The Altar of Rotten Skin

Chapter 2

The digital digits on the cracked, scratched screen of my burner phone glowed a sharp, mocking blue against the suffocating darkness of the night.

- ​12:47 AM -

​Midnight had long since bled into the early hours of the new day, leaving the world around me entirely cold, hollow, and utterly indifferent.

I walked with a slow, dragging stride down the center of the empty asphalt street.

The neighborhood was dead. The streetlamps were spaced far too apart, casting long, skeletal shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement before swallowing me whole in the massive gaps of pitch blackness.

​A bitter, damp wind sliced through the thin fabric of my clothes, forcing me to tightly pull the oversized, dark hoodie closer around my frame. I had just stolen it ten minutes ago from a small, dimly lit convenience store I passed by on the edge of this desolate neighborhood, desperation driving my hands to snatch anything to mask my shivering form. The store had been completely empty, the cashier dozing off behind the counter, allowing me to slip the item off a low display rack near the door and walk out unnoticed into the freezing night.

It was far too large, hanging off my frail shoulders like a heavy shroud, but it was the only shield I had against the biting midnight air.

​Every single step I took was a symphony of dull, throbbing agony.

My jaw, still tender and completely misaligned from Sunha's brutal slaps in the school hallway, clicked rhythmically with every ragged breath I drew from my lungs. My fingers, crudely wrapped in cheap, stiff gauze I had filched from the school infirmary trash before fleeing, felt bloated, stiff, and utterly ruined.

The bone Sunha had twisted until it cracked was a focal point of white-hot heat that radiated up my forearm, a constant, sickening reminder of his touch.

​Yet, despite the overwhelming physical distress, my mind was a hyperactive engine, turning over the same agonizing questions, grinding them down into dust, and rebuilding them into fresh monuments of absolute despair.

​Why?

​The syllable echoed in the deep cavern of my chest, heavy and suffocating.

​Why does nobody see me? Why does nobody notice me as the real Min-ji? Why is all of this happening to me?

​I pulled the stolen hood lower over my face, my gaze fixed entirely on the scuffed, dirty toes of my shoes as they moved across the asphalt. I had looked directly into the expressionless eyes of the school nurse. I had looked into the eyes of the dozens of students who stood in that mocking circle in the courtyard, watching me writhe and bleed into the dirt after Sunha threw me from the second-story window.

I had even looked into the mirror.

The glass didn't lie, but it didn't tell the truth either. Staring back at me from the windowpane and the mirrors had been those striking, deep purple eyes. The long, flawless raven-black hair. The elegant, sharp jawline that belonged exclusively to my deceased sister, Min-seo.

​But beneath that stolen, angelic skin, I was screaming. My true soul was clawing at the inside of those purple eyes, begging for someone-anyone-to look past the beautiful, problematic facade and see the pathetic, love-starved girl shivering in the dark.

​I am Min-ji. Why am I the one trapped in this skin? Why am I the one being addressed as Min-seo, forced to take the absolute blame for her actions, her reputation, and the absolute chaos she left behind? How did reality even twist itself into this impossible anomaly? It made absolutely no sense. My mind kept spinning in circles, desperately grasping for a rational answer that simply wasn't there. Why did the world decide to erase my identity? Why did it force me into the center of a violent storm I never asked to be a part of?

​And yet, despite the terrifying confusion of my existence, I couldn't stop my mind from spinning back to the school. I couldn't stop thinking about the way they all looked at me with such pure, unbridled malice, treating me like an object meant to be broken.

​But Sunha...

​My thoughts took a sharp, volatile turn, my heart hammering against my ribs at the mere mental invocation of his name. A strange, intoxicating warmth bloomed in my chest, fighting against the midnight chill and my own broken logic.

​Sunha is different. He must be.

​It was a delusional, desperate thought, but my fractured mind clung to it like a drowning person clutching a razor-sharp blade. Sunha had beaten me. He had broken my bone. He had stood by while I was choked. But when he looked at me, his eyes weren't empty.

​He loves me, I whispered to myself, my lips trembling in the dark as I denied his horrific violence. He wouldn't hurt me this badly if he didn't care. The slaps, the broken fingers, the window... it's just his way of holding onto me. He knows I'm Min-ji. We belong together in the dark.

​I was so deeply entangled in the web of my own rationalizations, so completely lost in the labyrinth of my pathetic trauma, that I became entirely detached from my surroundings. I didn't hear the soft, deliberate scrape of a rubber-soled shoe on the pavement behind me. I didn't notice the way the distant streetlamp flickered and died, plunging the stretch of road ahead into total obscurity.

​The sudden realization of danger came a fraction of a second too late-a sharp shift in the air pressure, the faint scent of rusted iron, and the rush of displaced wind.

​*CRACK*

​A sharp, blinding explosion of agony erupted at the base of my skull. A heavy, solid wood baseball bat connected brutally with the back of my head with harsh, unyielding force. The sheer power of the impact sent a violent vibration straight down my spine. I didn't even have time to scream.

​ The world instantly inverted, spinning into a dizzying smear of blackness. My knees buckled beneath me instantly, my body collapsing onto the asphalt. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth as my cheek scraped the rough pavement. The wet chill of blood began to seep from the back of my head, matting my raven hair, before the darkness finally rushed in, dragging me down into a deep, heavy void.

​The transition from the darkness was a violent shock to my entire system.

​My eyes snapped open, my retinas instantly scorched by a blinding, oppressive glare coming from high above. A sharp, ragged breath tore through my parched throat, revealing a raw, scratching pain. I tried to move, tried to bring my hands up to shield my eyes, but my limbs refused to respond to my commands.

​A sudden, terrifying weight pulled against my shoulders and wrists. I blinked rapidly, tears of pain clearing the crust from my eyes, and the horror of my physical situation began to materialize through the haze.

​I wasn't on the dark street anymore.

​I was suspended high in the air, my body entirely upright, pinned and tied tightly to a massive, rough-hewn wooden pole that extended from the floor up into the darkness of an impossibly high ceiling. My arms were stretched out wide to my sides, my wrists bound securely to a crossbeam with thick, coarse hemp ropes that bit deep into my skin, cutting off the circulation until my hands turned a sickly, bruised purple. My feet were pressed together, bound tightly at the base of the pole.

​I was tied exactly like a sacrificial lamb-like Jesus tied to a pole when he died, left to hang, suffer, and bleed.

​The room I was in was incredibly fancy, carrying the terrifying, grand scale of an ancient, perverted kingdom. High above, the ceiling was lost in shadows, supported by monolithic stone pillars. The air was thick and heavy, carrying the suffocating stench of copper, stale sweat, and decaying flesh.

​My breath came in rapid, panicked wheezes as I forced my head to turn, my purple eyes widening as I took in the details of the walls around me.

​The walls were a living nightmare.

​Pinned and tied directly to the stone surfaces were what appeared to be real human body parts-arms, torsos, and legs, arranged in a grotesque display.

Some parts still twitched with residual nerve endings against the stone. Below them, sitting on the polished, dark floor, were several human heads, completely separated from their bodies, their dead, cloudy eyes staring blankly at the center of the room where I hung.

​And interspersed between these grisly trophies were hundreds of photographs of me.

​I felt a sickening lurch in my stomach as I recognized my current face in the pictures. The photographs captured me in the most horrible, degrading, and injured states imaginable-bloody, bruised, crying, captured through hidden lenses in the school hallways and the infirmary.

​Directly opposite me, mounted on the wall like a profane altar, was a massive television screen. The screen flickered to life with a sharp, static hum, displaying a large picture of me completely bare, my body trembling, while a grotesque, oversized pig mask was forced onto my head.

​"No..." I croaked out, my voice a pathetic, husky whisper that was instantly swallowed by the vast emptiness of the hall. "Please... help me..."

​My plea was answered by a sudden, synchronized movement from the shadows surrounding the base of my pole.

​From the darkness between the stone pillars, figures began to step forward. They moved with a slow, deliberate, almost mechanical grace, forming a wide, impenetrable circle around me. There were dozens of them, all clad in heavy, midnight-black robes that dragged along the floor, completely concealing their forms. But it was their faces that sent a violent wave of pure terror through my system.

​They were all wearing masks. Terrifying, scary masks designed to induce absolute horror.

​Directly in front of me stood a figure wearing a mask with a human face, but the features were violently distorted, the mouth stretched wide open in a permanent, scary look that seemed to mimic a silent scream of agony.

​To my left, another figure loomed, its face hidden behind a massive, matte-black crow mask.

From the temples of the avian skull, two jagged, crimson demon horns curled upward toward the ceiling.

The eyes of the crow mask were deep, synthetic rings that glowed a piercing red, with trails of wet, artificial blood painted to look like they were permanently bleeding down the black feathers.

​Every direction I turned, a new terror awaited me.

​Another robe-clad figure wore a heavy, fleshy pig mask. But the skin of the pig wasn't smooth; it was covered in slimy, iridescent fish skins that caught the harsh light like a rotting sea creature. Direct in the center of the pig's forehead, a strange geometric symbol was burned deep into the material.

​Next to the fish-skin pig was a figure wearing an oversized baby mask. The plastic skin was unnaturally pale, but the jaw had been completely detached, hanging wide open to reveal rows of jagged, rusted iron teeth inside the dark cavity of the scary mouth.

​And right beside it was a figure standing slightly closer than the rest, its head covered in a massive, bulbous cockroach mask. The surface of the mask was a dark, greasy brown, and it was entirely covered in dozens of small, twitching, multifaceted eyes that seemed to track my every micro-expression.

​The floor beneath these figures was a lake of crimson. A thick, dark pool of blood covered the entire central area of the room, reflecting the harsh spotlights above like a mirror of pure gore. I could feel the coldness of the atmosphere seeping into my bare feet, which hung just inches above the bloody surface.

​I was entirely trapped. A helpless little rabbit surrounded by a pack of apex predators wearing the faces of demons.

​-Hahaha... Hahahahaha!-

​A sound erupted from high above, shattering the tense, heavy silence of the room. It was a loud, manic, booming laughter that carried an absolute, terrifying sense of amusement. The laughter echoed off the stone pillars, amplifying until it filled every corner of the vast cathedral, vibrating right through the wooden pole I was bound to.

​My head snapped upward, my purple eyes desperately searching the upper levels of the room.

Enclosing the entire hall at the second-story level was a grand, circular interior balcony​. Standing right at the center of that balcony, leaning over the gilded iron railing with an air of complete, lazy dominance, was Baek Sunha.

​He had discarded his school uniform jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his pale, strong forearms. In his right hand, he casually swirled a delicate, long-stemmed crystal glass filled with dark, blood-red wine. On his face was a lazy, crooked grin-an expression of pure, unadulterated sadistic pleasure.

​"Look at you," Sunha called down, his voice dripping with a cruel, dangerous playfulness that made my heart leap in a sick mixture of terror and intense, broken affection. "Look at how perfectly you fit on that pole, Min-seo. A pathetic little martyr."

​"Sunha..." I cried out, my voice cracking, my body straining against the heavy ropes as I looked up at him. My eyes were wide with a sickening, desperate hope, pleading for him to look at me, to claim me, to end this nightmare.

I didn't see the monster who had ordered my kidnapping; my broken mind saw the only anchor I had left in the world. "Sunha, please! Help me! What is this place?"

​Sunha didn't answer me directly. Instead, his lazy grin widened into something completely unhuman, dark shadows casting over his sharp features from the lights below. He threw his head back and unleashed another manic, booming laugh, a sound so loud and crazed that it echoed violently through the room.

​"Help you?" Sunha roared, his voice dropping into a deep, commanding register that vibrated with absolute insanity.

He stepped away from the railing, throwing his arms out wide as if embracing the entire grotesque room, his gaze locking onto my trembling form with a cold, predatory ownership that proved he held my life completely in his hands.

"Why would I help you? You look so much more beautiful when you're broken, Min-seo. Look around you This is my kingdom! These are my disciples!"

​He began to pace along the circular balcony, his leather boots clicking sharply against the floor. His movements were erratic, driven by a manic, terrifying energy.

​"​ Look at me. I am the god of this room!" he shouted down at me, his dark eyes flashing with a lethal, intoxicating intensity. ​"​You think death is an escape? I will break you, mend you, and slaughter you ten thousand times over on this very floor-and each time, you will crawl back to press your lips against my boots. Because I am the only deity that hears your screams. I am the hand that molds your flesh, the master who owns your breath, the author of your pulse. I am your genesis, your damnation, your everything. Worship me, or choke on the vacuum of a world without me!"

​I stared up at him, my breath completely catching in my throat.

The sheer weight of his words, the absolute certainty in his voice-it was terrifying, yet to my warped, starving psyche, it was the most intense form of validation I had ever received.

He wasn't ignoring me. He was claiming me. He was telling me that my entire existence belonged to him, even if that existence meant dying a thousand times.

​He loves me, my mind screamed through the terror, denying the horrific reality of his violence. He thinks I'm his. He's a god, and I'm his creature.

​Before I could process the thought, Sunha's expression shifted from manic grandeur to sudden, volatile fury. With a swift, aggressive motion, he raised the crystal glass of wine in his hand and hurled it directly down at my head.

​"Worship me!" he screamed, his manic laughter cutting through the air.

​The glass cut through the empty space, spinning rapidly, the dark red wine spraying out like an arc of fresh blood. I flinched violently, closing my eyes and bracing for the impact that would shatter my skull.

​*SMASH*

​The crystal glass didn't hit my head. It collided brutally with the wooden pole just beside my head instead, shattering into a thousand glittering shards that broke apart and rained down onto my shoulder and into the pool of blood below.

​Sunha didn't care that he missed. In fact, the violence of the act seemed to fuel his mania even further. He began to dance-a slow, erratic, completely crazy dance along the balcony of the second floor, his body moving to an internal, broken rhythm as his manic laughter continued to echo through the high ceiling. He was dancing like crazy upstairs, completely lost in his own sick amusement, deriving a twisted pleasure from watching me tremble helplessly beneath him.

​Then, the people around me in the black robes began to move.

​They didn't approach my pole. Instead, they raised their hands, their long black sleeves swaying like the wings of vultures, and began to sway in unison to a sudden, terrifying sound that began to rise from the edges of the room.

​A low, discordant hymn rose from the masked crowd.

​It was a slow, deliberately paced melody that carried a profound, heavy tone of horror for my ears. The figures didn't have instruments, but their voices blended together into a deep, guttural chant that sounded completely devoid of human warmth. The melody was discordant, the intervals between the notes designed to grate against my mind, creating a suffocating sense of dread that compressed the air inside my lungs.

​"In the garden of the blind, the rabbit learns to bleed..." they chanted, their voices muffled and distorted through the scary masks. "The master carves the skin, the creature begs to feed..."

​To my ears, the music was pure, unadulterated horror. It vibrated through my bound bones, every low note sending a violent shiver down my spine, making my head throb to the point of nausea where the baseball bat had struck me. It was a funeral dirge for my sanity, a soundtrack to my impending execution.

​But high above, Sunha was enjoying it completely.

​He spun and moved along the railing, his white shirt catching the light as he danced like crazy from the balcony to the horrifying chant of his masked disciples. He looked down at me through the gaps in his fingers as he covered his own face, his lazy grin never fading, his dark eyes locked onto my trembling form with a predatory, intoxicating fixation, savoring every ounce of my suffering.

​I hung from the pole, my body broken, my mind entirely shattered, suspended between a lake of blood and a dancing god who wanted to watch me die thousands of times. And as the slow, horrifying music grew louder, filling my ears until I couldn't even hear my own gasps for air, I looked up at the silhouette of Baek Sunha and felt a terrifying, absolute certainty wash over me.

​I was completely, utterly in love with the monster who had built this hell just for me.

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