The cave devoured her scream, twisting it into jagged echoes that clawed at her skull. Shadows shifted violently as the corpses swayed on ropes, their dead throats rasping with stolen breath, dragging each exhalation across the walls like a wet, fetid veil. Her chest seized, lungs locking in protest; each ragged inhale felt like fire scraping her throat.
She scrambled backward, knees trembling to useless jelly, until her back slammed against the jagged stone. Pain shot through her spine, but it was nothing compared to the crawling sensation that slithered across her skin—the unholy proximity of those hanging bodies, their hollow eyes fixed, unblinking, unyielding.
Blood welled in her palm as she bit down, tasting iron, trying to muffle another scream. Her sobs tore free despite her efforts, raw and ragged, echoing through the chamber. The cave offered no mercy, only the sickening rhythm of corpses swaying, leaning, stretching toward her as if drawn by her fear.
The corpse above her trembled, a grotesque parody of life. Its head lolled, eyes blood-choked and glimmering in the candlelight. Its rasping voice shivered through the air:
"We died… and you'll die too…"
"No! Shut up! Get away!" she screamed, clutching her eyes. Bloody tears ran down her cheeks, smearing crimson against pale skin.
And then—a sound she knew, hated, and feared—the glass-shattering laughter. The same laughter she had thought belonged to the yokai. It slithered through the cave like a living thing. The corpses joined in, moaning and shrieking, laughter and agony twisting together into a cacophony that burrowed into her bones.
Then came the whisper—low, chilling, shameless, right in her ear:
"Didn't you like my decorations, dear?"
The yokai's hot breath scorched her ear. Her light-blue eyes flew open wide with terror. Sweat drenched her skin, her thin robe plastering against her chest, outlining every trembling curve.
She couldn't even choke out the word "mo"—the name of the one she had once trusted, the name she had tried to call for salvation. Her throat convulsed, strangling her voice, as though her very body knew she wasn't allowed to summon anyone but the thing now coiling around her.
Cold, black hands slithered up her waist and chest like serpents, tightening, bruising, branding her as property. One palm cupped her breast and squeezed cruelly, fingers pinching until the swollen peak jutted hard against the drenched fabric, sharp pain twisting into a shameful shiver.
Heat and static jolted through her veins, a perverse lightning she couldn't shake. Her body writhed against itself, trembling with a betrayal she despised.
The yokai purred—a woman's voice, velvet-dark, shameless.
"Mmm… my mate… so tender, so warm. Do you hear it? Your little heart pounding, pounding. Faster, louder… it sings for me. So honest. So weak. So mine."
Her lips parted, shaking. "L-let me go… or—"
The yokai cut her off with a laugh, soft yet barbed, like a blade hidden in silk. "Or what? You'll call his name? You'll fight? Shhh…"
Breath seared hot across her ear. Her body froze as long, black legs hooked around her waist and thighs, snapping shut like shackles. The yokai's hips ground against her from behind, pressing her helplessly forward, rubbing her shame raw.
"I won't let go," the yokai whispered, tongue flicking at the shell of her ear. "How could I, when I've finally found… perfection?"
One clawed hand dug into her hip, dragging down, down, until it hovered over the thin, soaked robe clinging to her trembling skin. She gasped as her breast was forced deeper into the yokai's palm, kneaded, twisted until her back arched with a cry.
The cave itself seemed to breathe with her humiliation. Every dangling corpse swayed, hollow mouths widening, sightless eyes drinking in her disgrace.
Her body burned with merciless betrayal. Wetness seeped hot between her thighs, soaking her robe until the fabric clung transparent to her folds. She clenched her legs shut, but the yokai's hooked limbs pried them apart with ease, mocking resistance.
A giggle spilled from the yokai's throat—feminine, obscene, honeyed with hunger. "Ah… look at you. My little cultivator, trembling, panting, dripping already. Such a pretty thing, so desperate. Your lips lie, but this—" she pressed two fingers hard against the soaked heat, grinding until the fabric squelched, "—this begs. Is it because I'm beautiful enough for you, hm?~"
Her broken sob echoed in the cave, but claws only traced her throat, dragging slow over the frantic flutter of her pulse.
"All you must do," the yokai murmured, lips grazing her jaw, "is surrender. Let me in. I'll bind you, shield you, own you. Resist…" Her voice melted into a chuckle sharp as glass. "…and I'll carve my claim into you so deep not even death can wash it away."
Her sanity shredded thread by thread. The corpses swayed harder, jaws gaping wider, as if moaning with her, mocking her. The air curdled thick with musk and iron, every breath rotting her lungs.
Her thighs shook violently, the robe clinging like a second skin, transparent under the dripping wetness. The yokai pinned her back against her chest, forcing her open. Fingers twisted her nipple until she screamed, and that scream was swallowed, devoured, as the yokai licked the sound straight from her lips, drinking it like wine.
"You'll never forget this night," the yokai crooned, shameless and cruel. "Darkness doesn't just satisfy—it devours. Every hunger. Every weakness. Every filthy, hidden desire you swore you'd never confess to the light."
Her flesh burned where its hands had claimed her, every nerve ending alight with pain and something far worse—an awareness that she was no longer entirely herself. Her heartbeat thumped like a drum of betrayal inside her chest, echoing in the hollow chamber of the cave. The laughter of the dead rose around her, joining the yokai's voice, a chorus of moans, clicks, and wet, scraping sounds that gnawed at her sanity.
Her robes clung wet and heavy, soaked not only with shame but something darker—her own warmth, seeping through in a way that made her skin crawl. The corpses leaned closer, swaying unnaturally, heads cocked, eyes following her every movement. Each pair of sightless sockets reflected a warped, intimate version of herself: pale, trembling, utterly exposed, as if she had already begun to dissolve into the theater of horror surrounding her.
A cold draft whispered against her neck, carrying the tang of iron and decay. The smell of musk, sweat, and blood thickened, clinging to her like a second skin. Every inhalation was a poison, every exhalation a confession. Her bones ached as if the cave itself had sunk its claws into her spine.
And then she felt it—something crawling beneath her skin, not flesh, not insect, but an itch that burrowed deeper than any nerve, writhing in sync with the yokai's laughter. Her vision blurred, shadows liquefied, the dangling bodies above seeming to breathe, twitch, and stretch toward her, limbs bending in impossible angles. The walls themselves seemed to pulse, the blackened candles dripping wax like coagulated blood onto her bare feet.
Her lips parted in a scream, but the sound never formed. Instead, the cave swallowed it, twisting it into a new shape: a wet, gurgling echo, mocking her panic. She realized with a cold, quaking horror that her own voice no longer belonged to her—it belonged to the dead, to the cave, to the yokai that had claimed her.
The yokai's shadow fell over her face, eyes gleaming with hunger. Its claws traced the lines of her jaw, down her neck, across her chest, branding her with its presence. Every touch set fire to nerves that no longer obeyed her mind. Its voice, soft and liquid, whispered in her ear:
"This is only the beginning. Your body, your soul… your very essence is mine. And every scream you think you've hidden, every secret shame, every desire buried deep—you cannot bury them from me."
Her stomach churned violently, bile rising, teeth chattering despite herself. She wanted to throw herself forward, to run, to vanish—but her legs were lead, her muscles frozen. Every dangling corpse shifted, swaying closer, their broken mouths opening wider, silent teeth gnashing at her sanity. They were not just witnesses—they were participants, hungering, echoing, mirroring the dark hunger of the yokai itself.
A shiver ran down her spine as the cave seemed to lean in, the air thick and wet with breath that was not hers. And then, in the deepest, most intimate corner of her mind, she heard it clearly: her own thoughts, unmasked, whispered aloud, exposing every secret she had ever tried to hide. Every shame, every craving, every dark curiosity.
Lànhuā's nails dug into stone, into flesh, into herself. She realized with a pulse of dread that she was no longer simply frightened—she was being rewritten, her very identity stretched thin, smeared across the cave like wax, molded by claws and shadow.
Her throat burned. Her chest heaved. Her mind teetered on the edge of collapse. The laughter—the moaning—the wet, scraping echo of her own voice—the yokai's presence—it all merged into a single, suffocating truth:
This was no nightmare she could awaken from. This was a claim, a binding, a desecration deeper than flesh. A corruption that would trail her through every shadow, every heartbeat, every whispered memory.
And as the cave exhaled around her, dripping blood, sweat, and shadow, Lànhuā understood fully: she would never leave. Not the cave, not the bodies, not the yokai's grasp. She was already one of them. Already marked. Already lost.
And the laughter—that soft, cruel, eternal laughter—would follow her forever.