Chapter 64: The Creature
Icy white eyes emptily ran their gaze across the walls of skin.
Looking at the two crutches in its arms, it casually tossed them aside and listened to the sound of their wooden frames clatter dully against the skin walls.
Then, it planted its hand on its face-
Fwoosh.
-and released the mask constricting its hollow facial features.
Its lips sat in a neutral position, and its cheeks hung low; immovable and dead.
The creature cared little for its grim face; it cared little for its melting, boiling, and bubbling skin that actively rotted and reconstructed with Curses.
It cared little for the pain crushing it from the inside out.
And, there was no reason to care.
Its chest was hollow, for it had no heart.
Its eyes were hollow, for it had no eyes.
Its mind was hollow, for it had no soul.
The creature was hollow.
Truly, and utterly, hollow.
An amalgamation of everything that Alora had mashed together in an attempt to survive; in an attempt to retain her sanity.
That was this creature.
An existence born out of necessity; an existence willing to kneel, to lick the milk from between its mother's toes.
Surveying the skin walls, it attempted to raise its legs, to stamp at the eyeballs littering the ground, blinking and reverberating the room with subtle vibrations, but its legs held no strength. It paused for a moment, then-
CRACKLE-!
-a terrifying burst of Cursed flames rushed out of the creature's body, the Curses flooding through its veins, clicking every piece of its tattered body together as waves of strength surged through it.
It held no interest in holding back, in worrying over the aftereffects of using Curses uninhibited.
With newfound levels of power coursing through its body, it finally lifted its feet and slammed them into the ground.
A rush of rattling vibrations echoed into the ground and then retreated straight back into its legs; the ground of skin had reflected the attack.
Splat.
Pieces of the creature's skin burst, revealing the flesh beneath as blood dripped out. Yet, seconds later, black stitches stuck the creature's ripped flesh back together, shutting the injury.
"This creature can barely damage the skin. Is that this creature's punishment? Must it relentlessly attack the walls of skin until it escapes, having almost killed itself by the end?"
But, saying that, the creature shook its head.
"That's not possible; that level of punishment is still mild. That's not severe enough."
Shutting off the valve that had been turning its Curses into flames, it rolled its knuckles across its chin. It contemplated the meaning of this room once again, this time from a more neutral perspective.
A mental challenge?
No, the Mistress already understands how broken this creature's psyche is.
Then...
Is this creature inside something?
"..."
...Well, obviously it's inside this room, but what this creature meant by that was:
Is this creature within another?
Feeling the vibrations rush through the skin-patched ground and into its body, feeling that rhythmic sensation that seemingly emulated the pattern of regular breaths-
Breathing?
Right.
This room, it breathes.
Meaning...
This room is the creature, and this creature isn't within another creature.
Instead, this creature is trapped by another creature.
This is a trap.
The first step of the punishment.
I must destroy this skin-esque room at the cost of destroying this creature's pitiful, frail body. Then, and only then, will the true punishment arise;
Only then will the Mistress' punishment reveal itself.
"Understood, mother."
Releasing those words, it stepped forward. Its feet fluttered across the blinking eyelashes, it squelched and stomped on the exposed pupils, and drifted through the millions of fine hairs. The breathing pores wailed with pain, but it spared them no thought.
It merely walked onwards to the foremost wall of skin.
The pupils lining the wall stared down at it with rage; manic rage.
Nevertheless, it lifted its fist.
It bombarded its innards with Curses, it amplified its body-
Splat!!!
Its fist almost exploded, splintered bones bloomed with flowery thorns out of its burst flesh; blood pooled down its broken, open, fleshy, frail fist.
Did it hurt?
Yes.
But did the creature care?
No.
Retracting its fist, the unflinching face calmly stared at the sight of impact.
There was barely a ripple; only the blood stains remained on the wall, bearing the mark of its punch.
Next, it lifted its left arm-
Splat!!!
And repeated the same action.
Meanwhile, marks of Curses overflowed across its right hand, stitching the broken little thing back together—just in time for the next punch.
Splat!!!
The right hand broke again, but it was just in time for the left one to heal.
Splat!!!
This deranged cycle of punch, stitch, repeat bellowed its horrors throughout the room of living skin.
It made one wonder, which was the monster, the wall of living, breathing skin...
Splat!!!
Blooming blood showered the creature with baleful, Cursed, inky blood.
SPLAT!!!
Its face did not flinch.
Its body did not relent.
Over, and over-
SPLAT!!!
SPLAT!!!
It moved relentlessly.
...which one was the monster?
-----
Blood.
...Pah.
Sweat.
...Pah.
And tears.
...Pah.
For many, they would need to move out of their comfort zone to experience that struggle.
...Pah.
But for the creature, this had become its norm.
Its skin clung tight to its bones all over its exhausted, dishevelled body, and old, dry trails of sweat lined every inch of its body. Flaked, dried blood slipped down its forearms each time it shot its hands forward.
Not that it had much left for hands.
...Bone.
Ivory, Curse-etched bones.
No skin, no flesh, no blood, no muscle;
Only bone;
Only its skeleton remained.
Both skeletal fists, reinforced with Curses, shot forth repeatedly at the dented, mucus-stained, wailing skin wall.
Ideally, its legs would be in the same state by now.
However, the creature could only accept its weakness. Its legs had long lost the capability to contain enough power to dent the skin wall.
They were too weak, too fragile.
The consequences of Alora's actions, of Alora's newfound addiction.
Nonetheless.
The creature did not care.
So be it.
It did not have the capacity to care, only the capacity to move forward, onwards, no matter the difficulty;
It would press on and accept the Mistress' punishment, as it always has.
...Still.
These hands are useless.
It had stitched the torn skin and flesh at the boundary of its wrist, so the transition from human flesh to bone was quite smooth.
The bones shone with dreary Curses, the never-ending flow of Curses.
Alas, its body was inherently human, meaning the lack of muscle, flesh, tendons, and skin drastically reduced its strength.
So be it.
It lowered its arms.
Then.
It stepped closer.
Close enough for its head to touch the wall of skin.
There, it retracted its forehead-
THUD!!!
-and poured its strength into it, slamming the dented wall of skin.
Continue.
---
A curled-up cat.
That's what she looked like from afar.
A tiny, balled-up bundle of flesh; a quivering, quaking, and crying bundle.
She dug her head into her knees, curling up in hopes of feeling some warmth, some comfort.
Yet.
All she felt-
[It hurts.]
[Stop hitting it.]
[It hurts.]
[My hands hurt.]
[My head hurts.]
[My elbows hurt.]
[My shoulders hurt.]
...the girl's golden hair cuddled her, embracing her with the faintest of warmth.
But it was not enough.
The girl was hurting.
And she couldn't stop crying, pooling the world beneath her in an ocean of salty, vile, Cursed tears;
Tears were overflowing from the roots of her burning white eyes.
Even then, it wasn't enough.
The pain was growing, spreading, and taking root deeper and deeper into her heart.
She was worried, worried that the pain might spread deep enough to infiltrate this carefully built haven; this haven that had been carved from the blood of over a hundred punishments.
[Please, stop it.]
It begged, yet...
---
CRACK!!!
The creature pulled back its splintered, skeletal shoulder.
It took a deep breath with blood pooling in its eyelids, exposed, fractured bones of her forehead leaked fluid incessantly. It had been mere seconds away from bursting its brain into pieces.
And now, from the tips of her fingers, to her arms, her upper arms, to her shoulders, and her forehead, it was merely bone etched with Curses.
Nonetheless, the creature gazed quietly at the light seeping in from the broken wall of skin. A portion of one of the massive eyeballs had burst during the endeavour, flooding the ground beneath her feet with eyeball fluid and oddly-textured mucus.
The creature was drenched in fluid.
Fortunately, it had won.
The wall of skin had died; it had killed it.
Lifting its feet, the creature trudged onwards through the broken patch of skin. It left behind a trail of unworldly fluid and blood as it walked forth; the blood seeped from the few veins and capillaries remaining on its shoulders.
Its shoulders had a couple of crushed veins remaining, creating an eerie combination of Curse-etched, black bones and vivid, dark-red blood oozing down its skeleton.
But the moment the creature stepped out of the enclosed walls of skin-
Squelch.
-muscle, veins and tendons began bursting out of her torn flesh, rebuilding what had been lost grotesquely.
Then came the flesh and skin, covering the innards of her newly built shoulders, arms, hands, and forehead.
The pangs of pain drifted away, easing the constant tension that had been boring down on the creature alongside the compounded agony of constantly cracking and rebuilding the bones in its hands so that it could move them.
There had been no muscle and tendons left, after all, how else could it have clenched and moved them without breaking and stitching them thousands of times with each minute movement?
Unlike the usual pain of the flowing Curses, having its Curses flow through the bone marrow was another level of torture.
Yet, the creature could handle it.
It had to handle it.