CHAPTER THREE: HAUNTING LABYRINTH

An obsidian mask. My eyes caught it—its glinting red edge, like a fresh wound. Hung on the wall, its hollow eyes stared back at me, cold and piercing. I hesitated at the door, a sharp chill creeping down my spine. Unblinking, unfeeling, yet it seemed to know me—watching, judging.

My throat tightened. The last time I saw eyes like that, she was screaming for help. And I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save any of them.

A metallic taste seeped into my mouth as I lurched forward, an ache twisting my ribs with every shallow breath. This wasn’t just an object—it felt like an omen.

I jolted upright, a rhythmic splat piercing the stillness. My heart hammered as I squinted at the mask’s edges. Red. Slick with a crimson stain spreading across the obsidian, tendrils clawing toward the ground like malevolent claws.

Trembling, I traced those edges, sharp as a knife, cutting into my skin. A jarring spasm struck me. I flinched, yanking my fingers away. This wasn’t paint. It was blood, dripping steadily onto the cold stone floor.

A wisp of burnt-gold hair clung to the mask’s rim, billowing in the stifling air. Whose face had worn this grotesque thing? My thoughts screamed at me to move, but my legs remained rooted, heavy as stone

My gaze snagged on the hollow eye, dark and slick with blood. A glint of metal caught my eye, buried deep within the mask, barely visible beneath the bloody smears. Cold dread seeped into my bones as I reached in, my nails scraping against the jagged edges. I gasped, yanking it free, the metal of the mask chilling my fingertips.

A folded paper, old and brittle, crinkled in my palm—damp with blood, reeking of something far worse. The ink, a sick black scarlet, burned on the paper like a searing brand, leaving its mark on my soul. It read: ‘The Shaque holds six bar lords.’ The scrawled letters seemed to writhe, each one a venomous snake coiled to strike.

A cold sweat broke out on my hands as I gripped the note tighter. My mind reeled, images flashing through my head: her last words, the mask, blood.

“Zayn,” I whispered, my name slipping from my lips, unbidden. I crumpled the note and shoved it into my pocket, the jagged edges biting into my palm.

I turned away, torchlight sputtering as a door creaked open. A beam of light flooded in, blinding me. I winced, my vision swimming. A strangled gasp escaped me, my eyes widening as my reflection flashed in a dark urn, dust motes swirling around me.

I edged closer, my hair a wild, disheveled mess in the sudden glare. “This isn’t me!” I muttered under my shaky breath, stumbling back.

My fists clenched, slamming the table, shattering it with a crash. One corner nicked my leg. A guttural scream tore through me as I brushed at the sting—a welt cutting through my skin, blood pooling around my fingers, warm and sticky.

I stumbled, my balance faltering. The room tilted, and I crashed to the floor, the cold stone numbing my back. My limbs gave out, the tortured darkness dragging me under.

The world spun. The sound of metal reverberated in my ears. I blinked, a metallic clang echoing, jolting me awake, my senses wrenched back to the present.

My gaze flicked to the pale sunlight bleeding through the broken windows, casting the room in washed-out hues. My muscles screamed in protest as I pushed myself upright, brushing dust from my pants.

The silence fractured with the faint shuffle of footsteps, too close to ignore. My heart slammed against my ribs as I strained to listen.

The footsteps grew louder, the whisper of breath grazing my ear. Goosebumps rippled across my skin as I crept toward the window, peering down. Below, a figure moved, head dipped low, hands buried in their pockets. Each step left a smear of thick, red blood trailing behind.

Their head snapped up, a knot tightening in my chest. A flash of silver gleamed from their hand—a blade.

Stumbling back, my shoulder caught the edge of the window frame. Glass splintered with a sharp crack. A shockwave seared through my arm, blood trickling in soft, steady drops.

The figure stopped. Their hood fell back to reveal a blank, pale mask. Hair spilled over the edges like a silken curtain. Their cold, cutting gaze locked onto mine, unyielding. The blade clattered against the grim ground. “Skree-eek.”

I froze, rooted to the spot. Then it came ,the sound slicing through the air: Flick. Flick. Hiss. Metal scraping against stone, a screeching siren song growing louder, sharper—closer.

My pulse quickened. It wasn’t just a sound. It was a countdown and I had no seconds left.