Chapter 17: **The Watchful Eyes**
The whispering voices lingered in Vito's mind, weaving an oppressive melody that made him second-guess every step. The dimly lit corridor stretched endlessly, the flickering glow of the shard casting dancing shadows on the jagged walls. His arm throbbed where the creature's tendrils had touched him, the darkened skin a constant reminder of just how close he had come to death.
He stopped to catch his breath, leaning against the cold, damp wall. The whispers grew louder for a moment, then faded into a tense silence. Vito glanced around, his blade drawn and ready. "*If something's watching me, just get it over with,*" he muttered under his breath, his voice echoing faintly.
As if in response, a faint, rhythmic tapping started behind him. He spun around, heart racing, but the corridor was empty. The sound grew louder, like footsteps echoing from the walls themselves.
"*You really don't know how to make a guy feel welcome, do you?*" Vito called out, forcing a grin despite the tension.
The shard in his pocket pulsed softly, almost as if warning him. He turned back toward the path ahead and froze. The walls on either side were lined with eyes. Not carvings or paintings, but living, blinking eyes embedded in the stone. They moved in unison, their gaze fixed on Vito.
"*Nope. Nope, nope, nope,*" Vito muttered, taking a step back. The eyes followed his every move, their unblinking stare unnerving. He tightened his grip on the shard and started forward, trying to ignore the creeping sensation crawling up his spine.
As he walked, the eyes began to shift, their pupils dilating and contracting as if whispering secrets to each other. The corridor narrowed, the walls pressing closer, forcing him to squeeze past the unsettling sentinels. He could feel their gaze burning into him, their silent judgment growing heavier with every step.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from nowhere, loud and commanding, drowning out the whispers. "*You carry what does not belong to you.*"
Vito stopped in his tracks, his pulse quickening. "*Yeah, well, it's not like it came with a name tag,*" he retorted, trying to mask his fear with humor. "*If it's yours, maybe don't leave it lying around in creepy, monster-filled mazes.*"
The voice didn't answer immediately. Instead, the eyes on the walls began to glow faintly, their intensity growing until the corridor was bathed in an eerie light. Then the voice returned, softer this time, almost amused.
"*You are bold... but boldness alone will not save you.*"
Before Vito could respond, the corridor shifted violently. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and the walls stretched and warped, the eyes twisting into grotesque shapes. He stumbled, barely managing to stay upright as the labyrinth reconfigured itself around him.
When the shaking stopped, Vito found himself in another chamber. This one was circular, the walls lined with ornate mirrors that reflected not his image, but a swirling void. In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal, and atop it rested a mask—a sleek, black piece with glowing red markings etched into its surface.
The shard in his pocket pulsed violently, as if reacting to the mask. The oppressive energy in the room was almost suffocating, but Vito's curiosity outweighed his fear. He approached the pedestal cautiously, every instinct screaming at him that this was a trap.
"*Alright, mask. What's your deal?*" he said, stopping a few feet away. The air around it seemed to ripple, as though reality itself was bending under its presence.
As if answering his question, the mirrors lining the walls came to life, each one displaying a different version of himself. In one, he was older, his face scarred and his eyes weary. In another, he was younger, his smile wide and carefree. And in one particularly unsettling reflection, he wasn't human at all—his features twisted into something monstrous, his grin full of sharp, jagged teeth.
"*Well, that's not going to give me nightmares at all,*" Vito muttered, tearing his gaze away from the reflections.
The voice returned, this time closer, as though it was speaking directly into his ear. "*The mask reveals what lies beneath. Are you prepared to see your true self, thief?*"
Vito hesitated, his fingers hovering over the mask. He didn't trust it, but something about it felt important—like it was another piece of the puzzle he desperately needed to solve.
"*Do I get a choice?*" he asked, glancing around the room.
The voice chuckled softly. "*There is always a choice. But every choice carries a price.*"
With a deep breath, Vito grabbed the mask. The moment his fingers touched it, a surge of energy shot through him, and the room dissolved into darkness. He was falling, the world spinning around him as whispers filled the void.
When the darkness lifted, he was no longer in the chamber. He stood in an open field, the sky above him a swirling mass of colors. In the distance, a massive structure loomed—a towering spire made of shifting stone and shadow. At its base, figures moved, their forms indistinct but menacing.
The mask was still in his hand, its red markings glowing faintly. He could feel its power humming beneath his fingertips, but he didn't dare put it on. Not yet.
"*What now?*" he muttered, scanning the strange landscape.
The shard in his pocket pulsed again, drawing his attention. He pulled it out and held it up, its glow brighter than before. The spire in the distance seemed to react to it, a faint light flickering at its peak.
Vito narrowed his eyes, gripping both the shard and the mask tightly. Whatever was happening, he knew it was far from over.
And as he took his first step toward the spire, a shadow passed overhead, accompanied by a deep, rumbling growl.
"*Of course,*" Vito muttered, sighing. "*Can't have a moment of peace, can I?*"
The ground trembled beneath him, and the growl grew louder, closer. Vito braced himself, his eyes scanning the horizon. He didn't know what was coming, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to be friendly.
In the distance, a massive shape began to emerge from the swirling colors of the sky, its form too large and twisted to fully comprehend.
The hunt was far from over.