[I DONT KNOW]

The cavern pulsed like a living thing, the walls shifting and twisting as the Master of Flesh emerged from the darkness. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

A towering monstrosity of writhing limbs and shifting faces, its body a grotesque amalgamation of stolen flesh, eternally reshaping itself. Some of the faces were human, others belonged to creatures I couldn't begin to name. Their mouths moved in silent screams, their eyes darting wildly before sinking back into the mass, replaced by another unwilling soul.

Illya gritted her teeth beside me. "Tell me you have a plan."

I tightened my grip on Cultro. "Cut it apart until it stops moving."

She scoffed. "Real tactical."

The Master of Flesh let out a wet, gurgling laugh. "You cannot kill me." Its voices overlapped, a chorus of agony and mockery. "You think you fight a man? I am not a man. I am beyond form. Beyond death."

Then it lunged.

It moved faster than something its size should have. A tendril of muscle shot toward me like a spear, and I barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side as the flesh-appendage slammed into the ground, cracking stone. Illya twisted away, flipping backward as another tendril lashed toward her, gouging deep furrows in the cavern floor.

I dashed forward, Cultro slicing through the air. The blade cut deep into the shifting mass, carving through flesh and bone—only for the wound to close instantly. Faces rippled around the wound, laughing, whispering, more… give us more…

Illya's spear flashed in the dim light as she struck. The spearhead sank into the creature's torso, and for a brief second, it seemed to recoil—but then its flesh swallowed the weapon, pulling Illya toward it.

"Let go!" I shouted.

Illya ripped the spear back just before the tendrils could reach her. She stumbled but recovered quickly, her breathing heavy. "That's not normal."

"No kidding."

The Master of Flesh laughed again. "You fight as if flesh is weak. But flesh is eternal. It bends, it reshapes, it endures."

Another strike came—this time, dozens of tendrils burst from its body, moving like whips, all aimed at us.

Illya and I split in different directions. I ducked low, dodging one, then twisted mid-air to avoid another. A tendril grazed my shoulder, sending a searing pain through my body. The wound didn't bleed; it simply burned as if the very essence of life had been stolen from me.

Illya wasn't faring much better. She parried one strike with her spear, but two more wrapped around her leg, pulling her off balance. She grunted, twisting her body to avoid being dragged into the mass.

I had to think fast. Cutting wouldn't work. Normal attacks wouldn't work. But something had hurt it earlier—

The core. The unmoving mass at the center.

I focused, scanning its ever-changing form. It was hard to see—buried beneath layers of flesh and movement—but it was there, deeper inside.

"I see it," I muttered. "Illya, we need to force it open again."

Illya, still mid-battle, didn't even question me. "Tell me where."

I dashed forward, dodging another set of strikes, and slashed deep into its side—not to damage, but to disrupt. "Here!"

Illya lunged, driving her spear into the wound. This time, instead of letting it close, she twisted the weapon, wrenching the flesh apart. The Master of Flesh let out a deafening screech, its form momentarily unstable.

Now.

I surged forward, Cultro in both hands, and stabbed deep into the core.

The effect was instant.

The creature convulsed, its entire body spasming violently. Faces contorted in agony, mouths stretched open in silent screams. The cavern trembled, flesh peeling away from stone, veins snapping like torn ropes.

The Master of Flesh tried to retreat, but Illya wasn't letting go. "You're not going anywhere!" she roared, shoving her spear deeper.

I twisted Cultro, and for the first time—the wound didn't heal.

The core began to dissolve, black ichor spilling from the wound like tar. The Master of Flesh let out one final, ear-piercing wail as its entire body started to unravel.

Limbs fell away, melting into nothing. The faces lost their expressions, sinking into a void. Tendrils turned to dust.

And then—silence.

The cavern was still.

The cavern stretched deeper than I had anticipated, the walls slick with something I chose not to identify. The air grew thick with an unnatural humidity, the scent of rotting flesh intensifying with each step. Illya stayed close, her spear ready, her breathing steady despite the tension hanging between us.

We weren't alone.

A presence loomed ahead, suffocating and oppressive. Then, a voice, guttural and warped, reverberated through the chamber.

"You killed my servant."

A figure stepped from the darkness.

Unlike the abomination before, this one was human—or at least, it had been once. Its body was tall and sinewy, skin stretched too tightly over elongated limbs. The flesh along its arms and chest bore the scars of self-inflicted carving, strange symbols etched into its very being. Eyes sunken and hollow burned with an unnatural glow.

The Master of Flesh.

Illya stiffened beside me. I could feel her muscles tensing, preparing to strike, but I raised a hand. This was different. He wasn't like the previous creature. He was more… aware.

His lips curled into something that might have been a smile. "You wield Cultro. How fitting. It has been a long time since I have seen that blade."

I narrowed my eyes. "You know this weapon?"

The Master of Flesh stepped forward, the movement unnatural, joints shifting with a sickening crack. "I know what it can do. I know what it is." His gaze locked onto the blade. "And I know that it does not belong to you."

I exhaled. Enough talking.

I lunged.

Cultro slashed toward his throat, the speed of my strike enhanced by every ounce of training I had endured. The Master of Flesh didn't dodge. Instead, his skin rippled. My blade met resistance—not of muscle or bone, but something else. His flesh hardened upon contact, absorbing the impact.

I barely had time to react before his arm elongated unnaturally, a clawed hand aiming straight for my ribs. I twisted mid-air, feeling the air split as his attack missed me by inches. The sheer force sent a gust rippling through the cavern, dust and debris swirling around us.

Illya struck next.

Her spear drove forward, the point aimed directly at his chest. The Master of Flesh shifted again, his body bending in an impossible way to avoid the thrust. His fingers snapped toward Illya, but she twisted, spinning in midair, using his own force to propel herself away before her spear struck again, this time targeting his exposed side.

Blood spattered the stone floor.

The Master of Flesh hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Clever girl."

The wound began sealing almost instantly, flesh knitting back together as if nothing had happened. But I saw it—that brief hesitation. The pain.

He wasn't invincible.

I pressed forward, Cultro slicing in rapid succession. He dodged, but barely. His movements were no longer as fluid, his body betraying subtle signs of strain. Illya followed up with relentless strikes, her spear moving with precision honed through years of battle.

The Master of Flesh snarled, his patience snapping. His arm elongated once more, but this time, it split apart—dozens of tendrils bursting forth, writhing like serpents. They lashed out, moving faster than before. I ducked, twisted, barely avoiding being skewered by the grotesque appendages.

Illya wasn't as lucky.

One of the tendrils wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off her feet. She slammed into the cavern wall with a sickening thud, coughing as she struggled to regain her breath. The Master of Flesh turned toward me, his mouth stretching into something inhuman.

"Flesh is mine to shape," he rasped. "Yours will be no different."

I didn't hesitate.

I shifted my stance, gripping Cultro tighter. He expected me to aim for his vital organs. But I had learned. If he could regenerate flesh, then I had to strike at something more fundamental.

I aimed for his carvings.

My blade slashed across his chest, cutting through the ancient symbols etched into his skin. The reaction was immediate. He howled—a deep, guttural scream that shook the cavern itself. The runes along his body pulsed violently, his flesh convulsing, distorting.

Illya took the opening. With a fierce cry, she drove her spear straight through his shoulder, pinning him against the cavern wall.

The Master of Flesh writhed, his body betraying him. His form began to collapse, unable to sustain itself as his carved markings were severed.

His eyes locked onto mine, fury and desperation flashing through them. "You—do not understand—"

I didn't let him finish.

Cultro plunged into his chest, piercing straight through his heart.

A moment of silence.

Then, his entire body began to unravel. The flesh that once obeyed him twisted against him, rejecting its master. His screams turned into choked gurgles as his body dissolved into a mass of writhing, uncontrollable tissue. The cavern trembled, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh.

Then—

Nothing.

The Master of Flesh was gone.

I stood over the remains, Cultro still humming in my hand. Whatever power he wielded, whatever dark art had kept him alive for so long, it was over.

Illya limped toward me, rubbing the back of her head. "Remind me to never let you fight one of those things alone."

I exhaled, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Noted."

She glanced at the remains, a frown forming. "You think that's the last of them?"

I shook my head. "No. But it's a start."

The cavern began to tremble again, but this time, not from an enemy.

"We need to go," I said.

Illya nodded. We turned, making our way back up toward the surface. With every step, I could feel something within me shift.

Cultro was changing. And I didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

As we emerged into the light, the cold wind hitting my face, I glanced at Illya. "One down."

She smirked. "Who's next?"

I looked out toward the horizon, where dark clouds gathered in the distance.

Whoever was responsible for this madness… they would fall next.

By my hands.

I took a shaky breath and pulled Cultro free. The blade pulsed again—stronger this time.

Illya slumped against her spear, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Tell me that was the actual Master of Flesh."

I looked at the dissolving remains. "If it wasn't, I'm quitting."

She let out a tired laugh. "Same."

The cavern, once alive, was now nothing more than stone. The air was still heavy, but it was no longer suffocating. No longer pulsing with unseen horrors.

I turned to Illya. "We should get out of here before something worse happens."

She didn't argue.

As we made our way back through the cavern, I thought about what the elder had said—the deeper you go, the less human you may remain.

I looked down at Cultro, still pulsing faintly. It had changed. I could feel it. Like it had absorbed something from the fight.

I didn't know what that meant.

But I had a feeling I would find out soon.