Air scorches my throat. The door groans, ready to slam shut behind me. Two bearers advance, their hulking frames etched with glowing red runes, too close. The figure at my side whispers fast, rasping:
— Step back. Don't touch the rune. Not yet.
My hand bleeds, shaking. I hesitate. The larger bearer lifts his palm; a rune flares, pulsing, ravenous.
— Surrender the Mark, stranger. Here, there's no other choice.
I clutch the glass shard, my split palm dripping onto the rune carved into my own skin. My tongue burns—I cannot speak. The Mark quivers inside me, imperious: Give, or consume.
— You don't understand, the second bearer growls. Refuse, and you stay here. Forget your name. Forget the way out.
I lock eyes with their shadows. Pain pulses, the Mark rakes at my memories. I try to form words. Nothing. My companion cuts in, voice sharp:
— If they take the Mark, you'll be hollow. An empty shell. You want that?
The larger bearer laughs.
— Hollow's better than dead. Or eaten alive from within. Look at you—you can barely stand.
My legs buckle. Blood drips. The rune on the door flares, greedy. My hand falters.
— We can't cross, the figure hisses. Not without paying. But not that. Not the Mark.
I slam my fist into stone, despairing. The bearers step closer.
— You won't survive the next threshold without us. Share the Mark. We'll take half. Otherwise, the door crushes you.
A low rumble. The Mark snickers in my skull: Give, give. You'll see.
I hurl the shard. It slashes the bearer's arm. Black blood, red smoke. The second roars, lunges. The figure yanks me back.
— Run. Keep the Mark. Empty your mind. Think nothing.
My legs barely hold. The corridor reels. The Mark shrieks, starving, gnawing my memory. Each step costs a face, a voice.
Behind, the bearers roar.
— Abyss-spawn! You won't last! The Mark spares no coward!
The rune slams shut behind. A hiss. The figure seizes my hand, slams it to the next door's rune.
— Sacrifice something else. Not the Mark. Not your life. A vow—hurry!
I shut my eyes. A vow. My voice is gone. I force the thought: I will never open a door for another.
The Mark writhes, uncertain. The rune grudges, then yields. The door creaks open, stinking of ash and burned flesh.
— Move! the figure snarls.
I stumble through. Behind, stone shatters, bearers scream. The noise rips a shred of fear from me, swallowed by the Mark.
Spent, I collapse. The figure kneels, low-voiced.
— You've learned now, haven't you? The Mark isn't shared. Anything that tries is devoured.
For an instant, the Mark grates: Share, and you lose all.
I try to scream. My tongue won't obey. The world blurs.
One last sound: heavy steps, rushing, a red gleam in the dark. More bearers? Or something worse?
I struggle to rise. My hand still bleeds. The Mark already claws for a new price. The next door looms ahead, its runes shifting, promise of another pact.
The figure leans close, breath hot in my ear:
— Brace yourself. This time, they won't bargain.