a figure wearing a polished white mask, featureless except for a crude slit sewn shut with thick black stitches. The mask seemed fused to its neck. No ears. No hair. Just a disturbing, robe-clad being towering above me.
Luca's footsteps approached behind me. "Cass, who is it?" he asked, oblivious to the terror at the doorway.
My heart raced like it had on that horrible day. Danger. I felt it—knew it. This being wasn't here for small talk; it was here with a purpose I didn't want to discover. Panic surged through me.
"Luca! Run—"
A brutal force slammed into me, cutting off my scream.
Air was ripped from my lungs, feet torn from the wooden floor, and I was sent straight back.
I crashed hard—wood splintered, shards pierced my skin.
Sliding helplessly, my back and skull smashed into the drywall, cracking it like glass.
Dust choked me.
Ears rang.
Blood blurred my vision.
My body didn't feel like mine anymore.
I couldn't lift my head.
My arms twitched uselessly.
I felt like I was drowning on dry land.
Luca's screams echoed through my ringing ears. More figures poured inside, moving unnaturally fast. One darted toward me, stopping inches away—its mask the same but its mouth slit wide and sharp, stitches blood-red, head tilted grotesquely. Its shrill, feminine laughter sent chills down my spine—high-pitched, almost childlike, but warped, like the cry of a child no one ever comforted.
I lay paralyzed, fear numbing me completely. What were these things? Consciousness flickered. In that moment, one horrifying thought filled my mind clearly:
Luca needed help—and I could do nothing.
I tried to move.
Nothing.
My limbs refused. My brain screamed at my body, but it didn't care.
The figure in front of me pressed a finger to her mask where her cheek should've been, leaning grotesquely while being only a few inches from my face, tilting her head like she was thinking hard.
"Awww~ Such a cutie. Can I keep him? Hehe."
She laughed like a child—unhinged, yet disturbingly sweet.
"Naqra, he is also a part of this ordeal. He shall not be slain."
The voice crept in from down the hall—low, smooth, and commanding.
I saw him.
He walked like a king, each step slow and confident, as if the ground itself bent to his will.
His mask came into view. It was like the others—pale and featureless—but where a mouth should have been, a golden-stitched cross split his face from forehead to chin. A symbol of faith twisted into silence.
"But… but Qassi, at least let me have a taste~"
"Silence, you filthy swine," he commanded.
"Yes—sorry, my lord," she whimpered, shrinking like he might kill her where she stood if she dared speak again.
As he finally reached us, he placed a hand on her head—almost gently, like a father praising a child—silent sign of understanding. A leash is tightening its slack.
"Now, boy… what is your name?" he asked, as if I could answer in my condition.
I tried.
But nothing came.
My throat clenched like I was choking on my final breath—on something thick and dry I hadn't eaten.
"Doesn't matter," he said, already turning away.
"Naqra. Take him."
"Yes! Gladly, my lord~" she chimed, almost singing. She grabbed me by the remains of my ripped-up jacket, lifting me like I weighed nothing—like I was a kitten dangling in her teeth.
I heard Luca again as we moved down the hall toward the front door.
He was screaming, thrashing—like a toddler not getting his way.
"Will you calm down, you little brat?" another figure snapped, their tone sharp and scolding, like a parent losing patience.
"You mustn't fight so much, little one."
Then—thud. A shift. The figure finally got a real hold on him… and lifted Luca by the throat.
"I'll kill you, runt, if you keep rustling around," it hissed.
"Let him squirm," the commanding voice cut in. "He can't get away."
"Yes, my lord," the figure replied coldly.
They followed us toward the front door—silent now, except for Luca's broken breath. He was choking for air, his throat crushed in the grip of something inhumanly strong. My blood boiled.
"Let him go!" I shouted, like I had any power to stop it.
"Ohhh, this one's feisty~"
The woman snatched my hand and bent my finger back like a celery stalk.
Snap.
Pain exploded—like fire, like an anvil pressing down. I screamed. My adrenaline had fled, and now I felt every inch of it.
I gritted my teeth, trying not to pass out.
As we passed through the front door… we didn't exit. We entered another room, another world.
Our porch was gone. Instead, darkness swallowed us whole, lit only by a single flickering candle stuck to a stone wall.
"It's a little dark in here," the commanding figure murmured—and snapped his fingers.
Light.
Lanterns burst to life down the walls like stage lighting, revealing a medieval, stone, old, ancient chamber—as if the house were a shell hiding a deeper place.
At the center sat a wooden chair, scarred, ancient, strapped at the arms and legs like something meant to hold a prisoner still or punish them.
The figures all moved at once, wordless, toward the room's edges.
They wore the same white mask… but their mouths were stitched differently. No two alike.
The one holding Luca hurled him into the chair and began tying him down. Luca didn't fight. He looked broken. Empty.
The woman yanked me away and dragged me to a door on the side of the room. She threw me inside like a discarded object.
Thud.
The door slammed shut. I hit the ground hard.
I staggered up and reached for the latch. It wouldn't budge—it was locked from the outside. But the door wasn't airtight. Cracks in the stone frame let me peek through.
Through the slits, I saw them—still, silent, lined up around the room like statues.
They weren't moving.
They were waiting.
And then… another door across from me creaked open.
A silhouette appeared in the darkness—same robe, same slow walk. But the mask…
It wasn't like the others. It was rounded, soft, with visible eyeholes and an actual mouth opening—like a Halloween mask. Cheap. Human.
The room shifted.
All of them—except the commanding one—turned to him.
They bowed.
Some muttered under their breath. Others chuckled. Mocking or reverent—I couldn't tell.
"I'm not a lord anymore," the figure said, voice muffled beneath his mask. "Please stop bowing."
The commanding one stepped forward, the first to speak.
"You've arrived right on time."
"Of course, my lord. I'd never make you wait."
He bowed anyway.
"No need for that," the commander said, almost tired. "We're of equal standing."
"Yes, my lord… but I've abdicated," the masked man replied, still lowering his head in respect.
"No matter. We continue as planned."
Silence.
Then the man raised his hand slowly to his face.
He took off the mask.
And behind it…
Ereon.