It looked at Jace.
No words.
No sound.
Just a stare—blank, cold, inhuman—beneath that grotesque leather mask.
Like it was enjoying this.
Jace's breathing hitched.
His fingers scrambled at the chains, slippery from sweat and blood, trying—begging—to peel them from his ankle.
But before he could even think— the Warden moved.
The chain jerked.
And Jace flew.
"AGHH—!!"
His body was a weapon. A projectile. A ragdoll.
The Warden swung him like a sack of meat—colliding him into the corridor wall with a sickening thud.
Cracks echoed in the stone, but maybe it was his bones.
He couldn't tell.
His shoulder crunched, his ribs screamed.
Then—another swing.
The Warden spun him overhead like a hammer thrower— and brought him crashing down.
BOOM.
Jace's body slammed into the concrete like thunder.
His limbs flopped with no resistance. His head bounced.
His back arched instinctively from the shock.
His scream tore through the hallway—not human, not conscious— just raw pain.
He couldn't think.
Couldn't breathe.
The world blurred.
The Warden was winning.
He lay there—bleeding, mind fuzzy, lungs on fire, his body a broken mess.
The pain wasn't even sharp anymore—it was dull, numb, terrifyingly silent.
He had brought enough time.
But now...?
How would he escape?
This wasn't a fight anymore.
It was execution.
Jace's head lulled to the side.
His vision tunneled.
And then—
Wesley.
Laying there.
Unconscious.
Still.
A Companion that had trusted Jace, That Jace was strong enough to keep them alive.
Now Dead...?
That thought shattered something inside Jace.
He growled.
He clenched his fists.
No.
He wasn't done.
Not yet.
The Warden stepped forward.
It gripped the axe—raising it slowly, methodically.
Like it was savoring it.
The final blow.
But it wasn't aiming for the heart.
No.
It grabbed the chain attached to Jace's ankle and pulled him toward it like a butcher dragging a corpse.
And it aimed—
For the leg.
"AHHHH—!!"
Jace screamed, feeling the cold steel press against his thigh—the Warden pulling back—
Then—
THE SWING.
The axe came DOWN—with all its demonic weight—
But Jace—he moved.
Inches.
Centimeters.
But enough.
He twisted his leg mid-air, contorting with every last bit of control he had left.
CLANG!!
The axe missed his thigh.
And instead—
It cleaved through the chain.
SHATTERING it.
Metal clanged across the stone. Sparks burst.
The chain split open.
Jace's leg—free.
He gasped, wide-eyed, adrenaline surging through his veins like liquid fire.
He was free.
But barely breathing.
Broken. Bruised. Bleeding.
But no longer bound.
And now?
Now, he had a chance.
Jace didn't think. He just ran.
One second he was on the ground, the next—his leg moved like lightning.
The Warden lunged.
Its clawed hand shot forward, aiming for Jace's neck—to rip his spine out and end the fight with finality.
But Jace—
slipped through.
He turned. Bolted.
His feet hit the ground hard—blood trailing behind every step—but he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, swallowed by the darkness.
The sound of his steps faded.
Gone.
The Warden stood still.
Chest heaving.
Leather mask unmoving.
Its weapon lowered.
Victorious.
Not because it killed.
But because it broke him.
And now…
It stood there in the dark hallway, like a statue carved from nightmares.
Right beside—
Wesley.
Lying motionless.
Unconscious…?
No.
His mind was awake.
Fully. Horrifyingly. Awake.
He just—couldn't move.
The screams in his head wouldn't come out.
His lips didn't respond.
His throat burned with the sound of silence.
He tried to cry out.
"Mmm… M-MMMM!!"
But there was no mouth.
Just breathless gasps of mute horror.
Tears welled in his eyes.
His body didn't respond.
He could feel everything.
And the Warden turned to him.
Slowly.
That hideous thing took one step.
Then another.
Its boots echoing on the stone, louder than thunder in Wesley's ears.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
It crouched.
And Wesley could finally see it up close—
That stitched leather mask.
That void-like stare.
The way it tilted its head like it was inspecting meat.
Not a person.
Wesley's eyes widened—pure terror flooding his soul.
The Warden didn't speak.
It just reached out—
And placed one finger on Wesley's cheek.
Cold. Wet. Trembling.
And then…
The unraveling began.
Not physical—
Spiritual. Mental. Psychological.
The Warden didn't just tear into his flesh.
It peeled back Wesley's reality.
Fingers digging—not into skin—but into his identity.
Tearing apart his sense of self.
Undoing him.
Memory by memory.
Emotion by emotion.
Wesley's silent screams filled the void.
Inside his own mind—he was dying in a way that couldn't be measured.
And the Warden just watched—
Patient. Calm. Amused.
Like a child with a new toy.
The echoes of metal, screams, and chaos faded into nothing.
Now—
Silence.
Cold. Suffocating. Silence.
Riley sat crouched near a corner—arms wrapped around her knees, back pressed against a cracked wall. Her breathing was shallow, fast—too fast—and her eyes scanned the pitch-black corridor around her.
She didn't know how far she had run.
Didn't remember which path she took.
Didn't care.
She just needed to get away.
And now—
She was alone.
"...Fucking hell," she whispered, voice breaking.
She wiped sweat from her brow, but her hands were trembling.
"It's dark..." she muttered. More to herself than anything.
The kind of darkness that crawled up your throat and whispered that you were already dead. That no one was coming. That you'd been forgotten.
Riley pushed off the wall and stood, legs shaking beneath her weight.
She looked into the void in front of her—corridor stretching endlessly, swallowed by black.
She cupped her hands around her mouth.
"HELLO?!?!" she shouted, voice bouncing off the walls.
Nothing.
"ANYONE THERE?!"
Only her echo answered.
Mocking her.
HELLO...
Anyone...
There...
Then—
A sound.
Not loud. Not close.
Just...
A whisper.
Far down the hall.
Like fabric scraping against stone.
Riley's breath hitched.
She wasn't alone.
But maybe… that was worse.
The whisper carried again, this time softer… closer.
"Hey... come here, Riley..."
"Me and Noa... and Evelyn... we're waiting for you..."
Riley froze.
Her spine straightened like it had been grabbed by invisible strings.
That voice—
It was Sierra.
It sounded like Sierra.
But…
No.
Her chest rose and fell as she stared into the corridor, her heart pounding hard enough she could hear it in her ears.
"Sierra…?" she called out, her voice cracked like a broken record.
"Noa...? Evelyn...? Is that you?"
But the corridor didn't answer.
Not directly.
Instead—
"Come on... just a few steps forward..."
"We're all here… waiting… smiling…"
The whisper shifted.
Now it felt like it came from above her.
Then—
From behind her.
Then—
From inside her own head.
Riley turned fast, her shoulder smacking against the stone wall as she looked around wildly. Her breaths turned ragged.
"Stop…" she whispered, voice shaking.
"This isn't funny—STOP."
"You're so close now..." the whisper sighed.
"Don't you want to see us?"
And then—
She heard it.
The sound of multiple bare feet pattering on the stone.
Not running.
Skittering.
Dozens of limbs.
Not just human ones.
She turned her head slowly, and at the very edge of the corridor—so far away it could've been a mirage—she saw silhouettes.
Three of them.
But… something was wrong.
Their movements weren't right. Their arms too long, their heads twitching unnaturally, their mouths—
Wait—
Were there mouths?
Riley stepped back.
One. Two. Three steps.
The corridor behind her didn't exist anymore.
She turned around—
Just a wall.
A wall that wasn't there before.
She was trapped.
And the whispers?
They were laughing now.
Riley backed up instinctively—fast, panicked steps until her spine collided with the cold, rough stone wall behind her. The shock of it snapped her head around—only to find that the corridor in front of her… had vanished.
In its place—another wall.
"WHAT!?!" she screamed.
"NO—NO NO NO NO NOOO!"
She flung herself sideways—but it was useless.
Another wall.
She turned, breath catching in her throat, praying the other side was still open—
It wasn't.
It was gone.
All gone.
The corridor had folded itself shut like a coffin. The stone had shifted while she blinked, now encasing her inside a narrow, rectangular room that pulsed with a heavy, suffocating silence.
She looked up.
Her heart stopped.
The ceiling was descending.
Slowly.
So unbearably, deliberately slow—like it was savoring every second of her breath.
"Shit—FUCK—SOMEONE!!" she wailed, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.
"NOA—HE—"
Her mouth snapped shut.
Not by will.
By force.
Invisible, crushing. Like a hand from inside her throat clamped it tight.
Her jaw seized shut so hard her teeth clacked.
And then came the panic—real, choking panic—because she couldn't open her mouth.
"MHHHMMM!! MMMMMM!!"
Muffled screams burst from behind sealed lips.
She clawed at her face—
Fingers trembling, shaking—
Desperate to speak, to say something—anything.
She jammed two fingers into her throat, choking on them, hoping the gag reflex would force her to make a noise. A sound. A syllable. Anything human.
She turned.
There it was.
A mirror.
No—it looked like one.
But what she saw in it was not her.
It was a mockery. A caricature of pain.
Her face—it wasn't a face anymore.
Her eyes were gone. Smooth skin stretched tight over her sockets. Yet she could still see. Every detail. Every nightmare.
Her mouth—it was sealed shut.
Sewn. With black, rusted wire, piercing her lips in crooked, uneven stitches, tugged so tight the skin was split and blood ran down her chin.
Yet—
Somehow—
She could still feel her own fingers inside her throat.
Her nose…
Cotton.
Two large, soaked tufts jammed so deep into her nostrils that blood had begun leaking down in twin rivers.
She couldn't smell.
She couldn't breathe through it.
And yet she lived.
The mirror Riley tilted its head. It moved independently, not mimicking her.
It smiled—despite the stitches.
That's when the whispers returned.
Soft.
Silken.
"Welcome to the prison…"
"…your soul is now ours."
And then—they laughed.
Not one laugh.
Not two.
Hundreds.
The sound of twisted, overlapping laughter—some high-pitched and childlike, others guttural and wet, like dying throats trying to sing.
Riley dropped to her knees.
The ceiling was closer now.
So close she could feel the pressure of it like fingers on her scalp.
And then—
From the ceiling…
a shape.
Something was staring down at her.
No face—just a dent in the ceiling. A smooth, twitching depression.
And from within that dent, a slit opened.
An eye.
Huge.
Bloodshot.
Leaking.
Its pupil dilated as it looked straight into her.
Riley's entire body began to shiver violently—not from cold, but from a terror so total it bypassed language.
Her heart beat so fast it felt like it was trying to escape her chest.
Her fingers dug into the ground, nails ripping off against the stone as she convulsed.
She had been claimed.
The walls didn't care.
The eye blinked once—slow, deliberate.
And then the ceiling whispered—
"Now scream for us… without a mouth."