The author narrates.
The air inside the corridor suddenly stagnated, heavy with a rancid stench of old metal, mold, and a humidity so dense it felt almost oily to breathe. It was the atmosphere of a crypt that had remained sealed for centuries, one where time didn't pass, but rather rotted away. Vikram and Bi's footsteps no longer echoed; the sound died away, trailing along the peeling walls. The witch stared at him. Her milky pupils remained motionless, devoid of that human flicker that lends warmth to a gaze.
"Oh, you have high hopes..." Bi murmured in a gentle, almost soothing voice. She glanced for barely a second at the cracked ceiling, making a subtle gesture with her head, as if following the steps of a long-rehearsed ritual. But answer me just one thing, dude…
Vikram, feeling the ground beneath his worn sneakers growing increasingly alien, ran his large hand over the back of his neck, scratching it awkwardly. The weight of his tactical backpack was starting to heat his back, but he didn't want to unload it; it was his only link to the outside world.
"Sure, put it down," he replied, forcing a lopsided smile onto his full lips, unsure whether to appear friendly or lethal.
"Do you have the slightest idea how you're going to get out of here?" Bi inquired, interlacing his pale fingers in front of his black cloak.
"Honestly… no," the influencer admitted, trying to maintain the casual, laid-back tone he used in his videos. However, his deep voice faltered imperceptibly on the last syllable. The car's engine died the moment I passed the town sign, and it seems I've ended up trapped in some kind of bizarre apocalypse. Do you know how to get out?
Bi didn't flinch. A spark of cold amusement flashed in the back of her mind. The smile she suppressed wasn't one of open malice, but rather that of an underworld entity watching prey take the bait with perfect innocence. She knew the rules of this purgatory of rust and ash, and Vikram had just signed up to be there.
"Oh, of course I know it," the witch assured him, taking a graceful step toward him. "I know the exit like the back of my hand. I know every nook, cranny, and secret of Silent Hill."
"Damn, that's some luck," Vikram blurted out, puffing out his chest, feeling himself regain a shred of control. "And where exactly is it? How the hell do I get there?"
"Hold on, sir," Bi said, raising a slender-fingered hand to stop the gigantic influencer's momentum. "First of all, you need to submit to the trial. A punishment, a penance… call it what you will, but it's the only price you can pay to move forward and leave this place."
Vikram frowned, his dark eyebrows forming a hard line above his eyes. A silent alarm bell started ringing in his head; the conversation was veering into territory with hidden rules he didn't like at all.
"What the hell do you mean by punishment and trial?" he asked, his tone turning dry and intimidating.
"I mean, I do know the way out," Bi replied, tilting her head with exasperating calm. "But for me to guide you to it, you'll have to pass a test of blood and flesh."
Vikram's gaze swept over her. Panic, the repressed desire for the girl's strange beauty, and that stubborn need to defy the unknown swirled in his stomach into an explosive cocktail. He took a step forward, invading the witch's space with his imposing 6'4" frame, trying to use his physique as a shield.
"I still don't understand a damn thing, but fine," he blurted out with forced bravado, narrowing his eyes with a lascivious smirk. "What exactly do I have to do? You want to sleep with me? Is that it?"
The words came out rough, direct, unfiltered. Bi narrowed her translucent eyes. She wasn't offended, nor scandalized. There it was: Vikram's desire in its purest and rawest form, the engine that drove him. The witch pretended to ignore the direct proposition, but mentally noted the immense value of this exchange.
"First of all... I'm going to tell you something fundamental," Bi's tone changed drastically; her voice abandoned its flirtatious sweetness and adopted a heavy, ceremonial cadence that seemed to make the plaster walls vibrate. "I'm going to tell you this so you're aware and don't do something stupid like run out of this building, only to die defenseless at the hands of the hungry creatures out there."
A chill ran down Vikram's spine, climbing like a trail of ants to the nape of his neck. It wasn't the mention of monsters that disarmed him, but the lifeless solemnity with which Bi pronounced each syllable. He swallowed, feeling a rough lump in his throat. He looked at the young woman's face, searching for a mocking expression that would tell him it was all a joke for her channel, but he found nothing.
Bi raised her hand with an almost hypnotic grace and placed it directly on the center of Vikram's muscular chest. The contact was cold, like metal exposed to the elements.
"My mistress wants your soul, to be perfectly honest," the witch blurted out without any warning.
"What...? Why the hell would she want my soul?!"
The influencer's voice cracked completely. The mask of tough, seductive charm disintegrated in an instant. His dark eyes opened wide, flooded with that visceral, primal alertness only experienced in the worst lucid nightmares. The air grew unbearably thick, as if the walls of the hallway had moved inward, trapping him.
Bi moved even closer, gliding like a shadow.
"Don't panic yet, sweetheart," she said in a falsely maternal tone, letting her hand travel up to Vikram's firm shoulder. "It's not a literal death... or at least, not like they portray it in those religious books you respect so much. Relax, we haven't gotten to the really exciting part yet."
The kid froze. His breathing, previously steady from exercise, became heavy and ragged. In his lowered hand, his phone continued capturing the scene, but the live stream was crashing. The thousands of comments began to slow down, the alert emojis repeated in endless loops, and the interface flickered erratically. The digital bubble was about to burst.
The elevator's ultraviolet light flickered less frequently, plunging the hallway into intervals of violet gloom. The surroundings seemed to hold their breath alongside the influencer.
"So that damn 'mistress' of yours wants my soul? What the hell does that mean?" Vikram inquired, scanning the witch's face with a quick glance, desperate to catch any weakness. "And what's the blessed exciting part?"
Bi narrowed his eyes, savoring the titan's panic.
"So that my mistress doesn't claim your soul immediately... you're going to be punished," he explained slowly, enjoying the echo of his own words. "A just punishment."
Vikram swallowed again. The dry sound in his throat betrayed him completely in the deathly silence.
"You know what? I don't care…" he blurted out with a nervous, high-pitched laugh that wouldn't have convinced even the most naive of his followers. "I'll accept any punishment, any challenge you throw at me, as long as you help me get out of this shit alive and with my soul intact. All good, then. What do we have to do?"
Bi tilted her head slightly, satisfied. Vikram's submissive response felt like a signature stamped in invisible blood.
"Okay," she nodded with a chilling gentleness. "Give me your right hand. But first, take off your jacket. I need to see your forearm."
Vikram blinked, doubt etched on his face. His full lips pressed together, wanting to refuse, but reason screamed that he had no other choice. With unusually unsteady fingers, he peeled off the heavy jacket, revealing the black sleeveless shirt that exposed his broad shoulders and athletic arms. He left the garment hanging over his left shoulder and extended his right arm, firm and muscular.
Bi took his hand with a delicacy that sent shivers down the Venezuelan's spine. The witch gazed at his sculpted arm with an almost aesthetic fascination; seeing how strong and imposing Vikram looked on the outside only guaranteed that the process of breaking him on the inside would be a highly entertaining experience for her. She didn't exert any force. She simply slid the palm of her hand down the influencer's forearm until she stopped right in the center, between the supinator muscle and the main nerve.
And then, she pinched.
A sharp, whip-like pain shot through Vikram's arm, forcing him to stretch the tendons.
"Ouch…!" he cursed under his breath, clenching his jaw tightly. "Damn… it wasn't deep, but it felt really weird."
"You see, Vikram, in this purgatory, things aren't about physical torture, or spilled blood, or cheap internet horror," Bi explained, looking at him with a feigned gentleness that bordered on cruelty. "Here… things break from the inside. You entered Silent Hill dragging along a desire that was too heavy: sex as a trophy, bodily pleasure as your only outlet, and fame as the purpose of your life. And all of that comes at a price in the underworld."
And then the black miracle happened.
Right where Bi had pinched, the brown skin began to stain itself. Thick, black lines, branching like veins injected with molten fire, began to spread rapidly beneath his skin, creeping between the tendons of his forearm.
"What the hell is this?!" Vikram shouted, jerking his arm away violently. His dark eyes were bulging, and his breathing accelerated to alarming levels.
Bi maintained her feline stance. She didn't even flinch. That single pinch had been enough to inject the curse; the dark mark continued to spread on its own, twisting abstractly beneath the influencer's skin.
"Don't worry so much..." the witch said with an insulting calmness.
The black lines stopped just below the crease of his elbow, settling into an intricate pattern that seemed to subtly shift if you looked at it closely. Vikram, his heart pounding in his chest, lowered his gaze and twisted his arm in every direction, dumbfounded.
"Oh my God..." he whispered, letting out a long, panicked sigh. "For a moment I thought this thing was going to be permanent." He let out a forced, crude laugh, trying to regain his alpha-male demeanor. "But I have to admit it looks killer, like a top-tier tattoo..."
Bi grinned from ear to ear. For the first time, his expression became genuinely active, dangerous.
"Well. The curse you must fulfill to save your soul… consists of sleeping with and having sex with at least twenty Executioners from this underworld. Or more, if the territory requires it."
The little blood that remained in Vikram's face evaporated.
"What… what are 'the' Executioners?" he inquired, his voice losing all its manly power, becoming a broken thread.
"Oh, no, no, no… not 'the,' hehe," Bi corrected with a sing-song chuckle that echoed like cemetery bells. "'The' Executioners, Vikram. Masculine."
The gigantic influencer froze completely, as if he had been buried in ice. The silence in the hallway became so dense and heavy that it seemed to crush his shoulders. His eyebrows shot up sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly his molars ground together, and his eyes locked onto Bi, desperately searching for a glimmer of mockery, a sign that this was all just a damn mind game.
He didn't find it.
His fingers trembling uncontrollably, Vikram glanced down at his phone screen. With a quick, clumsy flick of his thumb, he swiped the control panel and tapped the microphone icon. Muted. No one on the live stream would hear what he was about to say. His millions of followers were now silent witnesses to his downfall.
"I... I just wanted to have some fun, okay?" Vikram muttered, staring at the black mark on his arm. It didn't seem cool anymore. It was abhorrent, disturbing. He wanted to tear his skin off with his fingernails. "I didn't want a curse from this shit."
Bi nodded with a ceremonial slowness, like someone closing a book they've read too many times.
"Of course. Have fun. Be desired. Be stared at. Have the whole world unable to tear its eyes away from what you do, from what you provoke with that body of yours," the witch declared, taking a step toward him. "But in this town, your deepest desires become your own law. If your obsession is to be desired and to have sex… that will be your curse. Only in reverse. Hell is going to give you exactly what you asked for, Vikram."
With each word from the young woman, the ceramic hallway seemed to shrink. Vikram began to sweat profusely, overwhelmed by a claustrophobia that no longer stemmed from his surroundings, but from within himself.
"And what am I supposed to do? How the hell do I get out of here if I accept?" he asked again, his deep voice completely serious, devoid of any trace of irony. He needed to confirm the atrocity he had just heard.
Bi moved closer, standing mere centimeters from her chest. The cell phone, held by Vikram's limp hand, inadvertently focused on the witch's face. Her gaze no longer reflected anything human; it was the pure inevitability of fate.
"I'm going to repeat it one last time, damn it," she spat, her sweetness momentarily gone. "You're going to be the protagonist of a trial of desire and flesh. If you surrender your body to twenty Executioners and survive the intensity of their encounters, you can leave with your soul and your precious life. If you lose or refuse, you'll be trapped here forever. Just another toy of the village. A living symbol. Twenty Executioners, Vikram. Not one less."
"No way am I doing that shit! You're crazy, you little brat!" "—Vikram exploded, his sharp voice crackling with a fury that was nothing more than pure fear disguised as aggression. He clenched his fists, his jaw trembling.
Bi blinked slowly, maintaining an impeccable composure that disarmed any attempt at physical intimidation.
"Oh, yeah? And why not?" he asked with an almost insulting naiveté, as if he were offering her an ordinary deal.
"Because that shit would ruin my reputation, damn it! Women will run away from me if they find out!" Vikram shouted, frowning, his voice cracking with wounded pride and a deep masculine shame. The alpha male status he had so painstakingly honed in the gym and on the streets was crumbling before a witch.
Bi let out a stifled laugh, barely covering his lips with his fingers.
"You're not going to be live-streaming your encounters, you idiot," he said disdainfully, pointing at the phone the influencer was holding slackly.
The comment hit Vikram like a bullet to the chest. He was right. The chat continued in ghostly silence, oblivious to the pact that was being forged.
With a clumsy, listless movement, Vikram dropped his phone to the ground, right next to his tactical backpack and skateboard. He let go of them as if those objects, symbols of his influencer life, no longer belonged to him in that realm of reality. He took two steps forward, closing the distance with Bi, feeling that the heat of his own rage was the last shield he had left before he burst into tears or succumbed to total panic.
"Let me see if I understand this madness correctly..." He ran a large hand over his face, rubbing his eyes in despair, trying to grasp the situation in which his own pride had buried him. "So you want me to go and sleep with a bunch of guys? Is that what you want?"
Bi held his gaze, her milky pupils exuding a cold, almost maternal compassion.
"Basically, Vikram... they aren't 'guys.' They're Executioners of the Underworld. Creatures made of shadow, desire, and punishment."
"It's the same damn shit!" he exclaimed, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, feeling that fury was no longer enough to contain the terror.
"Hey, watch your tone with me..." Bi murmured with icy calm. "I'm trying to help you with a very simple solution."
"Simple?!" "Sending me off to get fucked by a bunch of guys?!" he gestured to himself with both hands, his eyes wide, staring at the girl with a mixture of disgust, shame, and utter panic.
"That's the deal. It's simple..." she replied, crossing her arms and looking down the hallway, as if the sentence had been written in stone centuries ago. "Or if you prefer, I'll let my lady rip your soul out right here, and just like that, your life ends on this damned floor. Your choice."
The witch's words acted like a brutal physical blow. Vikram took two steps back, feeling the air harden and his breath cut short. His legs, those strong limbs he was so proud of, completely gave way.
THUD!
He fell on his buttocks, crawling backward until his back hit the cracked plaster wall. He crouched, his nearly two meters of muscle reduced to a tragic figure. He placed his palms on the ashen floor, feeling a violent tremor shake his entire body, a oscillation between his shattered pride and the very real panic of dying.
Bi didn't move. I didn't try to touch him or comfort him. She remained upright, as if the entire building responded only to her will.
"Then stop whining like a little kid," the witch said in a neutral voice. Just keep your phone away and on silent, so your precious "fans" don't have to see you giving yourself to them.
Vikram lay on the ground, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling violently beneath his tank top. He glanced down at his right forearm; the black mark glowed under the ultraviolet light, alive, throbbing faintly against his muscle. He thought about his life, his distant family in Venezuela who didn't care, his empty bank account, his damned obsession with being seen. Nothing that was happening made any biological or logical sense, but the abyss outside reminded him there was no other way out. It was that, or cease to exist.
Bi leaned subtly toward him, letting the edge of her black cape brush against the influencer's sneakers like a death rattle.
"So… what are you going to do, sweetheart?" "—he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes flashing with an otherworldly violet light.
In the distance, the screen of the cell phone lying on the floor vibrated slightly. A strange notification, with an interface Vikram had never seen on any app, flashed red letters across the dirty screen:
"NEW CHALLENGE UNLOCKED: TRIAL OF DESIRE"
The device flickered constantly, displaying two digital options that seemed to float above the screen: [ACCEPT] or [REJECT].
Any word Vikram uttered in that hallway would be heard by the device and the witch. I had only one chance: surrender his sculpted body to the Hellslayers and bow his head for the first time in his life, or let his soul be devoured in the silence of Silent Hill. His entire world, his pride, and his very existence hung in the balance.