Having opened all the windows in her apartment, Mariah turned off the stove. The now-quiet burner clicked softly as it cooled. With a practiced hand, she poured the steaming, bluish liquid into a large tea mug. The potent aroma, sour and earthy, filled the small kitchen. She leaned back against the sink, taking a deep, steadying breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead, tracing a path through her olive skin.

  Olt watched her, apprehension tightening in his stomach. He took the offered mug. The ceramic was warm against his palms. The liquid within shimmered faintly with that otherworldly blue. He inhaled, as the scent scratched at his nostrils. It was a pungent mix of damp earth and something indefinitely other.

  Olt glanced at Mariah, who was now facing him. She was fixed somewhere above his head, towards the ceiling, as if seeking a moment's respite from the intensity of the situation. For a fleeting second, Olt's eyes traced the lines of her figure. He noticed the way her damp t-shirt clung to her curves. It was an involuntary, almost subconscious observation. A flicker of awareness surprised him. He quickly looked away, chiding himself. This was no time for such thoughts. Vulnerability, and gratitude for Mariah's unwavering support, were likely the culprits, he reasoned.

  "Where should I… lie down?" he asked, a little rougher than he intended.

  Mariah focused on him again, her expression softening. She took another deep breath.

  "Follow me," she said, her voice regaining its usual briskness. "The couch in the living room should be comfortable enough."

  Moments later, Olt sat on the worn, orange couch in Mariah's living room. The space was a chaotic reflection of the kitchen. It was cluttered, lived-in, and bearing the marks of a life lived on the edge. Faded posters adorned the walls, their edges peeling. A dusty television sat on a rickety stand, surrounded by stacks of books and scattered papers. The green carpet was threadbare in places, revealing the concrete floor beneath. A large window, partially obscured by heavy curtains, offered a view of the cityscape beyond.

  Olt took a deep breath. He looked at Mariah, who had settled onto the low, wooden coffee table directly in front of the couch. Her posture was alert and watchful.

  He blew on the steaming liquid, the surface rippling slightly.

  "Nervous?" Mariah asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  Olt chuckled.

  "What do you think?"

  The smile vanished, replaced by a look of reassurance.

  "I'll take care of you, Olt. I've done this many times before. Trust me."

  He met Mariah’s eyes. There was a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the potion.

  "I know I can," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Or I wouldn't be doing all this crap."

  He blew on the tea again, the steam momentarily obscuring his face.

  "But… you said you've done this 'many times'? How? I mean… how did you even learn to brew this stuff?"

  Mariah shrugged with an almost dismissive gesture.

  "Let's just say I've had my fair share of illicit activity," she said, her voice light. "I did what I had to do, to make some extra money on the side. To help my parents."

  She paused, as her attention drifted towards a faded photograph on a nearby shelf. The picture was of a smiling, older couple.

  "My dad was injured working construction. He ended up disabled. So my income from the Institute went to them."

  She looked back at Olt.

  "On the side… I'd help people who wanted to awaken their powers. Off the books, of course. That's usually how freelancers in Synoro do it, you know? Through the black market." She added, with a touch of bitterness in her voice, "The only difference this time is that I'm doing it in my own home. Which is usually off-limits."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Olt chuckled with a short, humorless sound.

  "Seems like everyone has to do what they need to do to survive in this town."

  He paused, then, more seriously added, "Thank you, Mariah. For everything."

  Mariah's expression softened.

  "It's not for free, Olt," she said. "You're going to owe me big time,” she added, teasing him.

  She paused again, her demeanor becoming more serious.

  "The real work begins when – if – you awaken. That's when things get complicated."

  Olt nodded, a grim understanding settling over him. He took another deep breath, steeling himself. Then, with a determined set to his jaw, he began to drink the potion. The taste was repugnant, but he forced himself to swallow. He imagined it was nothing more than strong, unpleasant liquor. He gulped it down, the warm liquid sliding down his throat. It left a lingering, almost metallic aftertaste.

  He handed the empty mug back to Mariah, his hand trembling slightly.

  "There," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Done."

  "Lie down," Mariah instructed in a professional tone.

  Olt obeyed, settling back against the worn cushions of the couch. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. He waited, expecting something; a rush of energy, a wave of nausea, anything.

  "I don't really feel anything," he said, his voice a little slurred. "Except… bloated."

  He waited for Mariah's response, but none came. The room was silent, save for the distant sounds of the city outside. He tried to focus on her, and ask if that was normal, but his vision blurred. The edges of the room faded.

  Then, darkness.

  Not the gradual dimming of sleep, but an abrupt, absolute blackness. He felt a moment of disorientation, of panic, before realizing he was no longer in Mariah's living room. He was standing, or perhaps floating, in a space devoid of light, of sound, and any input whatsoever.

  Light flared, but not with the gentle, familiar glow of a lamp. It was a harsh, sickly illumination that seemed to emanate from the very air itself. It was as if the darkness hadn't been banished, but rather inverted. It seemed to be transformed into a blinding, oppressive presence. Olt gasped with a choked, strangled sound that died in his throat. His senses, already reeling from the abrupt transition, were assaulted by a wave of pure, unadulterated horror.

  He was no longer in a void. He was somewhere else.

  The ground beneath his feet was uneven. There was a rough, cracked surface that felt strangely organic. Organic like dried, caked mud mixed with something else. A foul, coppery stench hung heavy in the air. It was a grotesque blend of decay and something acrid.. It burned his nostrils and made his stomach churn.

  But it was the sight that shattered his sanity.

  Towering above him, impossibly vast and disgusting, was a maw. A cavernous, gaping mouth filled with teeth. Not the neat, orderly rows of human dentition, but a chaotic jumble of oversized, jagged things. They were yellowed and cracked, like ancient, crumbling tombstones. Some pointed inward at impossible angles, others jutted out like broken spears. Drool, thick and viscous, dripped from them, splattering onto the ground with a heavy plop. The lips surrounding this monstrous orifice were folds of dark, leathery flesh, pulsing slightly. It felt as if the entire structure were a living, breathing entity.

  The walls were existentially terrifying. Olt's gaze darted around, his mind struggling to comprehend the reality unfolding before him. But there was no escape. The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with colons. Human colons, impossibly large, stretched and distended. Their surfaces glistened with a slimy sheen. They pulsed with a slow beat. Some were filled with a dark, viscous substance that shifted and gurgled, while others were empty. Their inner linings were exposed, revealing a network of veins and capillaries.

  The scale was all wrong. Everything was too big, too distorted, too organic. It was as if he'd been shrunk down and thrust into the bowels of some colossal, unimaginable beast.

  And then, they moved.

  There were things lurking in the shadows at the periphery of his vision. They were vaguely humanoid in shape, but their limbs were too long and too thin, ending in clawed hands that scraped against the ground. Their skin was a mottled, grayish-green, like decaying flesh, and their heads were featureless. They shuffled and twitched. Their movements were jerky and unnatural.

  Olt's body reacted before his mind could fully process the horror. A wave of nausea, so intense it felt like his insides were being ripped apart, overwhelmed him. He doubled over, retching violently. The bitter taste of the potion and bile flooded his mouth. He vomited, again and again, as his body convulsed, until there was nothing left but dry heaves.

  But the horror didn't stop. It intensified.

  His bladder emptied with a warm, shameful stream soaking his pants. He felt the wetness spreading. It was humiliating.

  And then, the final indignity. His bowels released. A foul, uncontrollable expulsion that added another layer of disgust to the already overwhelming sensory overload. He was soiled, defiled, reduced to a quivering, animalistic state of pure, unadulterated fear. He stood there, frozen, paralyzed by the sheer, monstrous unreality of it all. His body was a trembling vessel of revulsion and terror. The stench of his own waste mingled with the already putrid air, creating a suffocating miasma of horror. He wanted to scream, but he was trapped.