the giant's thick leg with a red flash. The impact echoed louder than expected, and the giant stumbled back. The pasty, wrinkled skin on its leg cracked open, spewing black blood.
Interesting. That seemed stronger than usual... is this fist amplified? It must be...
Suddenly, one of the other cyclops began spewing penetrating whispers. The sounds slammed into his mind like physical blows. He cursed in defiance as another giant swung at him from the side. Hillel barely dodged, the disorienting whispers nearly masking the surprise attack. He tried to swat defensively with the phantom hand, but his distraction was too great. It passed harmlessly through the giant's arm like mist. Hillel barely rolled away as another huge fist plunged into the mud where he'd been standing.
Focus! I need to focus for it to work!
He scrambled up and lunged backward as several blows rained down, dodging both the impacts and the displaced mud. Three seconds... I need to make them count. He sprang forward, aiming a phantom punch at the nearest giant's knee. It connected solidly, eliciting a grunt. But even as it hit, a sharp cramp shot up Hillel's right arm, making him cry out. The phantom hand vanished into nothing.
He was weaponless again, his arm wracked with considerable pain. The giants closed in, moving more cautiously but relentlessly surrounding him. He dodged another clumsy swing, pain flaring in his chest. He summoned the hand and struck quickly, slamming hard against one giant's elbow, then let it fade before the cramp hit. The woosh of displaced air warned him to dodge a blow from the side. He summoned the hand and swung again. Another giant staggered slightly.
This isn't enough! I'm just annoying them at this rate...
His eyes darted wildly, nearly making eye contact with one of the cyclops as he searched desperately for escape. Through a gap in the mist, he saw it—the dilapidated farmhouse. It stood maybe fifty yards away, its door human-sized. These giants can't fit through that!
With a surge of desperate energy, Hillel turned and sprinted just as a loaded punch rushed past his head. He ignored the fire in his lungs and the stabbing pain in his ribs. He weaved between the fleshy plants, the thunder of giant footfalls pounding behind him. He must have enraged them thoroughly—they seemed to have forgotten about their harvest entirely. A huge hand swept down, narrowly missing him, obliterating one of the flowers in a splatter of viscous fluid. He dared not look back.
The farmhouse loomed closer. Its wooden door hung slightly ajar. He flung himself toward it, throwing his battered shoulder against the wood and stumbling inside just as a massive, pale hand groped blindly at the doorframe behind him. He kicked at the searching fingers and slammed the door shut, fumbling with a rusty bolt that he barely managed to slide into place.
Yes! I'm sa—
Thunderous pounding immediately battered the door and walls. The whole structure shook as if caught in a violent storm. Splintered wood flew inward from the growing cracks around the frame. The bastards were relentless, huge fingers probing through any gap they could find, seeking purchase.
Hillel backed away, heart hammering and chest heaving. The farmhouse was dark, reeking of mildew and old blood. No furniture stood within, no other doors offered escape. The windows were boarded up, leaving the entrance as the only way in—and the only way out.
Until he saw it—a mysterious door standing in the middle of the room, unconnected to any wall. A single door set in a simple frame, clean and fresh. Its presence defied logic and it felt uncanny.
The pounding intensified. The front door began to splinter inward. A huge, milky eye peered through a widening crack. He accidentally met its gaze, cursing inwardly as ice-cold sensation flooded his bloodstream. He willed the phantom hand to appear, holding its presence as long as possible, letting the severe cramping shake him free from the icy hold.
He turned to the mysterious door, twisting the knob awkwardly. He didn't know why this door existed here, but judging by its good condition amid the decay, it had to be significant. And right now, he couldn't afford to ignore anything significant.
When he pulled it open, what he saw was utterly bizarre. The space beyond the frame shimmered, swirling with faint colors like oil on water. Through the haze, he glimpsed a different place entirely—a room with walls of rough-hewn stone, lit by flickering orange light. Rows upon rows of wooden buckets lined the floor, filled with glistening shapes he recognized with a sickening lurch. Organs. Neatly sorted and numbered.
Behind him, the farmhouse door burst open with a thunderous crash. Giant arms reached into the room, fingers grasping blindly. The cyclops were too tall, but they tackled that problem by smashing at the door header. Without a second thought, Hillel threw himself forward, diving through the shimmering doorway.
He landed hard on the cold stone floor, the impact jarring his broken body. He rolled, gasping in pain, before looking back. Just as he thought, he could see directly into the farmhouse—except this time, he wasn't in it.
How bizarre, he thought before slapping his right cheek. There's no time to be lost in thought, Hillel! You have to move!
He struggled to his feet and analyzed his surroundings. A single torch flickered in a wall sconce, casting dancing shadows across the buckets and stone walls. The air hung cool and damp, the stench of organs far stronger than in the farm for some reason. An exit beckoned—a dark, narrow hallway leading away from the torchlight.
He exhaled shakily before starting down the hallway, moving cautiously as the light dimmed. He hadn't gone twenty feet when heavy shuffling sounds and guttural snorts approached. He quickly pressed himself into a shadowed alcove.
A moment later, a creature unlike anything he could have imagined emerged from the darkness. It was built low and wide, with a fat body covered in thick armor across its back and flanks. Multiple stout legs carried its bulk with surprising steadiness. Its wide, shovel-like snout hovered mere inches above the stone floor, sharp teeth lining its mouth and a long horn protruding from the front. It pulled a large wooden cart laden with empty buckets. Perched atop the beast's broad back, holding thick reins, sat a lean man in simple worker's clothes.
The beast seemed agitated, sniffing around and making deep groaning sounds as it passed Hillel.
"What's bothering you, boy?" The man asked, attention focused on a paper in his free hand. "It'll be alright. We just need to move one more load before we get to rest."
Hillel held his breath as the strange pair shuffled past. The beast seemed placated by the man's words and moved faster toward the portal room. Soon, the cart wheels rumbled to a stop as the two began whatever business awaited them there.
Hillel immediately broke into a sprint, his bare feet barely making sound against stone as he ventured deeper into the corridor. It stretched endlessly, illuminated only by torches at unusually long intervals.
Suddenly, the air grew noticeably colder. The hallway opened into a larger chamber bathed in icy white light. Frost coated the walls, and the air bit at his exposed skin. His feet stepped gingerly on the freezing floor as he maneuvered around the organ buckets. Clearly some kind of cold storage room.
Two paths opened, one to the right and one to the left. Not wanting to linger on the frigid stone, he rushed forward. His haste left him oblivious to the disconcertingly normal man dressed in all gray, who stood beside a batch of harvested eyes. He was perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, with thinning gray hair neatly combed over. The man watched Hillel disappear down the rightward path with a neutral expression. Then, he drew a longsword from a scabbard at his side, the pitch-black material seeming to absorb the flickering torchlight around it.