Silhouettes
In the 'Center'
They scattered.
As the heavy groan of the box door echoed behind them, Luke and the others scrambled to opposite ends of the vast chamber, positioning themselves in cover—if such a thing existed in this room of madness.
I can only do so much...
Luke thought bitterly, his back against a crumbling pillar slick with someone's blood. His hands trembled slightly.
Then he heard it.
First, a single voice—deep, slow, and
fatherly.
Then, another—shrill, sweet, maternal.
And then a child's voice… broken. Hopeful.
But all of them came from the same throat.
Each word layered over the last, voices stacked like masks.
Then came the chorus.
Hundreds of voices. All wrong.
Some sobbing, others laughing.
All whispering names that didn't belong to them.
Silhouettes emerged in the corridor ahead.
Dozens of them. Maybe more.
Shadowy outlines of people—arms stretched forward like children reaching for their parents.
Some swayed. Others dragged broken limbs, beckoning.
One slammed its fists joyfully against the
ground as if inviting playtime.
Another danced in jerking spasms.
"Buuuuddyyy... it'sss mmmee."
"Brooo... weee miiiss yoouu..."
"Ssson... comee hooome. Yourrr sistter'sss waitiiing..."
Luke's eyes snapped to the five who had opened the box—now standing frozen. Then, without a word, they ran.
"MOM!!"
"DAD—IS THAT YOU!?"
"BROTHER, I'M HERE!"
"MAAA—MAAAAA!"
Screaming. Crying. Laughing.
All of them bolted toward the corridor, toward the voices, toward death.
Luke's breath caught in his throat.
"IT'S A TRAP—EVERYONE, STAY BACK!"
His voice thundered over the chaos.
But his team…
They twitched.
Some flinched toward the voices, muscles jerking like puppets on invisible strings.
Eyes wide. Pupils dilated. Fingers clenched.
There's a range, Luke realized.
They're trying to pull us in—through the mind.
Then…
Blood.
It seeped from the corridor—thick, black-red like old syrup—spreading across the floor in slow, gurgling waves.
The voices didn't stop. Even after the five victims vanished into the dark, the cries kept coming.
Then:
PLAP
PLAP
PLAP
Wet.
Mushy.
Footsteps.
From the dark emerged something that
looked human—but only from far away.
As it stepped fully into the light, Luke nearly vomited.
Its body was stitched together from organs.
Spines woven like rope.
A ribcage bent into a grotesque smile.
Fingers—too many fingers—wrapped around its torso like belts.
One of its "legs" was a sagging esophagus, another a web of knotted nerves.
And from its back…
An intestine, long and wet, snaked behind it—connecting it to the darkness beyond, like a leashed puppet.
Dozens more slithered in behind it.
Each twisted thing was a marionette of
flesh and sorrow.
They opened their mouths—some vertical, some sideways, some with teeth that didn't belong.
"Cooome hhooomeee…"
"We've beeennn waaiiting…"
"Heeelp mmmee… I'm… I'm coooold…"
The puppets began moving, crawling, skipping, dragging themselves across the blood-slick floor.
They weren't just after Luke's group.
They called out to the dying, the wounded, and even those pretending to be corpses—trying to trick the voices.
Every breath in the room now felt wrong, like inhaling grief.
And through it all, Luke stood paralyzed, not by fear—but by rage.
This wasn't just killing.
This was mockery.
This was the Maw.
Even though Luke didn't know its name, Luke knew
Its a beast that has killed over thousands...and it still wantss more.
Then the 'Puppets' stopped moving altogether, it was like the beast knew that he can only attract prey in the dark using its 'puppets' but now because of the torches lit in the room, its hunting style was now useless.
It can only hunt in the dark...using different
pitch voices to allure unsuspecting childrena and children who were all in its range.
Caelan thought..everyone thought this but they had different interpretations of its abilities .
Then the puppets 'ran' towards the corpes, the injured ones—it ran towards everyone dragging their 'bodies' and its arms outstretched like its purpose was capturing prey by hugging it then dragged by the organ like string behind it.
The torches flickered violently. Shadows writhed like living things.
And from the corridor, they came—again.
The Puppets.
Wet, twitching, laughing.
A grotesque wave of arms, fingers, and stitched organs, dragging themselves forward on blood-slicked stone.
SPLAT-PLAP—DRAGGG—HCK-HCK-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHK
Voices followed. Dozens, all layered and broken:
"H-Hugggg?"
"Ssstay with meee..."
"Mama?"
"Don't leave again..."
---
LUKE
-
Luke's boots skidded through blood.
His left arm was useless, bone cracked during the last encounter, but his right hand gripped his shortsword with brutal grace. His fencing stance was tight, every step measured, every strike deliberate.
SSHHK— the tip of his blade pierced a puppet's skull.
CLANG! – He kicked its corpse off his blade, parried another, and stabbed low through a knee.
THUNK!
He twisted his blade out and turned.
"They bleed, they die... KEEP GOING!"
But for every one he felled, three more took its place.
---
ELARIN
-
Elarin moved like wind through blades.
She whipped her daggers—two in hand, four more strapped to her waist. One left her fingers in a flash— FWIP!—and buried into a puppet's gurgling throat.
"Khhhhhhaaaaiiiiih—"
It collapsed, twitching.
A second puppet charged low—Elarin sidestepped, sliced its tendon with a flash of silver.
SCHLK—SPHT!
Another leapt from the shadows—she ducked, spun, and plunged both daggers into its ribs—then tore sideways, ripping it apart.
SFX:
SHRRRIP—CRUNCH—SPLOORCH!
"Stay close, Mira!" she yelled, eyes flicking around like a hawk, every motion precise.
"Don't you dare freeze!"
---
CAELAN
-
Caelan fought like war was a dance—and he was its conductor.
His twin blades gleamed with gore.
He stepped into three puppets at once—FWAM—SSHHK—KRAKK!
One lost its head.
One lost its legs.
One had its jaw kicked clean off.
CRACK! – His boot shattered a puppet's knee.
WHISH—SCHLK! – Both blades carved a crimson arc.
Blood splashed up to his chin. His eyes never blinked.
"This line breaks, we all die," he said calmly.
"So it doesn't break."
---
SINGNET
-
Singnet's noble cloak who he had found on a corpse then wore it because he felt that it was necessary for a 'noble' was in tatters. His hair clung to his face, drenched in sweat.
He'd dropped his fencing sword.
Now, he gripped a rusted battle axe, dented and dull—but devastating.
A puppet tackled him from behind—SFX: THUD!
He snarled, twisted, and slammed the axe into its side—CHUNK!—WHACK!—WHACK!—WHACK!
"GET—OFF—ME—YOU—THINGS!"
A spray of black-red misted the air. He spat, gagged, and kept swinging.
---
MIRA
-
Mira's hands bled from gripping the crude spiked club she'd pulled from a fallen
soldier.
A puppet approached her, slowly—giggling.
It wore the face of a boy. Its mouth twisted into a too-wide smile.
She froze—until Caelan's voice snapped through the haze.
"MIRA! STRIKE!"
She screamed, reared back, and SWUNG with all her weight.
CRACK—CRUNCH—SPLAT!
The puppet's face caved in.
Mira collapsed to her knees, gasping. But she stood again.
Her brother's arm wasn't in her hands anymore.
But this club would do.
---
GRAY-HAIRED BOY
_
He hadn't moved—until now.
As the group was pushed back—step by bloody step—he calmly stepped forward.
His brass knuckles gleamed under the firelight.
A puppet leapt.
THUMP—THWACK!
His punch caved in its skull with one hit.
A second came. He caught it by the face and crushed its jaw with a calm, deliberate strike.
No rage. No fear.
Just cold, surgical violence.
And in a voice as dead as the room:
"Form up."
____
"FORM A WALL!" Luke barked, panting.
They obeyed. Six bodies.
Backs together. Weapons out. Eyes scanning.
Luke at the front, short sword gleaming.
Caelan and Elarin flanking him, steel and daggers slicing in brutal rhythm.
Singnet braced from behind with his axe.
Mira, center. Shaking, but ready.
And the gray-haired boy at the rear—silent sentinel.
The puppets surrounded them now.
But the line did not break.