Chapter 107 – The Skin Thieves
The Hollow's air was thick with the scent of blood, decay, and something older—ancient, almost sentient. Each breath Rin took seemed to draw him deeper into its intoxicating embrace. The Fleshcrafters, those practitioners of the grotesque art of corpse refinement, were more than just artisans of death. As he watched their work unfold before him, Rin discovered that their practices were not confined merely to crafting death-forged bodies, but to something far more sinister—a practice that blurred the line between identity, flesh, and soul itself.
The Fleshcrafters were skin thieves.
He had heard the term whispered among them in hushed tones, but it was not until he spent more time in the depths of Yama Hollow that he came to understand the true horror of what they did. Skin thieves were those who sought not merely to forge bodies from death but to wear the identities of powerful cultivators. They would steal the skin of their victims—cutting, peeling, and refining it into garments that would allow them to take on the persona of the one they had killed. To wear the skin of the slain was to become them. Their essence, their memories, their powers—everything—could be transferred through this dark art.
Rin was fascinated by the concept but also horrified. The process was a twisted, sickening parody of what true cultivation should be. It was as though these skin thieves sought to be more than human, to transcend themselves entirely by hollowing out the souls of others and wearing them as if they were mere clothing.
One night, as Rin rested in the darkened chambers of Yama Hollow, a disturbance broke his meditation. He awoke, his eyes snapping open in the cold, suffocating silence. Something was wrong. He could feel the air change—the temperature dropping, the oppressive weight of death in the room intensifying. The pulse of his Death Core beat louder, as if calling to something beyond the Hollow's walls.
Before he could react, a presence loomed over him. It was not human. It was a predator, a creature that had no need for words. Rin's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the feeling of a soul attempting to invade his own, to worm its way inside him. His senses flared, and instinctually, he reached for the Death Echo Talisman at his waist, but it was too late.
The thief was already upon him. It moved with inhuman speed, an amorphous shadow that shifted and flowed like liquid. Its hands were claws, reaching for his throat, seeking to crush his soul. There was no face—no true identity—just an empty, hungry mask of intent.
Rin reacted instinctively, but his limbs were slow, sluggish. The soul-thief was too fast, its essence already beginning to twist around his own, binding him in a cocoon of suffocating darkness. His mind flashed to his Second Body, a vessel made from death, and in the haze of his awareness, he realized the truth: the skin thief wasn't just trying to steal his body, it was attempting to erase his identity. The thief wanted to wear him.
A low, mocking laugh echoed in his mind, a voice filled with disdain and hunger.