"Some monsters hide their faces.Others wear yours."
The stairwell continued downward, the spiral growing tighter, the walls slick with condensation that reeked of copper and rot. Matte's boots squelched slightly as he stepped. He didn't look down.
Violet followed close behind, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping her blade so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Neither of them had spoken since the whisper in the upper chamber.
Down here, sound didn't travel the same.
Down here, sound was currency.
They reached the bottom.
The corridor ahead stretched into a narrow passage, where the stone turned from obsidian to something flesh-like—veined, semi-translucent, and pulsing faintly with a slow, rhythmic beat.
Violet gagged behind her wrap. "This wall is breathing."
Matte didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Because up ahead—bathed in dull red light—something moved.
A figure, crawling.
Skinless.
Bare muscle and nerves twitching violently as it dragged itself across the blood-slick floor.
Its mouth opened, dry, voice hoarse with pain.
"D-don't… look at them… they… w-wear us…"
Violet rushed forward instinctively, but Matte grabbed her wrist—hard.
Too late.
The figure's eyes widened in panic.
"Behind me… not me anymore."
Matte's gaze shifted.
And then he saw it.
Standing not ten feet away, still as stone, was another figure—wearing the man's skin like a suit.
Its proportions were all wrong—arms too long, head tilted too far, torso distended with subtle ripples beneath the surface. Its face… almost convincing. Almost.
Until it smiled.
A crooked, stretched, human smile. Too wide. Too still.
Then it vanished into the darkness.
The real man exhaled a final breath and collapsed into the pool of blood around him, what was left of his exposed face frozen in terror.
Matte pulled Violet back, whispering, "No talking. From now on."
They moved forward, entering the lower chamber of the shrine.
And it was hell.
The hall widened into a slaughter cathedral.
Bones littered the floor like gravel. Skulls shattered. Ribs stacked into makeshift altars. Flesh stitched into banners that hung from the ceiling. Blood pooled along the edges of a ritual circle that spanned the entire floor, burned into the stone.
Guts, viscera, hearts—pulled from bodies and arranged like artwork.
And there were figures.
Dozens.
All of them motionless. All of them upright.
At first, they looked human—worn armor, tattered cloaks, pale skin.
But then Violet noticed their necks.
Too long.
Their hands.
Too sharp.
Their faces—stitched together, mismatched pieces of different people, sewn into grotesque imitations of humanity.
She stopped moving.
Her breath hitched again. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Matte turned to her, mouthing: Focus.
She nodded, but her eyes were wide. Not alert. Not ready.
Shattered.
They crept forward.
One step at a time.
Each step triggering a small wet crunch beneath their boots.
They passed a wall lined with face-paintings—not drawn, but pressed. Actual skin stretched tight and nailed into plaster, arranged in rows. Smiling. Screaming. Crying.
Violet shuddered violently.
Matte placed a hand on her back to steady her.
Then—
clink.
Her elbow clipped a shard of rib bone resting atop a rusted, blood-covered brazier.
It hit the floor.
Just once.
Silence.
Then—
they turned.
Every single skin walker in the room moved in perfect unison.
Slow. Smooth. Heads snapping toward them like puppets pulled by the same string.
Dozens of eyes.
All BLOOD red.
No pupils. No whites. Just endless scarlet, locked on Matte and Violet.
The illusion of humanity melted instantly.
One opened its jaw—too wide. The jaw split down the sides, unzipping like a bag, revealing rows of tiny needle teeth beneath the stitched lips.
Another extended its arms—skin stretching and tearing as something chittered inside.
One of them wore a child's skin.
Violet gasped and stumbled backward, barely catching herself before she vomited.
Matte drew his blade slowly, deliberately.
"Don't run yet."
He didn't say it as comfort.
He said it as a warning.
Because the skin walkers hadn't moved.
Not yet.
They were waiting.
At the far end of the room, a massive doorway began to open—stone scraping against itself as a larger presence entered.
The one from the surface.
The leader.
Its stitched skin was flawless. Its face—too perfect.
Like it had been sewn together from the best parts of all its victims.
It stared at them.
Smiling.
Not with joy.
With recognition.
And then it spoke.
"We remember your kind."
The skin walker at the far end stepped forward.
Once.
Just once.
And every other walker in the chamber mirrored the movement in perfect sync. A wave of flesh-draped nightmares sliding one foot forward, heads cocked, mouths stitched just tight enough to tremble.
The leader didn't blink.
Not once.
Its eyes were too human. Too fresh.
Like they'd been plucked from a living soul moments ago.
"We remember your kind," it repeated, voice low, layered—as if several mouths inside it spoke all at once.
Matte didn't move.
He couldn't afford to.
Behind him, he heard Violet's breath falter—her chest rising too fast, her pulse practically audible. The smell was breaking her. The scene. The knowledge that these things weren't just monsters—they were wearing people they once loved.
Matte kept his voice calm. Quiet. Steel wrapped in silk.
"You don't want to do this."
The leader smiled wider. Too wide. The corners of its lips cracked. Blood dripped in tiny streams down its chin.
"You wear your skin well. It fits you.""Let us try it on."
Violet whimpered.
She clapped both hands over her mouth, knees wobbling. Her body trembled like she couldn't tell where she ended and the horror began. Eyes wide. Lost. Traumatized.
One of the walkers tilted its head toward her, mimicking her exact shiver with mocking precision. Its jaw twitched. Its teeth chattered in perfect sync with her ragged breath.
Matte glanced at her—only briefly—but it was enough to see it.
She was breaking.
Not from fear.
From truth.
The truth that these things were once human.
And maybe…
Still a little human underneath.
The leader stepped again.
Another ripple.
Matte's blade was already drawn, but still down. His other hand gently reached toward Violet, fingers brushing her trembling wrist. She flinched. Almost screamed.
He whispered, "Look at me."
She didn't.
"Violet. Look at me."
Her eyes met his. Wild. Wet.
He lowered his voice to something only she could hear.
"You don't have to fight. Just stay behind me. I'll get us out."
"But—" she rasped.
He squeezed her wrist gently.
"Just breathe. That's all you have to do."
Then—
one of the walkers lunged.
Not an attack. Just a testing motion.
Fast. Fluid. A blur of flesh and stolen muscle that stopped inches from Matte's blade tip.
It smiled.
The entire horde began to sway, side to side, like dancers preparing for a ritual.
A voice—Matte wasn't sure from where—whispered:
"Let them sing."
He grabbed Violet's hand.
Hard.
"We run. Now."
They turned.
And the room exploded.
Shrieking. Not in pain. In excitement.Dozens of limbs shot out, nails sharpened, jaws unhinged. The walls trembled as the chorus of hunger erupted.
Matte yanked Violet through the corridor, the hallway closing behind them as if the shrine itself was rearranging to trap them.
Stone hands reached from the walls.
Skin walkers dropped from the ceiling.
One clawed at Violet's leg—Matte spun mid-run and kicked its jaw clean off, the stolen skin peeling away like a wet tarp as it hit the ground twitching.
They sprinted down a spiraling stairwell, the light dimming with every turn. Screams behind them. Echoes of laughter. Of mockery.
"W̶̼̾e̸͕͐ ̴͈͆k̴̘͛n̵͕̋ö̵͓́w̶͔͘ ̸̦̀w̵̳͝h̷̲͐o̷̙̓ ̵̹̅y̸͙̽ö̴͓́u̸͖̚ ̵̥̐w̶̞̽ë̵̼́a̵̱̚r̴͍̕...̷̼̈́"*
At the bottom of the stairwell—finally—a sealed door. Covered in symbols Matte didn't recognize. It hummed, reacting to his essence as he touched it.
It slid open.
They stumbled through.
It slammed shut behind them.
Dark.
Still.
Silent.
Matte collapsed to his knees, arms still around Violet, who was shaking violently. She didn't speak. Her face was pale, her pupils blown wide, tears running down her cheeks in silence.
He didn't let go.
Didn't speak.
Didn't rush her.
He just held her, arms strong, steady.
A wall against the insanity.
"We're safe," he whispered, voice breaking the silence like a prayer."They're not getting in here.""We made it, Violet."
Her hands gripped his vest like lifelines.
And still, she couldn't speak.
Only nod.
But even in her silence…
He knew.
Something inside her was forever changed.