Vincent’s first breath came sharp and shallow as his body jolted awake. He clawed at his throat, instinctively expecting to feel the gaping wound Rody had left, but there was only the dull, ghostly ache of a broken wine bottle long removed. The memory of the flames licking at his heels, the scent of burning wood and flesh, the twisted rage in Rody’s eyes-it all came flooding back.
He should have been dead.
The ground beneath him was formless, an endless void of shadows and faint mist swirling at his feet. The oppressive silence pressed in, unnerving, like he was buried alive in an abyss. His head spun as he staggered to his feet. Where the hell *was* he?
Then he saw him. *Rody*.
But it wasn’t the Rody Vincent remembered. This Rody stood with a strange confidence, wrapped in a pristine white chef’s coat. His hands were folded behind his back, posture unnervingly composed. His green eyes glimmered with a mix of recognition and something darker-something possessive.
Vincent’s stomach churned. “Rody?”
The Rody in the chef’s coat blinked, slowly turning his head toward him, surprise flickering in his eyes, but the shadow of a smile soon curled at the corner of his lips. “Vincent,” he said, voice soft but unnervingly certain. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
Before Vincent could respond, another presence shifted in the haze. A new figure stepped from the mist-*another* Rody. This one, though, was different, almost monstrous. Dressed in black and red, with sharp, twisted horns spiraling from his head, a demonic aura radiated from him. His tail swayed lazily, his glowing eyes narrowing as they locked onto Vincent.
“Vincent?” the demon Rody growled, voice low and rasping, disbelief thick in his tone. “*You*.” His expression darkened with a possessive hunger as he stepped closer. “You shouldn’t be here.” His tail flicked like a predator preparing to pounce. “But now that you are…”
Vincent took a shaky step back, eyes wide as panic set in. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
But the nightmare wasn’t done with him yet.
A maniacal cackle echoed through the void, sending chills down Vincent’s spine. A third figure stumbled out of the mist, clothes torn and filthy, his face smeared with dried blood. This Rody-this *thing*-looked crazed. His eyes were wide and wild, his grin twisted and unhinged. He dragged his fingers across his lips as if savoring the memory of something horrific.
“You…” the crazed Rody rasped, eyes fixed on Vincent with a sickening intensity. “I remember your *taste*.” His voice broke into a grotesque laugh, a shuddering gasp of ecstasy. “Oh, it’s been so long. Too long.”
Vincent’s heart pounded, the air thick with tension, confusion, and something far more sinister. These weren’t hallucinations. They weren’t fragmented nightmares. These were *real*-and they were all *Rody*.
The chef Rody took a measured step forward, his eyes darkening. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since…” He paused, lips thinning as he glanced at the other two Rodys. “…since I arrived here.”
The demon Rody growled low in his throat, his tail swishing in agitation as he glared at the chef. “Back off,” he hissed, his voice dripping with possessive venom. “You’ve had your time. *He’s mine now.*”
Vincent’s breath hitched as the two versions of Rody locked eyes, tension crackling in the air between them. The chef’s smile faltered, but his gaze never wavered. “He was never *yours*,” the chef said quietly, though his voice was laced with bitterness. “I’ve waited for him. You… you only want to destroy him.”
The crazed Rody let out another deranged laugh, stumbling closer. “Destroy? Oh, no, no…” His grin stretched wide, blood-smeared fingers twitching. “I just want to taste him again. He was… delicious.”
Vincent recoiled, fear tightening in his chest as the three Rodys turned their attention back to him, each one with their own twisted desires.
The demon Rody sneered at the chef, eyes flashing. “You think *you* deserve him? After what you did? You’re just as sick as the rest of us.”
“You’re wrong,” the chef Rody hissed, his voice low, venomous. “I loved him.”
“*Loved* him?” The crazed Rody giggled, his eyes darting between the other two. “You were *obsessed* with him! You carved him up and served him. You’re a monster just like the rest of us!” He jabbed a finger at the chef, face twisting in mockery. “Don’t pretend you’re better.”
Vincent felt his legs weaken, bile rising in his throat as their words sank in. He was trapped in a twisted purgatory, surrounded by versions of the man who had killed him-each of them monstrous in their own way, each of them fighting over him like he was nothing more than a piece of meat.
The demon Rody snarled, stepping closer to Vincent. “You’re mine, Vincent. Body and soul. I’ll take everything, and you’ll beg for more.”
The chef Rody’s expression darkened, his voice a low, threatening growl. “I won’t let him have you, Vincent. I’m not losing him again. Not after everything.” His hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm.
The crazed Rody’s grin never faltered, his laughter high-pitched and unsettling. “Oh, you’ll let him. Or maybe I’ll get to him first. He’ll be mine again, just like before.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “And I’ll savor every bite.”
The three of them closed in, the air thick with tension, jealousy, and madness. They didn’t care about each other-they never had. This wasn’t about camaraderie. It was about possession, obsession. They were ready to tear each other apart if it meant claiming Vincent.
Vincent’s back hit something solid-cold and unyielding, a wall that hadn’t been there before. He had nowhere to run.
“Vincent,” the chef Rody whispered, his voice almost soft, almost pleading. “You belong with me.”
The demon Rody’s eyes burned with desire as he reached out, his claws extending. “I’ll take you piece by piece.”
The crazed Rody lunged forward, his eyes wild. ” I want to *taste* you again.”
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as they reached for him, as the void closed in, suffocating, and he realized the horrifying truth:
He would never escape.
Not from them. Not from *this*.
Vincent’s pulse thundered in his ears as the three Rodys closed in, their eyes gleaming with madness, lust, and hunger. He had survived fire, the stabbing, and his own sins, only to end up here, in this twisted purgatory, surrounded by versions of the one man who had driven him to the brink of madness.
His body trembled, the cold void around him feeling more suffocating by the second. The chef Rody’s voice cut through the haze of terror first, still eerily calm despite the chaos.
“Vincent,” he whispered, now only a step away. His eyes shone with an obsessive gleam. “I need you. You know I do. I was always there, even when you didn’t see it. Even when you tried to run.” His fingers reached out, grazing Vincent’s cheek with an unsettling tenderness. “Let me have you. You’re *mine*.”
Before Vincent could react, the demon Rody lunged forward, shoving the chef aside with a snarl. “You think I’ll let you take him? You’re pathetic,” he spat, his tail lashing behind him. His sharp, claw-like nails scratched at Vincent’s chest, drawing thin lines of blood. “I want *all* of him. I’ll tear his soul from his body, devour every inch of his body, and I’ll still want more.”
Vincent’s breath hitched as the pain radiated from his chest, but the demon Rody only grinned, relishing in the sight of Vincent’s fear. The demon leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “You’ll beg for me, Vincent. Beg to for me to take you,body and soul.”
A maniacal laugh erupted from the third Rody-the crazed one, the cannibal, whose eyes glowed with a primal, ravenous hunger. He circled them like a predator, his fingers twitching with a desire to tear into flesh.
“You think he’ll beg for you?” the crazed Rody giggled, voice breaking into a giddy high-pitched wheeze. “No, no. He’ll scream for me, just like he did before. Oh, I remember… the way his blood tasted, the way he trembled when I *ate* him.” His tongue flicked over his lips as he stared at Vincent with an unhinged glint in his eyes. “I’ll make him mine again. One bite at a time.”
Vincent’s back pressed harder against the unseen wall behind him, heart pounding, the weight of their words sinking deeper into his mind. His throat felt dry, his limbs frozen as their promises of violence and obsession suffocated him. There was no escape. No way out.
The chef Rody, now shoved back slightly, straightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked between his counterparts. “Enough.” His voice was deadly calm, filled with suppressed rage. “This is pointless. *You* don’t deserve him.” His eyes flicked to the demon and the crazed Rody, disgust curling his lip. “You’re monsters.”
“And you’re not?” the demon Rody sneered, teeth bared as his tail coiled menacingly behind him. “You think you’re better than us? You’re just as twisted. You *killed* him too. You carved your way into his heart, same as the rest of us.”
The chef Rody’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “I did it for love. Not for-” His gaze cut to the crazed Rody, who grinned at him with blood-stained teeth. “Not for whatever this is.”
The demon Rody barked a laugh, eyes gleaming with malice. “Love? You don’t love him. You’re just obsessed. You’re sick, just like we are.”
The crazed Rody’s laughter echoed through the void, high-pitched and unsettling. “Heh, we’re *all* sick, aren’t we? But that’s the fun part!” His eyes widened, gaze snapping back to Vincent. “And now, Vincent’s stuck with us. Forever.”
Vincent’s stomach lurched. The reality of it sank in like lead-he was trapped. Trapped with these twisted versions of Rody, each of them clawing for a piece of him, each of them consumed by their own brand of madness.
But what did that make *him*? The fact that they were all here, in this purgatory… it couldn’t be coincidence. Did he belong here too?
Vincent’s chest tightened as the void around him pulsed with an unnatural energy, pressing in on all sides. The air grew thicker, colder, choking him as their words swirled around his head.
“Mine,” the demon whispered, fingers digging into his skin.
“Mine,” the chef breathed, his voice almost desperate.
“*Mine*,” the maniac rasped, teeth gleaming in the darkness.
Vincent’s vision blurred as the pressure mounted, as his thoughts fragmented, torn between terror and the twisted pull of their obsession. Every version of Rody wanted him-his body, his soul, his very being. And he had nowhere to run.
Just as his mind began to spiral into madness, something shifted in the air. A distant, low rumble echoed through the void, faint but growing louder. The three Rodys froze, their heads snapping up toward the source of the sound. The tension between them faltered for the first time, confusion flickering in their eyes.
The mist around them thickened, swirling faster, a sudden wind whipping through the space. Vincent’s heart pounded, but for the first time since waking, he felt a faint glimmer of hope.
Something was coming. Something bigger than their madness. And it was about to tear this purgatory apart.
The three Rodys exchanged wary glances, each of them momentarily united in their confusion. The crazed Rody took a hesitant step back, his grin faltering. “What the hell is that?”
The demon Rody’s tail twitched anxiously, his eyes narrowing as the rumble grew louder. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t let him go. *He’s mine.*”
The chef Rody’s face twisted in fear as the darkness around them began to ripple, the very fabric of this purgatory trembling under the weight of whatever was approaching.
Vincent could feel it too-an overwhelming force, something ancient, something that didn’t belong to any of them. It was coming for them all.
And for the first time, the Rodys seemed afraid.
But it was already too late.
The rumbling intensified, shaking the very ground beneath them as if the void itself was alive and furious. The mist swirled faster, growing darker, denser. The three Rodys, once so confident and consumed by their own madness, now recoiled, unsure for the first time since Vincent had appeared.
“Do you feel that?” the crazed Rody whispered, his voice now shaky, his eyes darting wildly. The manic grin had faded, replaced by a nervous twitch. “Something’s… wrong.”
The demon Rody hissed, his eyes narrowing as he stepped away from Vincent, casting wary glances into the swirling blackness. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” he growled. “I’m in control here. No one can take him from me.”
Yet, despite his defiance, the demon Rody’s tail flicked nervously behind him, betraying his fear. The chef Rody stood still, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes remained locked on Vincent, desperate, possessive, but there was something else now-a flicker of realization.
“It’s because of him,” the chef whispered, voice barely audible. “We were never supposed to see him again. We were supposed suffer here alone for eternity…. until he showed up.”
Vincent’s throat tightened. His entire body tensed as the void around them twisted and distorted. He didn’t understand what was happening, but one thing was clear: whatever it was, it was targeting them all. The force bearing down on them was far worse than the three twisted versions of Rody. It was darker, heavier, as if the very essence of the purgatory they were trapped in had awakened to their presence.
Suddenly, a tear ripped through the air, a deafening sound like fabric being torn apart. The mist parted violently, and from the rift emerged a figure-a towering shadow, formless yet suffocating, its presence sending a cold, unnatural dread seeping into their bones.
The Rodys were paralyzed, staring at the shadow in silent horror. Even the demon Rody took a step back, his bravado crumbling as the figure loomed closer, its shape constantly shifting, tendrils of darkness reaching out toward them.
Vincent’s body screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped between the three versions of Rody and this monstrous, incomprehensible force.
“Wh-what is that?” the crazed Rody stammered, the wild gleam in his eyes now replaced with genuine terror. His fingers twitched, as if he longed to rip into something, anything, to regain control.
The chef Rody’s face drained of color. “It’s… it’s punishment,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “We’ve been… judged.”
The demon Rody shook his head violently, baring his teeth in a defiant snarl. “No! No one judges *me*. No one takes what’s mine!”
But even as he spoke, the shadow stretched out, tendrils curling around each of the Rodys, pulling them closer to its dark, shifting mass. Their eyes widened, each of them realizing too late that there was no escape, no fighting back.
The crazed Rody screamed first, the sound shrill and unhinged as the darkness wrapped around his limbs, dragging him toward the rift. “No! No! I don’t want to-!”
His voice was cut off, swallowed by the void as his body vanished into the shadow. The demon Rody’s roar of rage followed soon after, his claws slashing wildly at the tendrils, but they only constricted tighter, pulling him into the darkness as well.
The chef Rody was the last to be seized, his eyes wide and filled with a strange mix of fear and sorrow as the tendrils gripped him. He turned to Vincent, his voice barely a whisper as the shadow began to engulf him.
“I was only trying to love you…”
Then he, too, was swallowed by the void, his form disappearing into the endless blackness.
Vincent stood frozen, breath coming in shallow gasps, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. The air was thick with tension, the void now eerily silent. He was alone again, but the weight of the presence still pressed down on him, as if the darkness had yet to decide his fate.
The shadow lingered, its shifting form towering over him, tendrils of darkness swirling at its edges. Vincent’s heart raced, his thoughts scattered, desperately searching for any way out. But as he stared into the void, he realized there was no escape.
This purgatory was his now.
The tendrils reached out for him, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey. Vincent closed his eyes, the weight of everything he had done crashing down on him-the lives he had taken, the blood he had spilled, the obsessive spiral that had led him here.
He had always known, deep down, that there would be no redemption for him. No peace. Only darkness.
The tendrils wrapped around his arms, his chest, his throat, pulling him closer to the shadow’s embrace. The last thing he felt was the cold, suffocating grip of the void as it swallowed him whole.
And then, there was nothing.
Only darkness.
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