Fuck off, Mateo

The echo of his footsteps against the stone walls, each "pla" "pla" of his bare feet hitting the cold ground felt like a reminder of his loneliness.

Dante moved forward with a mix of anger and confusion, his steps slow and disoriented, as his thoughts tangled in a chaos impossible to control.

"Pla" "pla," the repetitive sound pierced his ears. This place made no sense.

There was no logical explanation for what he saw: the walls covered in vines, the furniture cloaked in dust, the air dense and cold like an invisible fog that enveloped everything. How was it possible that he was here? Where the hell were the others?

"Mateo!" he shouted, but his question sounded empty of response. Nothing. No one. Just him, the rubble, and that constant sound of his feet, "pla" "pla," as if the echo was following him, mocking his desperation.

It was all his fault. His mind repeated it over and over again.

If Mateo hadn't lost control, if he hadn't sped up like an idiot, if he hadn't let himself be consumed by that damn betrayal, this wouldn't be happening. Where are Rafael and Luis? Where are you, Mateo?

His rage grew with each step, as the echo of his walk became heavier, more irritating. "Pla" "pla." He hated that sound, he hated the feeling of his bare feet hitting the cold ground. He hated that he couldn't think clearly, that everything felt like a meaningless nightmare.

"Fuck off, Mateo!" he shouted, but his voice barely resonated beyond the echo of his own footsteps. He felt the castle swallowing his words, just as his steps swallowed his sanity.

The pain in his jaw was unbearable, but he wasn't bleeding. Nothing made sense; none of this made sense.

He stopped, breathing heavily, his feet frozen from the cold stone floor. He looked around, hoping for some sign, something that would give him an answer. But all he could hear was the damn "pla" "pla" of his own steps in his head, as if even his body was against him, reminding him that he was alone.

"This can't be happening."

He wanted to scream; he wanted to break something. He wanted to blame Mateo for everything. For the betrayal, for the car, for this damn place that was nothing more than a senseless prison. "This is your fault, Mateo. You brought us here. You dragged us into this hell."

But deep down, beyond the rage, Dante knew there were no easy answers.

He knew that yelling at Mateo wouldn't change anything, nor would it get them out of this nightmare.

Yet, the frustration, the fear, and the feeling that the world was spinning out of control piled up in his chest, as if they were about to explode at any moment.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to calm his breathing. The pain was still there, but reality was too; this was real, or at least it felt that way. And although every step echoed like a mockery, he had to move; he had to find something. Anything. Because standing still was not an option.

"Pla" "pla." His feet continued to strike the ground, but now, more than frustration, it was pure determination that moved them. He didn't know how or why, but he was going to find Mateo. He was going to get out of this damn castle, even if he had to do it barefoot.

And when he found him, they would make sure this nightmare ended.

He passed through several doors, his hands touching the rough, cold walls, aimlessly. In one of the rooms, shelves filled with ancient books leaned under the weight of dust; at first glance, they seemed intact, as if no one had touched them in centuries.

He passed by without stopping; there were too many empty rooms that he did not understand their past. He didn't know how big this place was, if it was a castle or a palace... or an illusion. He only knew that he knew nothing.

He felt that his usual way of viewing the world made him more vulnerable.

Trying to comprehend what was happening was absurd because the more he understood, the darker and scarier everything became. Knowing was worse than not knowing, because each answer only sank him deeper into the inexplicable. Until, finally, he reached the end of a long hallway.

A series of giant statues flanked the corridor, their stone eyes watching him, motionless and silent. Ancient warriors, heroic, seemed to protect the way.

Among the stone colossi, this statue was different. It was a woman, her figure covered by a veil carved with such detail that it seemed to flow as if it were real.

The sheets enveloping her body suggested everything and revealed nothing at the same time. There was no explicit intimacy, but the shape of her body was a raw manifestation of lust.

The silence enveloping the hallway grew denser as Dante approached the female figure. The atmosphere had changed, a weight pressing down on his shoulders, and his breathing became slower and more controlled, even though the pounding of his heart hammered in his ears.

The statue of the woman, with her imposing presence, watched him as if she were something more than just a simple sculpture.

Her veiled face hid any emotion, but her proportions conveyed something primitive, something beyond what Dante could comprehend.

The stone veil covering her seemed to float, as if the marble moved with the air, although everything was completely still. His feet stopped right in front of her.

At the foot of the statue, engraved on a dusty slab, he saw the first words carved with chilling precision: "Five heroes. Seven objects. One already belongs to the Queen."

Dante frowned as he tried to process what he was reading. The anger that had consumed him minutes before slowly transformed into curiosity. He bent down to read the rest of the text; the words continued:

"The seventh cannot fall into the hands of a being that is not an angel. The Cloak of the Silent Sinner is all that remains. Those who wear it can only move in the shadows and only to evade the weakest. The power that once was here has already faded... or has been corrupted."

Dante touched the stone with a trembling hand. The words burned in his mind. He knew this was not what he had expected.

He was seeking answers, power, something to justify all he had suffered until now.

But all they offered him was a cloak that would barely protect him from the most insignificant threats.

At that moment, his fury returned, more intense but also cold and calculated.

"Corrupted." That word resonated in his mind. He knew what it meant. And something in him broke upon reading it.

There were no heroes, no honor or glory. Only what others had rejected remained, what no one else wanted or could use.

He looked toward the statue. "What if we... corrupt everything?" The idea was absurd, but he had nothing left to lose.

He extended his hand toward the base of the statue, where a pedestal awaited the touch of a chosen one. Without thinking twice, the skin of his fingers brushed the marble, and at that moment, a wave of darkness flowed from the statue toward him. It was like an enveloping cold, but it was not just temperature; it was something much deeper.

The stone began to emit a dim glow, and Dante felt something inside him fracture, a dark, foreign energy that began to seep into his body. The Cloak of the Silent Sinner slowly formed over his shoulders, like a liquid shadow molding itself around his skin.

Dante knew at that moment that the fate of the heroes no longer mattered; for a commoner, heroes were those who must protect them, but for those who had already fallen, they were merely cheap justice-seeking children with little honor.

The absolute silence that the cloak provided not only silenced his steps but also his thoughts, his morals, his conscience.

And as he enveloped himself in that darkness, a smile of peace formed on his face. There was no more sound of footsteps.

At the end of the corridor, the statues watched him as if they knew what he had just unleashed. Dante exited the room, and as soon as his feet crossed the threshold, the statues flanking the corridor began to dissolve into motes of light, as if they had never existed.

The air around him became lighter, but something remained. The statue of the woman, the only one that had not vanished, emitted a soft glow.

Suddenly, her rigid figure came to life. The stone veil moved like real fabric, sliding over her body until it fell to the ground.

The woman stretched her back, breathing for the first time in centuries, and a playful smile crossed her face.

"If you knew how long I had to wait for someone... and in the end, it turned out to be a mere zombie," she murmured with a seductive voice, watching him walk away. "But with my blessing, I hope you become strong, and I thank you for the liberation, my blessed one."

Her stone body transformed into a real woman, while Dante, oblivious to her presence, continued on his way.