It didn't make a damn bit of difference that he'd gotten both ropes off of his ankles and the gag free of his mouth, Eric Parker was still hopelessly lost and trapped somewhere in complete and total darkness. He was sitting on some kind of a mat, that was something he was certain of. It felt vaguely familiar; it had the rough, plastic feel of the warn Gym mats he'd spent so much time on while wrestling in high school. He could sit, and did. That was a nice change from moments ago, when his feet were still lashed, when he could barely move at all. Luckily, Eric had been given the gift (ha ha) of disproportionately small feet, and once his shoes were slipped off, he was easily free of the ropes. Now, despite his currently knotted wrists, at least Eric was able to move. And now, he had to figure out where he was.
Once off the mat, as carefully and tenuous as a baby taking its first steps, Eric realized that the floor was damp to the point of nearly being wet. It was soggy and really rather tepid to the touch, and rose over his toes just to the top of his feet. The fluid felt as much like water as milk does; it was slightly viscous, almost creamy, and trickled as though it had an ebb to it. Eric crouched, lowered his head as far as it would go, and smelled the liquid. It definitely had a musty aroma, fortunately not too cloying, but very much of oldness and stale age. He didn't dare get any closer, who knew what this shit might actually be. Luckily, at least for now, his feet felt normal.
Though he wanted to call out just to get a better idea of how big an area this was, he restrained himself and continued to cautiously plod forward. With easy steps and a tip-toe to his gait, Eric smartly only dinged a solid object jutting out from the ground. He ran his foot up the side only about a couple of inches and thought maybe it felt like stone. It wasn't cold, like a piece of rock ought to be, but it was dry and a bit tacky. He wanted to get a better idea of what he was dealing with and, with any luck, find a sharpened spot to sever his wrist ties. He scooted up to the stone, backed into it slowly, and ran his fingers up and down the piece with slight question. It felt as though it could, quite possibly, be marble. But that made no sense at all! Regardless, it did seem to have a point, or more like a series of little conical prongs, and that was a great thing. He angled his arms above what should have been a single point, bent his back into position, and just as quickly lost his balance. The sharpened protrusion slid down his arm as Eric heard a loud pop. His wrist restraints hung up on the rock and wrenched his shoulder with a jolt of pain fierce enough to bring tears.
Eric winced, let out a dull cry, and scrambled clumsily to his feet. He slid, almost fell, and managed to wedge his back against the stone. Somehow, by the grace of God, when he went down the first time and his ropes caught, they managed to fray just enough for him to tug and loosen enough of the knot to let his arms free. The white-hot arc of searing agony that lanced through Eric's shoulder was excruciating, but at least his hands were free. Though he still couldn't see, he could feel a warm rivulet of fluid trickle down his arm and knew without a doubt that it was blood, and by the feel of it, quite a bit. Eric had managed to gash open his left wrist from palm to his upper arm and it was doing a fine job of gurgling out blood with every beat of his heart.
Eric quickly tore off his shirt and tightly wrapped up his arm. He could still hear plops of blood hitting the foul liquid below. And it was right then that Eric heard a sound that was at once deafening and baritone, thunderous and rumbling all at the same time. Coupled with the ear-splitting noise was an odor of putrescence and decay like nothing Eric had ever smelled in his life; it was garbage, it was rotted carcass, it was gamy, and it was horrible. Eric gagged, went momentarily woozy, and was thrown off balance by, what? An earthquake? Something below Eric's feet shifted and gave way as though a giant carpet was being yanked out from beneath him. And then, that very floor on which he was just seconds ago standing, fell upon him like a soggy, muscular mass. It hammered him to the moist ground and pressed him into it. Suddenly, Eric could see some kind of light, quite possibly the last he'd ever be blinded by, as the walls split open. He witnessed a horrid shape, just beyond the precipice, that could only be described as a massive hand. Eric's last image that his mind would register, just as he was being smashed forcefully into several more of those very same stones he'd cut himself on just moment ago, was a monstrous finger coming straight for him.