Slazar opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the wooden ceiling of his inn room. But what greeted him was a breathing nightmare.
The walls around him weren't stone or wood they were flesh, pulsing and alive, dyed in a deep, visceral red. Black veins ran through them, throbbing with a slow, nauseating rhythm. Embedded in the walls were human eyes, weeping silently, and mouths that cried out, pleading for mercy and forgiveness.
His chest tightened. Even as a killer in his previous life—one who had known blood intimately this was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The air was heavy with the stench of blood, guilt, and sin.
The cries grew louder.
"Forgive us..."
"Please, don't leave us here..."
"We were once human..."
Slazar moved forward, his boots sticking to the fleshy floor beneath him. Every step made him feel like he was sinking deeper into a living abyss.
He soon reached a massive iron door, black as charred bone, inscribed with grotesque symbols—twisted strings of flesh and spirit. He hesitated before placing a hand on it. Then, with a low groan, the door opened.
A wave of heat struck him, as if the room beyond were exhaling.
It was a cathedral-like chamber, vast and suffocating, lit by an eerie purple glow from the walls. In its center stood an altar of flesh, pulsating and alive.
Veins snaked out from beneath it, tangled and glowing faintly—as if feeding life into this cursed place.
As Slazar approached the altar, he noticed it was covered in blood, fresh and glistening. He looked into the blood and saw his reflection—but it wasn't quite him. The face was darker… colder… less human.
Suddenly, a voice whispered behind him:
"Welcome, Slazar..."
He froze.
The voice was soft, but it cut through him like ice. It wasn't entirely human… nor entirely demonic. It was something in between.
He turned, slowly, every instinct screaming at him to run.
There, squatting on the flesh-covered floor, was a young man with short black hair and eyes of pure darkness pits of infinite black, with no whites, no irises.
He was pale, almost ghostlike, and what disturbed Slazar most was the smile—a wide, unnatural grin carved across his bloodless face.
The man tilted his head, neck cracking like rusted metal, and spoke in a voice layered with whispers:
"Don't be afraid, Slazar. I'm not your enemy. On the contrary… I'm your closest friend."
Slazar's fear turned into anger. He stepped forward and barked:
"Where are we?! And how do you know my name?"
The young man chuckled—an empty, hollow laugh—and said:
"Haven't you figured it out yet? We're inside your inner altar, you fool... This is the place where the blood that was never cleansed gathers. Where every sin you've tried to forget… lives."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming, and added with a chilling smile:
"I… am you."