QUICK RECAP-
After barely escaping the Vispen, Arthur, Adam, and Ruby push deeper into the Blood Cave—only to discover a chamber of horrors: preserved organs, labelled remains, and a bone-spider stitched from war victims.
They fight it, but the cave corrupts their Ether, turning Adam's water to tar and burning Ruby's glyph.
Victorious but weakened, they follow a trail of black ink to a ritual slab—where fresh tools and a heartbeat in a jar confirm someone's still experimenting.
Then, a voice drips from the shadows: "hEllO..." The chapter ends as the trio realizes—the Hollow isn't just alive. It's hungry.
-RECAP ENDS
The word still echoed.
Not screamed. Not hissed.
Just bent.
"hEllO…"
The ceiling held it like breath trapped in tar.
The trio stood frozen inside the chamber of flesh and glass and chain. Light bent toward the walls, away from their skin.
And then—
He descended.
At first, only eyes.
Red.
Slitted.
Blinking too slowly to be natural.
Then the rest.
He didn't walk.
He unfolded.
Like a mistake stretching downward.
Black hair hung in wet clusters across a stitched scalp—some threads silver, some bone. His left arm was too long, too segmented, like it had been built for grasping instead of lifting.
Fingers?
Razors.
Narrow, metallic, jointless.
They flexed as one.
His torso was a collage—sections of ribcage reinforced with darkened alloy, stitched between pieces of skin not meant to touch each other. Grafts overlapped muscle. Chains crisscrossed like veins.
His chest moved when he inhaled.
But it didn't expand.
It twitched.
The face was worst.
Half was human.
Young-looking.
Even gentle in shape.
But slit diagonally from brow to cheekbone—crossing nose, slicing lip.
Stitched.
Carefully.
The other half was bone.
But not white.
It pulsed with faint light.
Like it had absorbed Ether once… and never let go.
The skull wasn't natural.
It grinned softly.
But there was no joy.
Just muscle memory.
Arthur moved first.
Shield half-raised. Sword sheathed—but knuckles white around the hilt.
"Who…"
He faltered.
The creature stepped down onto the slab.
The chains above him stopped swaying.
The glyphs on the table flickered once.
Ruby's Light Engine sparked.
Not from weakness.
But interference.
Her eyes narrowed—but her face remained still.
Adam shifted back a step.
He didn't speak.
Just looked.
And saw the scratches.
Small etchings on the stone floor beneath the preserved organs.
Names.
Some complete.
Some interrupted.
"Therin. Bael. K-R-…"
All scratched deep.
All in the same handwriting.
Arthur's voice came out low.
"What… are you?"
The creature tilted its head.
Not curiously.
Just habitually.
Then spoke.
His tone wasn't monstrous.
It wasn't deep.
It was bored.
As if answering a question that he'd heard too many times from mouths that no longer worked.
"Bexam."
Silence.
Then again.
"A keeper. A curator. You are… specimens."
His gaze moved.
Slow.
Not looking at them.
Just organizing them.
Arthur took a step forward.
"We're not here for you."
Bexam didn't blink.
"We're not enemies," Ruby said. Her voice was firm. Controlled.
Bexam's head didn't shift.
But his eyes moved.
To her.
Then past her.
Then rested—on Arthur.
And stayed.
The silence grew thick.
Not tense.
Just observant.
Bexam didn't ask questions.
He didn't threaten.
He watched.
As if weighing skin.
Measuring breath.
Reading memories stitched into muscle.
Arthur stepped back unconsciously.
Ruby's shield dimmed.
Adam clenched his palm.
No cast.
No plan.
Just fight-or-flight short-circuited.
Bexam broke eye contact.
"Specimens adapt well under stress."
Arthur's jaw clenched.
"We're not specimens."
"No," Bexam replied, voice flat.
"You are. Not specimens before. But now."
Adam took a breath.
"Let us go."
Bexam didn't respond.
The room flickered once—chains above trembled.
Ruby's glyph distorted again.
She wiped her nose.
It bled black.
She didn't say anything.
Adam looked at the names again.
More appeared faintly now.
As if the stone itself wanted to be included.
Bexam stepped forward.
Barely.
His foot hit the slab.
A single jar pulsed.
And inside?
The heart beat faster.
Arthur gripped his blade.
Adam lowered his stance.
Ruby's dome reformed slightly.
But none of them made the first move.
Bexam tilted his stitched face slightly—grin and skull catching mismatched angles.
Then said—
"I want to begin."
Bexam tilted his stitched face to the side.
His skull half caught light oddly—like it was absorbing it. Not reflecting.
The trio remained braced.
Arthur's stance widened.
Ruby's hand hovered near her glyph.
Adam's fingers twitched restlessly.
Then the creature sighed.
Soft.
Disappointed.
"Enough talk."
He spread his arms.
Chains above rattled once.
"Let's see how you break."
Arthur didn't wait.
His shield slammed upward, blade drawn—he struck fast, straight, clean.
Bexam didn't move.
Not initially.
Only as Arthur approached did he pivot slightly—
And mimic the exact stance.
His left foot dragged in the same arc.
His right hand curved with identical weight.
Then he stepped inside Arthur's rhythm.
And caught his wrist.
No power burst.
No sound.
Just a twist.
Arthur's shoulder dislocated instantly.
Bone cracked loud.
He screamed once.
And Bexam flung him sideways—not tossed. Launched.
Arthur hit the far wall with a bone-thudding crash, shield spinning out of his grasp and landing near a jar filled with stitched lung tissue.
He didn't rise.
Adam roared.
No command.
Just reflex.
His Hydro-Volt flared violently, water erupting into curved blades that spun like saws across his arms.
He jumped, flipped, cast—
Four blades shot outward in sequence.
Bexam watched the first.
Caught it mid-air.
Twisted his razor-finger through the liquid core—
Then placed it against his lips.
And drank.
Adam blinked.
"What—"
Bexam swallowed once.
Then tossed the blade husk to the side.
"Impure. Weak."
Adam lunged anyway, casting a spiral torrent downward to destabilize footing.
The water hit.
The floor warped slightly.
But Bexam didn't lose balance.
He stepped between the water arcs and grabbed Adam mid-twist.
His fingers closed around Adam's thigh muscle—not gripping.
Penetrating.
The razors slid beneath the skin like scalpels. No blood yet. Just invasion.
Adam screamed—
And Ruby cast.
Her Light surged—beam sharp, fast, forged from fury. She aimed for the stitched face, the skull, the chest—
It struck clean.
And refracted.
Not off armour.
Not off resistance.
Off Bexam's skin.
The light didn't damage him.
It bent.
Sliced back.
And struck Ruby's own arm mid-cast, burning the forearm skin in a curl of blisters.
She dropped to one knee.
Breathing heavy.
Glyph flaring erratic.
Bexam raised one hand.
His fingers shimmered faintly now—metal filaments stretching, reshaping.
Then—
He snapped.
Ruby's left arm twisted—not broken. Warped.
Her elbow bent inward briefly—skin pulling strangely—as if her tendons forgot where to go.
She screamed.
Adam broke free just long enough to re-cast one Hydro ring—
But it fizzled in midair.
Ether too unstable.
Bexam looked at the casting.
Then at Adam.
Then—
Spoke.
"Your water remembers fear."
Adam scrambled backward.
Ruby pressed her injured arm against her glyph, trying to stabilize cast. Light formed like static now—sharp, uneven.
The two regrouped.
Arthur still down.
Breathing. Barely.
Bexam stepped toward the two.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His shoulders rippled strangely—like muscles didn't agree on where they belonged.
Ruby cast again.
A burst—wide, angled downward.
It illuminated the room.
Revealed glyphs on the floor now rearranged.
And for just a second—
Adam saw it.
One old name—"Yven"—scratched near Ruby's boot.
Just like the others.
He whispered. "He's done this before…"
Ruby didn't respond.
Her eyes stayed locked on Bexam.
Adam cast.
His final Hydro burst came from below—under Bexam's feet, aiming to split his stance.
It didn't.
The water rose.
Bexam's feet remained planted.
The liquid curled upward—
And froze into glass.
Adam blinked.
The water he'd cast?
Converted.
Solidified around Bexam's ankles in a small pedestal.
No ripple.
No break.
Ruby shifted sideways—shield blooming to a burst width—
Then it died.
Her glyph overloaded.
No Light.
Just static.
They stood together.
Adam whispered.
"Anything?"
Ruby shook her head.
"Try again."
"No juice."
Bexam vanished.
Not teleported.
Just—gone.
One flick.
One breath.
Gone from center.
And reappeared behind them.
His hands slammed outward—
Crash.
Their heads collided mid-turn.
Skull-to-skull.
Instant blackout.
Ruby fell first.
Adam collapsed over her.
Their bodies twisted in final reflex.
And Bexam stood still.
Both hands raised.
Both sets of razors extended.
His laugh didn't erupt.
It leaked.
"ehehhhhhh eggghhh…"
Like something that hadn't laughed in years.
And forgot what it meant.
Darkness held Arthur like a dream afraid to end.
He was drifting—not unconscious, just detached.
He saw James.
His son's face—wide-eyed, smiling, wind-tousled hair beneath a faded sky.
Then the image twisted.
James gasped—his eyes widened, then dimmed.
A crimson spear tore through his ribs.
Arthur screamed.
And woke.
His eyes snapped open.
Breath clashed with air.
Sweat soaked through his collar.
Arms?
Bound.
Not metal. Not rope.
Vines.
Organic vines pulsed around his wrists and forearms, humming with Ether suppression. They didn't just restrain—they drained. Each pulse tugged memory from muscle. He felt lighter, but not free.
To his left, Adam was slouched. Lips pale, fingers twitching. His Hydro glyph barely flickered—its light had collapsed.
To his right, Ruby hung quietly. Her glyph shimmered under the skin, but her nose bled black again. It dripped slowly, with precision. Her eyes blinked once, then stayed closed.
Arthur looked across the chamber.
It had changed.
The ritual room reeked deeper now—organs twitched in jars, preserved tissue rippled like disturbed pond water.
But now, opposite them, rose a chair.
A throne.
Sculpted from stitched bones, layered with leather-flesh, perched with intent.
On the back of the chair—
A face.
Bexam's face.
Not painted or carved—sculpted in living muscle.
Eyes red. Unblinking. Mouth curled in a permanent grin.
And pulsing.
Not watching.
Claiming.
Arthur shifted.
The vines clenched tighter, coiling into his rib cage.
He gritted his teeth.
Then croaked: "How long?"
The room responded.
Not with motion.
But with voice.
Soft. Amused. Bored.
"Four hours."
Arthur's thoughts collapsed.
Three hours in the cave.
Now four hours unconscious.
Seven gone.
Of the Twelve hours to reach the royal capital.
He had five hours left.
And Bexam had made them prisoners.
Even if they escaped now, five hours weren't enough.
Not through this.
Not without Ether.
Arthur jerked against the bindings.
The vines didn't break.
They pulsed tighter—one wrapped around his left shoulder, drawing pain without blood.
He coughed once.
Then:
"No. No, you don't understand—I need that time. I have to reach the capital."
He blinked back tears.
"My son—he's waiting. James."
His voice cracked.
"He's dying."
He groaned. "Please—don't do this."
Silence.
Then the throne pulsed once.
The grin rippled.
And Bexam's voice came again.
"You measure time like it obeys you."
"But time isn't a servant."
"It's a hobby."
Arthur's breath stuttered.
"I'm not asking for mercy. I'm asking for space. For distance."
He turned toward Ruby and Adam.
"Let them go. They didn't ask for this."
"They're children."
He twisted again.
"If you need pain—take me."
"Kill me."
"But leave them out of this."
The voice whispered.
But louder than thunder.
"Oh, Arthur…"
"I don't want you dead."
"I want you hopeless."
Arthur shook his head.
"No—please, not this…"
His muscles trembled. Not from fear.
From uselessness.
From knowing no movement mattered.
Then Bexam said:
"You want time?"
"Then I shall take it."
A soft click echoed through the chamber.
Vents slid open behind the organ jars.
And a mist rose.
Purple.
Sweet.
Almost comforting.
Arthur turned his head.
Tried to hold breath.
The vines around his chest pulsed harder—tightening, coaxing his lungs to work.
He gasped.
The mist entered.
And sleep became inevitable.
Across from him, Ruby's glyph glowed faintly beneath her skin.
A whisper of resistance.
Not cast.
Not loud.
But there.
Adam's fingers twitched again.
Left. Pause.
Right. Hold.
A code?
A habit?
Or something intentional?
Arthur noticed.
But couldn't warn them.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't move.
The mist slipped deeper into him—warm, heavy, drowning.
His thoughts slowed.
James's face returned.
But now blurred.
His mouth moved.
But no sound came.
Arthur clenched his jaw.
The final shred of defiance surged upward.
He didn't roar.
Didn't speak.
Just muttered through fading air—
"SHIT."
And the Hollow didn't laugh.
And as it left.
It waited.
For one of them.
To die.
**"When Time Fractures,
Despair Listens"**
END OF CHAPTER 9
-To Be Continued-