Killer Instinct: Carrie Unleashed

Chapter 1: A New Start

Carrie's groan rattled against the heavy silence, the only thing breaking the weighted shadows. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, the thudding echo filling her skull. The world blurred and brightened in sickening pulses. The image of stones—a downpour of jagged granite—remained seared behind her eyelids, accompanied by the shriek of tearing wood and the crystalline explosion of windows. Something dense and soft pinned her chest, yielding as she sank to the floor. A numb, spreading warmth blanketed the floor beneath her palms, seeping through her sleeves. Her throat tightened, a bitter surge of bile rising as the weight above her settled into a cooling stillness.

She gasped, her fingers snagging on the soft cotton of a nightgown before colliding with the cold rigidity beneath. The air vanished from her lungs, a phantom blow followed by a frozen weight clamping around her ribs. Her hand didn't pull away; instead, her fingers drifted back to the fabric, trembling as they traced a familiar seam, refusing to acknowledge the coldness seeping into her skin.

Her fingers traced the copper-blonde curtain of her mother's hair, now gritty with stone-dust. The strands framed a face where full, pink lips blossomed into a bruised, porcelain blue. Her eyes remained shut, leaden lids locked in silence. The white nightgown—a scrap of delicate silk—clung to her ribs, traced by the damp grime that swallowed the foundation.

A raw howl tore through the air as Carrie heaved the mass from her chest. She lunged forward on trembling hands, her breath hissing in shallow, frantic hitches. "M-Mama..." The word hung in the air, unacknowledged. The woman remained fixed, a statue in the dust. Carrie gripped the cold shoulders, jolting the body until her mother's head lolled back. "Mama, please! Wake up! Say something!"

The stillness held. It pressed against Carrie until her chest buckled, a wet, jagged sound tearing from her throat. She collapsed forward, burying her face into the tangled, dust-heavy mass, her arms locking around the cooling frame. The world dissolved into gray smears of stone and dust as the same frantic pulse thudded against her mother's scalp. Wake up. Please, Mama, wake up.

The wet heat between her fingers anchored her, pulling her back from the gray haze. She lifted her hand; a glossy, crimson map stained her palm, stark against her dust-covered skin. The air curdled, thick with a sharp, iron tang that slicked her throat. A hot, salty scent choked the room.

The memory surfaced. The living room blurred into the frame—bare feet skidding on floorboards, staircase shadows stretching into a ribcage. Then, the silver swarm. It wasn't one blade, but a dozen—kitchen shears and paring knives whistling through the dim light to find their purchase. A final, wet rattle escaped her mother's throat, pinned high against the Prayer Closet's grain, before the house froze.

A fine, electric tremor rattled her teeth as she clamped a hand over her lips. No, no. It's not real. Mama is fine. She forced air into her lungs in clipped, stuttering draws as her stomach surged with a bitter heat. Leaning in, she pressed her forehead to her mother's—a collision of living warmth and settling stone. She squeezed her eyes shut until the darkness pulsed, desperate to vanish into the black.

"She deserved it."

The thought hissed against her skull, a hot, oily friction. Carrie flinched. Her muscles locked into iron as her head whipped toward the dark. "H-Hello?"

Silence pooled in the wreckage. Air caught in her throat, jagged and thin, while salt-fire scorched her swollen lids. A nightmare. Only a nightmare. Mama will wake up.

"Deny it all you want. Only the truth remains."

Splintered lath and plaster teeth crowded her, the wreckage narrowing into a tethered trap. Her breath thinned to a chalky whistle. The stone cracks oozed cold, ink-thick shadows. The phantom weight of that room constricted her chest, turning her marrow to lead.