The world shifted without warning—sharp, cold, like the snap of shattered glass beneath his skin. Zatz barely had time to blink before a jagged strike tore across his face, fire and shadow searing through his right eye. A hot, sticky ichor trickled down his cheek, warm and foreign, the taste bitter and wrong on his trembling lips. The sharp sting pulsed through his skull, blinding him to everything but the sudden, hollow ache where sight once lived.

Mictlan’s cruel laughter echoed around him, a cold, merciless sound that dripped like poison. “You’re weaker than I thought,” the god sneered, eyes glowing with merciless triumph. The empty socket burned fiercely, a searing reminder of what was taken—what could never be returned.

Zatz staggered backward, knees buckling as waves of pain and shock crashed over him. The world blurred, spinning into darkness around the hollow where his eye had been ripped away. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, chest tightening with a desperate ache. “No…” His voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw. “No… please…”

The taste of ichor lingered bitterly on his tongue as tears welled up, hot and unstoppable. His small hands pressed against the wound instinctively, trying to hold back the impossible emptiness. But it wasn’t just pain—it was something far worse. It was loss. It was a piece of himself ripped away, leaving a jagged hole inside that ached deeper than any wound.

He dropped to his knees, the jagged stones biting into his skin, and sobs shattered from his throat, jagged and uncontrolled. The air around him felt heavy, thick with silence and shadow, as if the world itself mourned with him.

Tears streaked down his face, mixing with the warm ichor that dripped still. “It hurts,” he whispered brokenly. “It hurts so much…” The darkness swallowed his vision on one side, but it could not drown the raw ache within his heart.

Without looking back, without waiting for anything or anyone, Zatz scrambled to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him, but the sting of humiliation and fear burned hotter than the pain. He ran—faster than he thought he could—away from the cruel laughter, away from the empty socket that marked him forever.

Behind him, the echo of Mictlan’s triumph faded into the distance, swallowed by the howling wind and the bitter taste of loss that clung to Zatz’s tongue like poison.