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."
