The hollow architect

The cavern stretched before us, twisting like a monstrous gullet. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of rot and something deeper—something unnatural. Illya's grip on her spear tightened as she glanced at me.

"That thing we fought was a servant," she muttered. "So where's the master?"

I exhaled slowly, adjusting Cultro in my grip. "Close."

As if responding to my words, the ground trembled. The walls pulsed, veins bulging along their surface like a living thing taking a breath. Then, from the shadows beyond, a voice slithered into existence.

"You killed my hound."

It wasn't loud, yet it filled every inch of space, pressing against my skull. I clenched my teeth as Illya shivered beside me.

A figure stepped forward, its form shifting between clarity and distortion. The Master of Flesh.

He was… wrong.

His body was tall, impossibly thin, and draped in what seemed like human skin stitched together. Strands of sinew coiled around his limbs like living tendrils, shifting with each step. His face was featureless—only smooth, stretched skin where eyes, nose, and mouth should be. But he saw us. I could feel it.

"You should not have come," he said. "Now you will be repurposed."

He lifted a hand. The walls moved.

From the flesh-ridden stone, shapes began to emerge—bodies twisting, forming limbs, dragging themselves free. Twisted amalgamations of human and beast, their faces half-formed, their eyes filled with silent agony.

Illya swore under her breath. "He's growing them from the cave itself."

I tightened my grip on Cultro. "Then we tear them down."

The first creature lunged.

I sidestepped, bringing Cultro up in a clean arc. The blade cleaved through flesh, but instead of falling, the wound sealed itself instantly.

No hesitation. No delay.

It whipped around, claws raking toward my chest. I twisted, barely avoiding the strike, and kicked it backward. Illya struck another, her spear piercing through its skull—only for the flesh to swallow the blade, trapping it.

She yanked back, barely escaping as another creature swiped at her.

"Damn it!" she cursed. "This is a bad fight."

I agreed. These things weren't just regenerating—they were actively resisting destruction. A direct attack wouldn't be enough.

I focused on the Master of Flesh, still watching, still motionless. He wasn't worried.

Which meant he was underestimating me.

Fine.

I exhaled, gripping Cultro tightly.

"Illya," I called. "Get ready to open a path. We're ending this now."

She hesitated but nodded. "Got it."

I moved.

Surging forward, I slashed low, forcing one of the creatures back before pivoting to the side. Another lunged—I ducked under its swipe and drove Cultro into its midsection, not to kill but to launch myself over it.

In the air, I twisted my body, catching sight of Illya.

"Now!"

She slammed the butt of her spear into the ground. The force sent a shockwave through the cavern, staggering the creatures just enough.

I landed in a roll, pushing forward.

The Master of Flesh lifted a hand—something lashed out toward me, tendrils of living muscle. I swiped Cultro in a tight arc, severing them before they could reach me.

He tilted his head.

"You are not normal."

I grinned. "You're just slow."

Then I closed the distance.

I drove Cultro forward—he shifted, his form twisting in impossible ways to avoid the strike. His body bent in half backward, bones snapping only to instantly mend. His arm elongated, forming into a jagged blade.

He struck.

I barely ducked in time, the blade whistling past my ear. I felt the heat of the movement, the raw force behind it. If that had landed—no, I wasn't letting it.

I moved with the momentum, rolling forward and slicing at his leg. The blade connected—but did not cut.

Instead, his body absorbed the impact.

I cursed, pushing back as his other arm lashed out, aiming for my ribs. I twisted mid-air, barely dodging as his strike shattered the ground.

Illya lunged from behind, spear aimed for his head.

He caught it.

His fingers sank into the weapon, the flesh of his palm consuming the wood like it was drinking it. Illya wrenched back, but the spear wouldn't budge.

Then he flicked his wrist.

The force sent Illya flying. She crashed into the cavern wall, gasping.

I saw red.

I charged.

This time, I wasn't aiming to cut.

I was aiming to sever.

Cultro's edge flashed as I swiped at his outstretched arm—not a clean slice, but a tear. The blade's unique edge caught inside his regenerating flesh, ripping it apart.

For the first time—he recoiled.

"You—"

I didn't let him finish.

I pressed forward, delivering a brutal slash across his chest. Flesh split, his form flickering erratically.

Illya recovered fast. She leapt back into the fray, her spear now aimed directly at his head.

He dodged, but his movements were slower.

Regeneration required focus. And I wasn't letting him have it.

I drove Cultro deep into his torso, twisting the blade. His body convulsed, the tendrils on his limbs flailing wildly.

"You cannot—"

Illya struck.

Her spear pierced straight through his skull.

Silence.

For a moment, the cavern seemed to freeze. The walls stopped pulsing. The creatures collapsed into inert heaps of rotting flesh.

Then, slowly, the Master of Flesh trembled.

And began to unravel.

His form collapsed inward, his body twisting and contorting as if he were being unmade. The flesh he had stolen, the lives he had warped, all of it peeled away, revealing something beneath.

A withered, hollow frame.

A man, long dead, long consumed by his own creation.

He turned his head toward me, and though he had no eyes, I felt his gaze.

"You… were not meant… to win…"

Then he was gone.

Only dust remained.

I exhaled, finally lowering Cultro.

Illya slumped against her spear, breathing hard. "Holy hell."

I nodded, wiping sweat from my brow. "Yeah."

We stood there for a while, just breathing.

Then, finally, Illya pushed off the ground. "So… what now?"

I looked at the cavern around us, now still, now dead.

And then, down at Cultro—its edge darkened, humming with something new.

This was far from over.

But for now, the Master of Flesh was dead.

And that was enough.