The first thing she remembered was not sight, nor sound—
but the burn.
Her body still burned with the memory of its hands. Not warmth, not fire, but the kind of heat that branded, that scorched shame into the skin until even marrow screamed. The claws had pressed cruelly over her chest and throat, sinking shallow grooves that throbbed long after they withdrew, as though invisible chains were still locked there.
Her hair clung to her in snarls, tangled with its black strands—an intimacy grotesque, like a lover who would not leave, like a shadow that had stitched itself into her. Each shift of her head pulled the knots tighter, a reminder that she had been touched, claimed, ruined in silence.
And the air—god, the air. It carried its scent still. Iron. Musk. And that sweetness. Sickly, cloying, almost floral, almost human—yet wrong, rotting, like fruit left to spoil in the sun. She gagged on it. Every inhale forced her to taste the thing's hunger all over again.
Her heart betrayed her, hammering frantic. Every beat was too loud, too raw, as though it had been stolen from her and forced back inside, reshaped into something that belonged to it. The rhythm was not her own. It was a confession written under duress, a confession branded into her blood.
Even the silence trembled with it.
The yokai chuckled, low and layered. The vibration throbbed into Lànhuā's ear, sinking through her skull until her bones seemed to hum. Hot breath spilled against her neck—humid, fetid, tinged with iron and musk, the scent of obsession thickening the night, clinging to her skin. Its claws flexed, scraping her throat, her collarbone, the soft line of her jaw—testing, branding. The pressure on her chest grew, as though it could squeeze her heart into silence.
"You're mine…" it breathed, voice velvet-dark, dripping with hunger deeper than flesh. "Mate… heart… soul…" Each syllable curled like chains around her spirit. Its mouth brushed her ear, the silence that followed heavier than a scream. "…and now—" the final word seared into her like fire, "you'll never run."
The forest shrank around her, shadows trembling. Its claws had grazed her enough to leave faint white streaks—a cruel, obscene map of ownership. Its obsidian eyes devoured her frantic heartbeat like a twisted lover savoring confession.
And then, from the darkness, her own voice echoed back at her—low, velvet, inescapable:
"Just when you think you've escaped me… that's when I'll start hunting you."
The words lingered like frost on her spine, leaving the night colder, darker, infinite in its danger.
When she finally closed her eyes, the weight of them was unbearable. Opening them again felt impossible.
When she did, she wished she hadn't.
All around her stood human bodies wrapped in rough, tattered fabric—hanging, leaning, some nailed grotesquely to the jagged walls of the cave. The cloth clung to their shapes like spoiled offerings, torn open in places where pale skin showed through, bruised and half-decayed. The smell of old blood and mildew seeped from the fabric, sticky, clinging to her throat like rot that refused to be swallowed.
Candles burned in uneven rows, their wax pooling thick and red, dripping down like congealed blood. Their flames were black at the edges, their light feverish, sickly. It did not warm the chamber; it infected it, painting every surface in crimson shadow, like the cave itself was diseased.
And the eyes—oh god, the eyes. Wide, unblinking, glassy. They stared at her from every angle, hollow sockets filled with candlelight, watching her with the grotesque mockery of life. Their gaze did not waver. It pierced through her skin, through her ribs, curling into marrow, until she could not tell if it was hatred, hunger, or some grotesque invitation.
Most of them were women. Their coverings hung indecently, baring shoulders, thighs, breasts—flesh sagging and exposed, as though shame itself had been part of their slaughter. Lips were parted in silent screams, teeth bared, throats bruised where rope or claw had claimed them. Their hair tangled across their faces like webbing, strands clinging as if still damp with sweat and tears. In some, tongues lolled grotesquely from their mouths, cracked and blackened, pointing at her like accusations.
Her spine arched in a violent shiver. A demonic cultivator should have been numb to such sights. She had carved open bodies before, stepped over the dying without pause. She had sworn herself to blood. But this—this was different. This was not war. Not vengeance.
This was desecration.
A stage.
A theater of torment where shame was the script, and flesh was the performance.
Her lungs tightened, strangled. She wanted to scream, but her throat constricted to silence. Her legs refused to move, locked in place as though the cave itself had swallowed her into stone. Her temples pounded, each heartbeat slamming so violently it felt as if her ribs would splinter apart, as though her own body wanted to burst open and hang with the rest.
She clenched her eyes shut. But it did not save her. The images burned against her lids—the corpses swaying, their breasts half-exposed, their mouths gaping wide in laughter she could not hear but could feel, echoing inside her bones. She tried to block them out—only to see them clearer, sharper. Their empty sockets blinked in the dark of her mind, their cracked lips whispered without breath.
Her breath hitched, shallow, frantic. She heard it now: the air wasn't silent. It rasped, moaned, whistled like hundreds of throats exhaling at once. The corpses were breathing. Not alive, not dead, but something worse. Each shallow draft filled the chamber with rot, mold, and the metallic tang of dried blood. The air carried wetness too—like saliva dripping from mouths just above her head.
Her heart thundered loud enough to rattle her ribcage. It beat not inside her, but against her, like a fist pounding from the inside out.
Then she noticed.
Her body felt wrong.
Too light. Too hollow. Too cold.
She looked down—her fingers trembled as though they were no longer hers. Her skin was pale, washed of warmth, veins raised and bluish, almost translucent under the flickering light. The thin robe clung to her, soaked though she hadn't stepped in water. Her chest rose and fell, but no breath filled her lungs. Her mouth opened instinctively, but the air slid past her lips without entering, leaving her emptier each time.
And around her, every corpse seemed to lean closer—necks twisting, cloth stretching, joints cracking as though tendons still clung to bone. Their eyes widened, their lips tore wider, exposing broken teeth and black tongues. Their faces tilted toward her, drawn to her as though she belonged.
As if she wasn't just standing among them.
As if she was becoming one of them.
And in the ripple of candlelight, for the briefest heartbeat, she saw her own reflection staring back from their sockets—her face stretched across their hollow eyes, her skin sagging, her lips parted in their laughter.
She bit down on a scream—but the cave answered for her.
Her three outer layers of robes were gone. Only a thin one clung to her skin. The cruel air hit her bare flesh, pebbling goosebumps, hardening her nipples in painful betrayal. Shame burned through her even as fear hollowed her chest. Tears stung her lips, but she dared not cry. To cry was to invite the cave to devour her alive.
Then—breath.
A shaky exhale against her cheek.
And drops. Warm, heavy, rotten. They slid from above, tracing her lips.
She opened her eyes.
A corpse hung over her own body—limbs severed, hair gone, only a head and torso suspended. Its eyes rolled down to meet hers, wide, blood-choked. Its mouth gaped open as if to scream—
—but instead, it breathed.
The breath poured hot against her lips, rancid and wet, dragging the stench of rot straight into her lungs. Its neck dripped freely, each drop splattering her chest, warm as if the body had just been butchered.
Her scream tore out raw:
"AAHHHHHHHHHHHH! GET OUT OF MY WAY!!"
The cave answered back.
Her voice split into a hundred echoes, twisted, doubled, tripled—until it wasn't her voice anymore. Until the scream belonged to the corpses.
Bodies swayed, their ropes creaking like laughter. Hollow throats rasped, pulling breath from nowhere, all exhaling into the dark in sickening unison.