The streets were a war zone.

  Buildings crumbled, power lines snapped and sparked, and the air was thick with smoke and dust. The smell of burning asphalt mixed with something rotting, something wrong.

  The Grub was a disgusting mountain of flesh, its grotesque form slithering through the streets like an unstoppable force. Rows of jagged, mismatched teeth lined its massive mouth, gnashing together as it swallowed debris—chunks of buildings, abandoned cars, even corpses.

  Nothing slowed it down.

  And The Tunnel was running out of options.

  "Alright, ugly," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "let’s see how you like this."

  With a quick flick of his hand, he traced a circle in the air. A tunnel opened beneath a wrecked car, its exit appearing directly above The Grub’s bloated, pulsing head.

  Gravity did the rest.

  The car plummeted, slamming onto the creature’s body with a sickening crunch. Metal twisted, glass shattered—but The Grub barely noticed.

  It let out a wet, gurgling growl, its slimy skin absorbing the impact like a sponge.

  Tunnel clicked his tongue. "That’s new."

  He dodged sideways as the creature lunged, its massive body tearing through what was left of the street.

  He dove through one of his tunnels, reappearing across the battlefield in an instant. His mind was racing, calculating, strategizing.

  His tunnels weren’t big enough to teleport the whole thing, and every attack just sank into its grotesque, pulsing flesh.

  If he couldn’t pierce it, maybe he could rip it apart from the inside.

  His fingers moved in a blur, sketching another tunnel into the air.

  This time, a whole truck disappeared into it—

  —only to drop straight down onto The Grub’s back.

  Another crash. Another wave of impact.

  And still, it kept moving.

  Tunnel let out a string of creative swears.

  "This is getting embarrassing," he muttered.

  Then—the creature turned toward him.

  Its jaws unhinged with a sickening snap, revealing rows upon rows of shifting teeth.

  And it lunged.

  Tunnel barely dodged, flicking open a tunnel in front of him—but The Grub didn’t stop. It crashed through, barely fazed, its rotting stench filling the air.

  He rolled, landing hard, his hands already working on another escape route—

  Too slow.

  The Grub’s massive bulk slammed forward.

  Tunnel threw himself aside, but debris from a collapsing building rained down, blocking his escape.

  He skidded to a stop.

  Nowhere to run.

  The Grub’s gaping maw loomed overhead, dripping with saliva and half-digested rubble.

  Tunnel exhaled. “Ah, hell.”

  Then—something slammed into The Grub.

  Hard.

  Tunnel blinked.

  A dark figure stood on the wreckage.

  A familiar coat. A familiar presence.

  Damaged.

  His fists were clenched, his body freshly healed.

  And he was ready to fight.

  Damaged moved fast, dodging massive, crushing blows as The Grub lurched toward him. Each step shook the ground, sending tremors through the ruins of the city.

  His fists cracked against its thick, rubbery hide, but it was like punching wet cement. His usual strategy—wearing an opponent down, taking the hits and hitting back harder—was useless here. The damn thing absorbed everything.

  Tunnel kept him alive.

  Whenever rubble collapsed, when The Grub’s massive bulk threatened to flatten him, a tunnel would snap open, pulling him away just in time.

  But it wasn’t winning.

  It was stalling.

  Tunnel gritted his teeth, flicking another portal open to pull John out of the way.

  “This ain’t working!” John growled, skidding to a stop. Sweat and blood smeared his face, his breath heavy.

  Tunnel wiped his forehead, brain working fast. "Yeah, no shit. We’re fighting a living trash compactor!"

  John narrowed his eyes as The Grub let out another deep, stomach-churning growl.

  Nothing stopped it.

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  Nothing hurt it.

  Tunnel suddenly snapped his fingers.

  “Hey, John—how do you feel about cramped spaces?”

  John wiped blood from his chin. “I sleep in a shoebox. Why?”

  Tunnel grinned, flicking his hand, drawing a tunnel in the air.

  “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.”

  John raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

  Tunnel pointed at The Grub’s mouth.

  John stared.

  Then he realized.

  “…No.”

  Tunnel grinned wider. “Yes.”

  John sighed, cracking his knuckles. “Goddammit.”

  The Grub let out a deafening roar, its massive jaws snapping open—

  —Tunnel moved.

  A portal snapped open inside its throat, right beneath its gaping teeth.

  “Jump.”

  John didn’t hesitate.

  The moment The Grub’s jaws unhinged, John leapt straight inside.

  And just before those monstrous teeth could slice him apart—

  —another portal opened.

  A black void swallowed him whole.

  ---

  THE STOMACH

  Everything was silent.

  John landed hard, rolling onto something soft and wet.

  The air was thick, heavy with rot and decay.

  And when he pushed himself up—he saw it.

  An endless, dark expanse.

  It wasn’t just a stomach. It was something else.

  A black, shifting void stretched infinitely in all directions. The ground beneath him was slick, covered in the half-digested remains of buildings, cars, and bones.

  It was a graveyard.

  Everything The Grub had ever eaten was here, piled together in an impossible, rotting wasteland.

  John exhaled, his breath visible in the cold, damp air.

  “Well… shit.”

  John moved cautiously, his boots sinking into the wet, spongy ground as he navigated the endless void.

  Every now and then, a black portal would flicker open, vomiting debris into the darkness. Pieces of steel beams, shattered bricks, even entire cars tumbled from the sky, crashing into the shifting floor with sickening squelches.

  He watched them.

  At first, they seemed random. Junk from the city, swallowed by The Grub, dropped into the abyss with no pattern.

  But now—

  Now they were only appearing behind him.

  John frowned. He wasn’t wandering aimlessly. He was getting somewhere.

  Even the air was different.

  The deeper he walked, the less pungent the stench became.

  The darkness felt less empty.

  And then—

  A voice.

  Soft. Fragile. Echoing from everywhere at once.

  "Are you real?"

  John’s eyes narrowed. He turned, but there was nothing. Just the endless void stretching into nothing.

  He exhaled. "Yeah. I'm real. Are you?"

  There was silence.

  Then—

  "This way."

  A soft glow flickered in the distance.

  John followed, his instincts sharp, body tense. His hand hovered near his knife, ready for a fight.

  But when he reached the source of the voice—

  He stopped.

  And stared.

  A man lay half-sunken into the fleshy floor, his body frail and wasted away, like he’d been rotting for years.

  His skin was thin, almost translucent, his eyes milky white and sunken. His breathing was shallow, ragged. He didn’t struggle, didn’t try to move. He just lay there, as if the ground itself had claimed him.

  But he was alive.

  Barely.

  The man’s pale lips cracked into a weak, hollow smile.

  "You made it."

  John crouched beside him. "Who the hell are you?"

  The man’s clouded eyes met his.

  "My name is… was… Gideon." He took a slow, pained breath. "And The Grub is my brother."

  John’s stomach twisted.

  He knew something was wrong about this whole damn fight.

  "What do you mean, your brother?"

  Gideon’s head lolled to the side. "We were twins. Born together. But he… absorbed me. Took everything except my mind."

  John clenched his jaw. That explained a lot.

  The Grub had never fought like an animal.

  It fought like an empty thing.

  Mindless. Hollow. Feeding without end.

  And this guy—this shriveled husk in front of him—was the reason why.

  "He doesn’t think," Gideon continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn’t feel. He only consumes. I’ve been trapped here for… so long."

  John exhaled. "So why am I here?"

  Gideon’s lips trembled. "Because you can end it."

  His sunken fingers twitched. "If you kill me, he dies too. This whole… nightmare ends."

  John's fists clenched.

  "That easy, huh?"

  Gideon gave a weak laugh. "Easy." His expression twisted. "Do I look like this has been easy?"

  John stayed silent.

  Gideon swallowed hard, his breath coming shallower.

  "I just… want it to stop," he whispered. "I want peace."

  John studied him.

  The man wasn’t lying.

  There was no fear in his eyes. No hesitation.

  Just tiredness.

  A life spent inside a monster, waiting to die.

  John exhaled slowly. "If I do this, how do I get out?"

  Gideon’s eyelids flickered. "When I die… this space won’t hold together. It’ll spill out of The Grub… and so will you."

  John’s grip tightened around his knife.

  This was mercy.

  He’d killed plenty of monsters before.

  But this?

  This was different.

  John raised the blade—

  And Gideon closed his eyes.

  John gripped his knife, his fingers steady.

  Gideon didn’t move.

  He just closed his eyes, his lips trembling, a single tear slipping down his sunken cheek.

  For a moment, John hesitated.

  Then—he drove the blade into Gideon’s chest.

  A sharp breath escaped the dying man. A quiet, shuddering gasp.

  His fingers twitched once, then went still.

  His expression?

  Relief.

  A weak, broken smile played at the corners of his lips.

  And as the last bit of life drained from him—he cried.

  Silently.

  Softly.

  The air seemed to stop moving.

  John pulled the knife free. Then—everything went to hell.

  A horrible, deafening screech erupted from all around him. The void convulsed, walls of flesh rippling like an earthquake had struck inside the beast’s own body.

  The ground beneath him buckled, splitting apart, revealing a gaping abyss below.

  John barely had time to react before the world sucked inward—

  Collapsing.

  Folding.

  The black portals erupted everywhere, tearing open, pulling in everything.

  The debris. The bodies. The wreckage of an entire consumed city.

  John felt the pull, a horrific vacuum dragging him into the final portal.

  He gritted his teeth. “Shit.”

  The darkness swallowed him whole.

  The world erupted.

  A massive black tear opened in the middle of the street, vomiting out a tidal wave of destruction.

  Piles and piles of **debris, bones, shattered buildings, mangled steel—**everything The Grub had swallowed over the years—it all came surging out.

  And with it—

  John.

  He hit the pavement hard, rolling over broken glass, coughing up the thick, bile-scented air.

  His body ached. His lungs burned.

  But—

  He was alive.

  The Grub?

  Not so much.

  Its massive, bloated form lay torn open, its jaws split apart from the sheer weight of everything that had erupted from its gut.

  A corpse. A mountain of rot, spilling into the streets.

  And Tunnel was standing there, watching the whole thing.

  The lanky bastard lifted his hands, shaking his head.

  “John.” He let out a low whistle. “That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  John groaned, rolling onto his back. “Tell me about it.”

  Tunnel smirked, stepping over some rubble and offering a hand.

  “C’mon, man. Up you get.”

  John grabbed it, pulling himself upright, his entire body sore as hell.

  Tunnel dusted him off. “Alright, explain. What the hell happened in there?”

  John took a breath.

  Then another.

  And then he just sighed.

  “I destroyed its heart.”

  Tunnel arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? That easy?”

  John wiped some grime from his face. “Something like that.”

  Tunnel studied him for a second, but didn’t press.

  Instead, he let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

  “Well. Glad you survived roleplaying as a chicken nugget." He plopped down onto a chunk of rubble, rubbing his temples. "Jesus. This whole night is gonna give me gray hairs.”

  John sat down beside him, finally letting his body rest.

  The city still burned in the distance. There was still more to do.

  But for now?

  They could catch their breath.