Grave Risen
You wake at the bottom of a mass grave, under rain and strangers' bodies, with no name, no memory, and no heartbeat. The thirst arrives before the questions do.
The first man you kill teaches you to speak. His blood carries more than warmth: his language, his training, the muscle-memory of a life you never lived. That is what feeding is, for whatever you are now. Every throat is a book. Every kill leaves you more of a person, and less certain you are one.
The living have no word for you, but they have dogs, steel, and fire, and a war-torn countryside that burns its plague dead by the thousand. Daylight lies on you like a hand pressing down. Your own skull is no quieter: it speaks in a chorus of voices, hunger and logic and panic and pride, all arguing over the corpse you drag through the world, and not all of them are on your side.
The dead were meant to stay discarded. Forgotten.
You have other plans.
What to expect: a slow, visceral survival story told in second person, present tense. A dead thing growing stronger through what it drinks and what it learns, hunted through forest and ruin by everything alive, in a chorus-of-voices style inspired by Disco Elysium. Survival horror that hardens into something darker. Grimdark to the bone.
Content warning: graphic violence, gore, body horror, dark themes throughout.
