Breaking Tradition

BY : Worlds_First_Ghost
Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > General
Dragon prints: 144
Disclaimer: I do not own Dead by Daylight, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Herman Carter’s forced open eyelids twitched with every one of his moist, sticky footsteps. Aside from the buzzing of the damaged lights or the occasional cry of a startled crow, the only other sounds he heard were made by him. They were the same sounds he always heard whenever he was sent to Léry’s Memorial Institute. Every detail held within these dismal corridors carried the same dull familiarity. The musty scent of accumulated grime and bodily fluids smeared over the walls clogged his nostrils. Shattered windows framed with iron bars lined every hallway, serving as a depressive reminder that the only thing outside of this prison was nothingness. Perpetual moonlight, sallow and artificial, filtered through the grates and served as the only source of illumination for the areas with burnt out light fixtures. Other corridors were lit with a variety of flickering, off-white fluorescents or brilliant tungsten bulbs that burned in the confines of umbrella-shaped fixtures. Their weak glows shimmered off the layer of slime coating the tiled floors. Shallow prints, left by his boots, were molded into the filth. They collected pools of shadows that dithered behind him, outlining his pursuit of his quarry.

These hunts, for the most part, came about with little issue. The frustration only arose the longer he took to complete one. The more survivors that were killed off, the more cautious the remainder became. The focus shifted on staying out of sight rather than fixing generators, where they risk damaging one and drawing his attention. When it came down to only one, as was the case now, there was no telling how much longer this game of hide and seek would last. Most times he wouldn’t waste so much energy trying to find this sole straggler. Three sacrifices were usually enough to sate the Entity, so it wasn’t necessary for him to track down the fourth. But he was compelled to find this one. The one that always evaded him.

Feng Min, as he sometimes heard the others call her. To himself, he often referred to her as the Rabbit. He didn’t assign her the moniker because of her speed. She wasn’t the Wildcat, or Meg, whatever her real name was. The Wildcat was faster, but the Rabbit was keener. Wildcats don’t concern themselves with predators, but a rabbit that wasn’t aware of its enemy’s presence was not long for this world. She knew when the hunter was approaching and knew how to slip past him.

Unlike rabbits, she was a solitary soul. Just like him. Focused on the task at hand, she spent most of her time in the trials quietly repairing generators while her teammates scattered in the mist. He had seen her abandon many of them with no remorse, even in situations where she could have easily rescued them. It wouldn’t surprise him if, during this very trial, she was searching for the hatch all while her so-called friends were being slaughtered one by one. It was clear to Herman that she didn’t see them as integral to her own survival. It was beneficial to have some meat shields to draw the killer’s attention away from her, or to help her off a hook and patch up her wounds. Otherwise, they were all disposable. Whether it was because she knew of the impermanence of death in this realm, or because she held artificial constructs like morality in low esteem, he couldn’t say. Nevertheless, Herman admired her tactics. If the situation was somehow reversed and he found himself as a survivor, he would likely act in a similar way.

The extent of this admiration ended at the foothill of the mountainous frustration he harbored toward her. Sometimes he’d get lucky and catch her. The cyclical nature of these trials ensured that he’d win at least a portion of their encounters. More often than not, though, she would bound off into the proverbial briar patch before he could even get close enough to shock her. No matter how many times he killed her, she’d still be back to elude him in the next trial. If suffering under the Entity’s yoke wasn’t enough torment, he had to live with this perpetual thorn stabbing at him as well. It had to stop. He wouldn’t let her escape him this time. This little back and forth they had was amusing for a while, but it was time to remind her of his true superiority. His footsteps grew louder, more rapid as his eyes scanned his surroundings with renewed focus. Calculated bloodlust propelled his staggering form down the corridors, past the warden’s office and the vacant holding areas. Once he got his hands on her, she’d realize the error she had made in tossing her teammates aside so casually. The survivors’ biggest strength was in their numbers; she had no hope to best him in single combat.

A scream from behind halted his march. It was an abrupt sound, lasting just a second before it was stifled, but its rattling, fear-soaked timbre rushed over his skin like a cool breeze. He knew the sound well. It wasn’t a simple scream brought on by shock or injury. Nothing like that could create such lasting, delectable vibrations within his inner ear, making his eardrums buzz with the lingering notes of hysteria. This was a scream brought on by one’s confrontation with madness. It was to witness one’s own perception of reality deteriorate, all while in a state of complete lucidity. It was to feel dread’s icy grasp crush one’s throat and wring it out until a sound was brought forth in one agonized burst. It was a scream of pure cerebral horror. And he knew exactly where it came from.

Pivoting on his heels, he stomped back towards the warden’s office. His fingers squeaked against the smooth metal of his stick as they rubbed it in anticipation. Reaching the doorway of the office, his twitching eyes made a quick sweep across the small room. Tall wooden bookcases, their sparse contents in dust-coated disarray, stood on opposite sides of the small room. A desk made from similar wood sat in the center, with a brown faux-leather armchair nestled beside it. He kicked the chair aside. It flipped over once before slamming into the bookcase, knocking several books onto the floor. He crouched down and stared at girl huddling underneath his desk. Her eyes, normally dark and focused, were large and brimming with bright white fear. He held them with his own eyes, bulging, bloodshot, and always observant. His eternal grin glowed in the sparse light of the room while scattered giggles whistled past his teeth. Foolish Rabbit. She should know better than to remain in one spot. By staying put, she had made her own trap.

Herman extended his charred, veinous arm towards the Rabbit’s throat. Her unblemished skin radiated heat that warmed his fingers as they wrapped around her neck. They pressed down, squeezing out an alarmed squeak from his prey. Pulling her out from under the desk, he threw her over his shoulder with little effort. He had just finished situating her position when a flame erupted in the space between his scapula and his spine. A pained titter rattled his teeth as he threw his hand back to cover it. His captive slid off his shoulder in the process. What did she stab him with? Did she sneak a pen from one of the desk’s drawers? It didn’t matter. For some horrible reason, perhaps from some meddling by the Entity, all the survivors found ways to pull off that same maneuver without fail. Even if they were in the middle of the cornfields of Coldwind Farm, she’d manage a way to escape him in a similar fashion.

“Wow!” the Rabbit crowed. “Get dunked on!”

There was that mouth of hers. Whenever she had him beat, she often felt the need to taunt and laugh at him. Bounding over to the open window, she looked over her shoulder at Herman and slapped her rear with an open palm. “You’re not getting this ass, bronzey! Get good!”

What did any of those words mean? Herman had no idea, but the self-aggrandizing tone coating them caused a wave of anger to crash over his body. It suffocated the pain in his shoulder, allowing him to reorient himself as the Rabbit’s juvenile taunts continued to rain down on him. He turned toward her, his ghastly smile unmoved by her words, and began to advance. The boasts dried up in the Rabbit’s mouth and she turned to flee. Herman took long, stomping strides to close the distance. Sparks arced and fizzled along the body of his stick as he reared it behind his head. The Rabbit threw her leg over the windowsill. She was still too far away for him to grab hold and pull her away. Herman’s muscles tensed for a second before he sprung forward in a lunging strike. The stick cracked across the Rabbit’s shoulder blades before she could lift her other foot off the ground. Its spikes burrowed into her skin, a line of bloody craters running perpendicular against her spine. A thin, anguished shout wrenched itself out of her throat as she folded backwards and dropped to the floor with an echoing thud.

Herman loomed over his adversary, her bleeding body splayed out across the office floor. Triumphant giggles spilled past his clenched teeth. What a fool she was. If she had kept her arrogance in check, she could’ve escaped. For someone he had once marked as a formidable strategist, he expected her not to make such a careless blunder. The Rabbit turned her head around to face him. Her dazed eyes shimmered with pain all while her chest heaved out feeble, pathetic whimpers. She always whined whenever she was injured. It was a petulant kind of half-crying, all the pitiful weeping without any of the tears. Like a child who had been shoved by a larger bully, her sobs were made to elicit pity and retribution, not as a true expression of distress. Crocodile tears to be sure. If she had the opportunity to right herself, she’d be back to taunting him again.

The Rabbit’s eyes kept flitting toward the dividing wall. Behind it was the stairway that led to the basement. She probably expected him to drag her down there to be sacrificed. Herman found that prospect droll. The only reasons he would ever consider using the basement’s hooks were if there weren’t any others nearby, or to make it more inconvenient for her friends to rescue her. Now that she was the only one left, there wasn’t much point to that. He wouldn’t waste his time with the basement hooks. He wouldn’t use any of the other hooks, either. Why should he continue the cycle? String her on the hook, let the Entity take its prize, but she’d be back again. She’d remember this moment and wouldn’t repeat her mistake. How many more trials would it take before he could subdue her like this with no one else to save her? Her death could wait. Correction, it needed to be prolonged. She would suffer for every taunt thrown his way, each trial she escaped, and all the survivors she helped evade him. The killers were the ones in control of this reality, not the survivors. That message needed to be imprinted on her.

Herman's pried open eyes roamed across her limp body, from her weakly flexing fingers to her angled feet. Once he settled on her hips, one of her taunts from earlier whistled in his ear. Something about him not getting her ass. He tilted his head and crouched down to get a better view of her behind. Doughy, pliable flesh hidden underneath a pair of thin shorts. Whatever previous life she had, it was one that didn’t expose her to hardship. Herman grabbed a fistful of her shirt collar and yanked her up. The Rabbit made another strained whine as he dragged her over to his desk. He slammed her head onto the wooden surface, his massive hand holding it in place. His free palm struck her backside. The Rabbit yelped and her struggle only intensified. She reached her arms over her head and latched onto his arm, scratching and smacking it to try and dislodge him from her head. It was like beating a tree trunk, and all the while his slaps against her ass kept going as if he didn’t even notice her resistance.

How intriguing. He had never seen a survivor struggle with such desperation. They would put up a fight when they were slung over his shoulder and about to be hooked, but not like this. This was a reaction to an unknown stimulus. It was outside of their preconceived notions of how this realm worked. The Rabbit’s confusion manifested in the chaotic writhing of her limbs, anxious to be freed and to try and make sense of what was happening to her. Herman made a lilted chuckle as her slapped her ass once more. A remarkable response indeed.

The heavy smacks of his palm thundered within the room’s cramped confines. Each one sent tremors that rolled across the flabby meat of the Rabbit’s buttocks. Even under the thin fabric of her shorts, he could observe the jostling layer of fat that slowed as the impact radiated throughout the rest of her body. Herman seized the waistband of her spandex shorts and ripped them off in one motion, hoping to get a better view of the reaction. Her bottom was flushed with red splotches. Painted with blood, simmering underneath her flesh. Some areas were already darkening into muddy bruises.

“P-please…” the Rabbit whimpered. All the previous cockiness was drained from her quivering voice. “Please stop! I’m sorry! I won’t trash talk ever again!”

Herman wheezed out a high-pitched, giddy laugh and smacked her again. The bare flesh of her ass warmed his palm. The Rabbit let loose a strangled sob and pushed her face against the wooden desk. As her unshielded flesh continued to be brutalized, jolts of pain shot down her legs and caused her knees to buckle and knock against each other. Herman scrutinized these muscle contractions, finding that they were similar to those one experiences after being subjected to an electric shock. Although he was unaware of it until now, a weak current had been circulating through his palm during this entire procedure. An involuntary action, but not an unwelcome one. He giggled and struck the Rabbit again, this time taking cruel fascination in how the shocks rocked her body and caused every inch of her skin to twitch and tense up. He could spend hours watching this, if only he had the time. So many more tests could be performed on her. But he knew that if he dawdled too much, the Entity might end the trial prematurely and steal his Rabbit away from him. He wouldn’t let it touch her with its disgusting tendrils. If she had to die, it would be by his hand.

Herman picked his stick off the ground. Tilting it at a roughly 45 degree angle, he nestled its sharpened point within the cleft of the Rabbit’s buttocks. The cold metal pressing against her anus caused the Rabbit to shudder, but before she could make a sound, Herman jammed it forward. A splitting scream erupted from her throat. Her previously flaccid body sprung to life in a renewed struggle for escape. Herman threw a hand out and slammed it on the small of her back, pinning her down while his other hand continued to push the stick deeper inside her rectum. The spikes made the process more difficult than he anticipated. Unable to simply force the entire stick in at once, he pulled back a little each time before plunging it back in. Each painful thrust only managed to push the stick in about half an inch at a time. The barbs shredded the Rabbit’s colon only to get snagged on the tears they made. The tissue pulled apart like trying to cut through steak with a spoon. Herman wiggled and pushed against the tight space, trying every motion he could in order to shove in as much of the stick as her body would allow. The Rabbit screamed all the while. Herman could only laugh in response. They weren’t his usual, tinny giggles. These were uninhibited, sadistic guffaws rumbling out from the depths of his belly. If her earlier scream of terror had tickled his eardrums, these were like a sensual massage that traveled all the way to his brain. They were a new, stimulating sensation, unlike anything else he had experienced since he was taken to this realm. At this moment, his only regret was that he was unable to close his eyes so that he could experience the sound uninterrupted by his other senses.

The Rabbit’s howling pleas for mercy devolved into unending, incoherent wails as the pain continued to mount inside her tiny body. Her ruptured guts ballooned with blood, the runoff spilling out of whatever orifice it could travel to. The stick effectively dammed her anus, only allowing for dribbles of dark maroon fluid to trickle down its shaft. The rest was forced out of the Rabbit’s throat. She vomited out sticky globs of blood and bits of viscera in between her screams. Repeated ejections soon drowned out these cries, and the previous cries were now replaced with gags and haggard coughs. Once the stick had burrowed half of its length inside of her body, her struggles all but stopped. A droning groan, stuttered by the shallow, labored heaves of her chest, vibrated her half-parted lips. It was the only sound she could muster, the only sign that proved she was still conscious. The human body is a magnificent machine, Herman noted. The pain was so unrelenting and severe that her body had shut off all response to it. She was rendered numb and unresponsive in the futile hope that she could outlast this torment without having to feel any of it.

“Kill me…” The Rabbit’s gurgled words were hardly audible through the pool of fluid they had to swim through. Her throat, rent and dried from her earlier screaming, was overflowing with blood that drizzled out of her parted lips like thick syrup. She turned her head around to face her tormentor. Her entire lower jaw was stained red. Her eyes, once acute and calculating, were a pair of cloudy, tarnished marbles. They stared through Herman, rather than at him. “… Kill me. Just kill me.”

Herman nodded and rubbed his hands together. A low hum followed by the crackle of static ignited in the space between his palms. His hands glowed with a radiating halo of blue sparks, which were eager to discharge. He seized the stick with both hands, giving the stored electricity a current to flow into. The energy surged into the Rabbit’s body, lighting a searing fire inside of her. Her knuckles scraped against the wooden desk as every one of her muscles constricted at once. Her jaws locked shut and her throat collapsed in on itself. She had been electrocuted to death more times than she’d care to think about, but it never got any easier. This time was even more excruciating as she’d never been shocked internally before. The worst part was always that, until her brain shut down from the lack of blood running to it, she would be conscious for every second of it. Her organs bubbled and melted inside of her while blood and smoke streamed past her clenched teeth.

Herman monitored the Rabbit’s spasms with eager interest. Her skin wrapped so taut around her bulging muscles that he thought it might tear itself to pieces. A hollow crack shot past his ears. One of the Rabbit’s legs, struggling underneath the overworked muscles trying to keep it straight, had overextended itself in the opposite direction. The tendons in her kneecap snapped and her leg flew forward, smacking the desk before dangling back to its original position. The voltage continued to roast her broken, twisted body from the inside out. Each nerve in her system, burnt to crisp at this point, probably couldn’t even register the pain to her smoldering brain. By the time the last ion escaped his body, her overloaded heart had burst and shriveled into an empty, useless sac. Every muscle in her body had fused into a rock solid state, permanently freezing her in her distorted death throes.

With both hands, Herman dislodged his stick from the dead girl. A soupy mélange of blood and feces spewed from the gory cavity like a burst pipe. As her body shut down, the waste would have flowed freely out of her, but the stick had blocked its exit. He inhaled, taking in the rank odor of rust and bodily discharge. It wasn’t a scent he’d usually come across in the Fog. Sensations were always limited to whatever realm the Entity laid out for him. He’d smell the leaves of trees, the grime of dirty tiles, the tang of his victims’ blood, but nothing extending further than that. He welcomed the discrepancy, letting its rotten tang absorb into his nostrils and stimulate his weary mind. He looked forward to acquiring more of these new stimulations. Endless stimulations acquired through an endless amount of trials by an endless amount of test subjects. With the Entity’s help, he’d gladly show each of them endless new ways to die.

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