Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 221: ’Inside The Storage Unit’

Florian’s breath came in short, quiet pants as he finally reached the storage unit. His chest tightened—not from exhaustion, but from the sick, gnawing dread that coiled deep in his gut like a living thing.

’Here it is...’

The stench was already leaking out, faint but unmistakable. A mix of decay and something worse, something thick and cloying that clung to the back of his throat. But this time, he was prepared.

He pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket, the one he had soaked earlier with herbs Heinz had sworn would mask the worst of the rot. The scent of crushed mint and bitter wormwood filled his nose as he tied it securely around his mouth. The cloth didn’t block the smell entirely, but it dulled it enough to keep his stomach from rebelling.

’Better than nothing.’

His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the knot. He exhaled, steadying himself, before his gaze flicked up—sharp, searching. The village was still in chaos, the glow of the fire casting flickering shadows over the ruins. Smoke thickened the air, curling into the night sky.

No one was watching.

Most of the villagers were near the fire, shouting orders, hauling water. The perfect distraction.

’Good. All clear.’

He forced his feet forward, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He checked the front door first, pressing against the wood.

Locked.

As expected.

’No surprises there.’

But he wasn’t relying on the front. He had planned for this.

The back entrance.

The wood was rough beneath his fingertips as he moved, slipping into the narrow space behind the building. The air was thicker here, pressing in on him. A sense of wrongness lingered, unseen but felt.

His pulse quickened as he reached the hidden door, half-rotted and barely holding together.

’Still unlocked?’

His fingers curled around the handle, skin prickling with unease.

He pushed.

The door groaned softly but gave way, just as it had before.

’Still open.’

His jaw tightened. He swallowed against the unease rising in his throat and turned his head, scanning his surroundings once more.

Still empty. Still silent.

’No one’s here.’

A flicker of relief threatened to surface, but he crushed it down.

’Don’t get comfortable. Not yet.’

His grip on the door tightened. He took a slow breath.

Whatever was inside...

It was waiting.

Florian’s breath hitched as he pushed the door open wider. The hinges groaned in protest, the sound dragging through the silence like a warning. His muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at him to be ready.

’Here they come...’

As if summoned by his thoughts, movement rippled from the darkness within. Skittering. Clicking. A wave of tiny, frantic legs scraping against the wood. The sound sent a sharp jolt of revulsion down his spine. Then, they poured out.

Beetles. Centipedes. Things he couldn’t even name, writhing and scuttling over each other in a desperate bid to escape. They flooded past his boots, vanishing into the night like they were running from something worse inside.

’Fucking hell.’

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to recoil, but he forced himself still. The instinct to step back, to shake them off, clawed at him, but he gritted his teeth and endured. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d faced.

The cloth over his nose dulled some of the foulness, but decay had a way of seeping through everything. The air was thick with it, heavy and rotten, like something long past saving.

’Bearable... barely.’

His stomach twisted, the acrid scent clinging to his throat. He swallowed against it, pushing the nausea down where it couldn’t slow him.

The swarm thinned out after a moment, the worst of them disappearing into the night. Only then did Florian step forward and push the door fully open. The hinges protested louder this time, the sound grating against his ears.

The inside was worse than he remembered.

Dark. Suffocating. The kind of blackness that felt alive, pressing in like unseen hands against his skin.

’It’s... colder.’

The shift in temperature was sudden, unnatural. The cool air coiled around him, sinking past his clothes, raising the hairs along his arms. It wasn’t just the night chill. It was something else.

Florian’s fingers brushed against the rough doorframe as he stepped inside, careful, deliberate. His boots crunched over dirt and debris, each step too loud in the unnatural quiet.

The smell hit him harder now, the herbs only doing so much against the concentrated rot. The scent of damp wood, old blood, and something sickly sweet clung to the air like a stain.

’Just focus.’

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Once inside, he reached back and pressed the door shut behind him.

Thud.

The moment it closed, the silence shifted.

Heavy. Smothering.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

Florian sucked in a sharp breath as the weight of the space settled on his chest. The stillness was wrong—too complete, too absolute. Even the sounds of the village outside felt impossibly far away, like he’d stepped into another world entirely.

His pulse pounded in his ears, too loud in the quiet.

’Damn it...’

His eyes strained against the dark, but there was nothing. No faint outlines, no shifting shadows. Just an endless void.

Then, a sound.

Faint. Persistent.

The high-pitched whine of mosquitoes.

’Can’t stay in the dark.’

His hands moved, searching along the nearby shelf with careful, practiced motions. His fingers brushed against something rough—wooden, solid.

A torch.

’Thank the gods.’

His other hand fumbled beside it, knocking against a small box before his fingers closed around it. Matches.

He didn’t waste a second.

With quick precision, he pulled the cloth away from his mouth just enough to bite down on a matchstick, freeing his hands. The sulfuric tang hit his tongue, sharp and bitter.

Snap.

A spark flared to life.

The tiny flame wavered, flickering against the thick darkness. The shadows recoiled just enough to give him a glimpse of rough wooden walls, crates stacked haphazardly, and something darker in the corner.

’Good...’

Florian wasted no time. He brought the small flame to the torch’s head, holding his breath as the fire licked at the dry cloth.

Fwoosh.

The torch ignited, flames roaring to life, casting a flickering glow that danced across the storage unit’s interior.

The shadows twisted.

Florian’s grip on the torch tightened as the flickering light pushed back the suffocating darkness. The warmth of the flame barely reached his skin, but the sight before him chilled him to the bone.

He turned slowly, his body moving almost on instinct.

’What... am I even expecting?’

His mind raced, searching for answers that refused to come. He’d prepared himself for the worst—witchcraft, maybe. Strange symbols carved into the walls, circles drawn with blood. Or... hostages?

’Bodies... maybe. But...’

But what he saw was worse.

"What the actual fuck..."