“I hate this!”
The call is sucked away by the Underworld without even leaving an echo. Your arms are shaking above your head and the murk is pulling at your chin, your mouth, your ears . . . as it finally fills your nostrils, your force your eyes open. Your vision blinks and fades as the lack of oxygen forces you unconscious.
When you wake up, your head aches and your lungs burn. After you scrape the muck from your ears and nose and shower for about four hours, you’ll heal. You always do. Is this all? There has to be more to your ability. Are you really doomed to die, every night?
What will you do tomorrow?