Zombies?

The best slowly started disfiguring itself before eventually dying, all that lay there on the ground were organs that were all black, consumed by cancerous cells, the creature was tortured just for trying to live.

Someone cursed it and I need to know who.

Someone made an innocent soul suffer, and I need to know who.

Someone will fall tomorrow, and at my hands, he shall suffer for what he did.

Illya stood beside me, silent. She didn't flinch at the grotesque sight before us, but I could feel the tension in her stance. The air was thick with the stench of decay, the blackened organs still writhing as if they hadn't realized their host was already dead.

I crouched down, staring at the remains. Cultro was still warm in my hand, stained with the creature's tainted blood. I ran a finger along the edge of my blade, deep in thought.

"This wasn't just a curse," I muttered. "This was designed to fail. To make sure it suffered."

Illya tightened her grip on her spear. "You think someone's been experimenting on people?"

I exhaled through my nose. "That's exactly what I think."

The village elder knelt beside me, his old eyes fixed on the disfigured remains. "This is not the first time," he said solemnly. "Others have suffered this fate before."

I turned my head sharply. "And you're only telling me this now?"

His expression didn't change. "Because now, someone strong enough to do something about it has come."

Illya crossed her arms. "You're saying this has been happening for a while? How many?"

The elder hesitated. Then: "Too many."

I clenched my fists. "Then I need to find out who's behind this. And end it."

The elder nodded. "Then seek the Master of Flesh."

A chill ran through me. I had heard whispers of that name before—spoken only in hushed tones, as if saying it too loudly would summon the being itself.

Illya glanced at me. "You know who that is, don't you?"

I met her gaze. "I know the stories. A butcher of souls. A sculptor of living bodies. They say he doesn't just kill—he remakes."

The elder exhaled. "Then you understand the danger of hunting him."

I stood up, rolling my shoulders. "He's the one in danger."

The elder smiled grimly. "Then you will need guidance. The trail begins in the Black Maw Caverns, beyond the western hills. But be warned—the deeper you go, the less human you may remain."

Illya clicked her tongue. "Cryptic old man talk. Love that."

I sheathed Cultro and turned to her. "If you want to stay behind—"

She scoffed. "Not a chance."

I nodded. "Then we move at dawn."

As I looked down at the cursed remains one last time, I swore to myself—whoever did this would not see another sunrise.

The morning arrived with a cold wind cutting through the village. The sky was still dark, but the horizon glowed faintly, warning of the sun's inevitable rise. Illya and I stood at the edge of the village, supplies packed, weapons ready.

The Black Maw Caverns awaited.

The elder's warning lingered in my mind—the deeper you go, the less human you may remain. I wasn't sure if that was meant to be a literal transformation or something more psychological, but I had no intention of losing myself.

We traveled in silence for a while. Illya kept glancing at me, her fingers tapping against the shaft of her spear. Finally, she spoke.

"You're serious about this, huh?"

I nodded. "Of course."

Her grip tightened. "Even if this Master of Flesh is beyond anything we've faced before?"

I glanced at her. "Do you think I'd back down?"

She sighed. "No. But I had to ask."

The hills rose before us, jagged and ominous. Beyond them, hidden within the rocky terrain, lay the Black Maw Caverns. We moved carefully, the terrain shifting beneath our feet, until we stood at the entrance—a gaping wound in the earth, swallowing light.

A chill ran through me. It wasn't the cold.

Illya exhaled. "Well. That's inviting."

I took a step forward. The darkness seemed to pulse. "Stay close."

We entered.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you," I said, "where did you get that spear of yours?".

"The nice lady who tried to kill you sculpted it for me when we were in The kingdom of ice." She answered, "Nice", I replied.

The deeper we went, the more unnatural the cave became. The walls pulsed like veins, and the air carried the scent of rotting flesh. The ground beneath our feet was slick—not with water, but something thicker.

Then we heard it.

A wet, scraping sound. Something moving in the dark.

Illya raised her spear, eyes sharp. I unsheathed Cultro.

A voice slithered through the shadows. "You came."

A figure emerged. Or rather—a mass of figures fused into one.

A towering creature of twisted flesh, shifting with every breath. Faces pressed through its skin, their mouths opening in silent screams before sinking back into the mass. Arms that weren't its own twitched, extending, retracting.

It wasn't just one person. It was many.

Illya whispered, "What… is that?"

I tightened my grip on Cultro. "I think we found the Master of Flesh."

The thing laughed—a sound like tearing meat. "No. I am merely his servant."

It lunged.

I dodged, barely. Its arm stretched unnaturally, slamming into the ground where I had just been. The stone cracked under the force.

Illya moved, her spear flashing forward. She struck—but the thing's body absorbed the attack, its flesh shifting around the weapon like liquid.

I darted in, Cultro slicing clean through its side. The blade should have cut it apart—but instead, the wound closed instantly, the flesh knitting back together.

Illya cursed. "It's regenerating!"

I adjusted my stance. "Then we need to stop it from regenerating."

The creature's faces all grinned at once. "You cannot."

I exhaled. "We'll see."

Then I attacked again.

The fight was relentless. The creature's body twisted and stretched unpredictably, its attacks erratic but devastating. Every strike we landed healed almost instantly.

Illya fought beside me, her movements precise, her spear finding openings that should have mattered. But nothing stuck.

Then I saw it.

A point near its core—where the flesh didn't shift as easily. A single, unmoving mass buried deep within the chaos.

A weakness.

"Illya!" I shouted. "Force it open!"

She didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, slamming her spear down with all her strength. The creature reacted too late—the impact sent a shockwave through its form, and for a moment, its body destabilized.

I moved.

Cultro in hand, I plunged the blade into the unmoving mass.

The creature screamed.

Its entire body convulsed, flesh unraveling. The faces on its skin contorted in agony before vanishing one by one.

It reached for me—desperate—but its limbs turned to dust before they could make contact.

Then it collapsed, dissolving into nothing.

Illya let out a shaky breath. "That was…"

"Disturbing?" I offered.

She nodded. "Yeah. That."

I looked down at Cultro. The blade pulsed—almost as if it had absorbed something.

I didn't know what that meant.

But we weren't done.

I turned toward the cavern's depths. If this was only a servant—then the real fight was still ahead.

The cavern trembled, as if the earth itself recoiled at what had just happened. The last remnants of the creature's flesh evaporated into the cold, damp air, leaving behind nothing but the stench of death.

Illya nudged one of the few remaining scraps with the tip of her spear. It crumbled to dust instantly. "I don't like this," she muttered.

I sheathed Cultro, but I could still feel it humming faintly, as if it had tasted something new, something it liked. I ignored it. "We keep moving," I said.

The path ahead was darker than before, the cavern walls narrowing as if trying to choke us out. Every step forward felt heavier. I didn't know if it was exhaustion, the cavern itself, or something worse.

Illya walked beside me, silent but alert. I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was—if this thing had been only a servant, what exactly were we walking into?

Then we heard it.

A sound deeper within the cavern. A voice—low, wet, and unnatural.

A laugh.

"You think you've won?"

I froze. So did Illya. The voice wasn't coming from a direction we could pinpoint. It came from everywhere.

"You cut away the weakest parts of me… but I am not so easily undone."

A chill ran through me. The air felt heavier, pressing down on my skin like unseen hands.

Illya shifted into a ready stance. "I don't see anything. Do you?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

Then the walls moved.

At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But no. The walls were pulsing. Stretching. Like they weren't made of stone, but something alive.

Illya took a step back. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

I didn't answer. Because I didn't want to say it out loud.

The cavern itself was shifting—reshaping. Flesh knitting over rock, veins slithering across the ceiling like roots. The tunnel behind us sealed shut.

Trapping us.

The laugh returned. Louder now. Closer.

"Welcome, children."

Something breathed.

Then, from the depths of the cavern, the real Master of Flesh emerged.

And it was waiting for us.