Elias ran behind the woman, the howls chasing them like an invisible pack. The forest was a chaos of shadows and branches whipping their faces, but she didn't stop, pulling his arm with a strength that didn't match her scrawny body. Elias wanted to trust her, needed to trust something, but the symbol carved on the stone, with fresh blood dripping, burned in his mind. Nothing on this island was what it seemed.
The howls grew closer, louder, hungrier. Elias gripped the rusty knife, the sharp stone still in his shirt, hitting his chest with every step. The woman veered toward a hill covered in vines, dragging him after her. The ground climbed, slippery with moss and something more viscous that Elias didn't want to identify. The rotting smell was stronger here, mixed with a sick sweetness that turned his stomach.
They reached a clearing surrounded by twisted trees, their bare branches like bones. The woman stopped, panting, and pointed to a crack in the hill, half-hidden by vines. A cave, or something like it. Elias hesitated, knife ready. It could be a shelter. Or a trap. But the howls were too close, and he had no choice.
"Let's go," he whispered, pushing her toward the crack. She nodded, her eyes glinting with something he couldn't read. Fear, maybe. Or something worse.
They slipped inside, the rock scraping their skin. The crack opened into a larger cavern, the air thick and damp. The moonlight barely reached inside, but Elias saw movement in the gloom. Shadows. They weren't alone. Before he could react, the woman shoved him hard, and something hit his head. The world went black.
When he opened his eyes, pain shot through his skull like a nail. He was tied up, wrists and ankles bound with ropes made of vines and… hair. Human hair, matted and dirty. Elias tried to move, but the ropes bit into his skin. He was in the center of the cavern, surrounded by hunched figures. They weren't the savages from before, not entirely. These were organized, their movements coordinated, their eyes bright with a twisted intelligence.
The clan. They had to be. There were a dozen, maybe more, men and women reduced to skin and bone, covered in filth and dried blood. Some wore necklaces made of teeth and finger bones, others had faces painted with something dark that stank of excrement. In the center of the cavern, a low fire burned, the smoke smelling of charred meat and something fouler. Elias saw a pile of bones by the fire, some still with scraps of skin. And next to it, a puddle of fresh feces, which one of the savages scooped up with their hands and brought to their mouth, chewing with a calm that froze his blood.
Elias swallowed bile, horror pinning him in place. It wasn't just cannibalism. They ate shit, scraps, anything to fill the void in their guts. Some licked dried blood from the bones, others tore scabs from their skin and chewed them like candy. A man with long hair tangled in knots dug in the dirt, unearthing worms and shoving them in his mouth while growling with pleasure. The cavern was an altar to degradation, every gesture a reminder of what the island had done.
On the wall, lit by the fire, was the symbol again: a circle with crossed lines, carved so deep it seemed to bleed. But it wasn't blood. It was something thicker, brown, smeared with trembling fingers. Elias looked away, his stomach churning. He didn't want to know what it was.
Then he saw her. The woman who had led him. She stood by the fire, eyes down, handing Elias's knife to a tall, thin man with a face covered in scars. The leader, he guessed. She didn't look at him, but her hands shook, and for a second, Elias thought it was fear. But no. It was guilt.
"You…" Elias muttered, his voice hoarse, the ropes cutting his skin. "I helped you. I followed you. Why?"
She raised her head, just for a moment, and their eyes met. There was something there, an echo of humanity, but it was buried under layers of hunger and fear. She let out a low moan, like the one she'd made before, and looked away. The leader grunted something, not words, just guttural sounds, and she knelt, scooping a handful of excrement from the ground and bringing it to her mouth. Elias closed his eyes, disappointment hitting him harder than the pain in his head.
He had trusted her. For a moment, he'd believed they could help each other, that he wasn't alone in this nightmare. But the island left no room for hope. Only for betrayal. María used to tell him he was too stubborn, that he saw the best in people even when they didn't deserve it. "One day it's going to cost you," she'd said, half-joking. Now, tied like an animal, he wished he'd never believed her.
The leader approached, Elias's knife in his hand. The other savages formed a circle, growling in a rhythm that seemed like a broken chant. One of them, a woman with teeth filed to needle points, tore a piece of rotten flesh from a bone and offered it to the leader, who chewed it slowly, the juice dripping down his chin. Then he spat on the ground, and the others lunged to lick it, fighting like dogs.
Elias gagged, but he couldn't look away. This was a ritual, a sick parody of community. The leader raised the knife, pointing at Elias, and the growls grew louder, more urgent. They were going to kill him. Or worse. They were going to eat him, alive if they could, like they'd done with the others.
Elias struggled against the ropes, his skin tearing, blood running down his wrists. He wasn't going to die like this, not as an offering to these monsters. He thought of María, her laugh, her voice saying there was always a way out if you didn't give up. His eyes scanned the cavern, searching for something, anything. The ropes were strong, but the human hair was brittle. If he could loosen them, if he could buy time, maybe…
The leader took another step, the knife glinting in the firelight. The savages tightened the circle, their growls now a roar. Elias felt blood drip from his wrists, lubricating the ropes. He pulled harder, ignoring the pain. A strand of hair snapped, then another. It wasn't much, but it was something. His eyes locked on the leader, on the knife that was once his. If he could reach it, if he could move, he could fight.
The leader raised the knife, ready to cut. Elias pulled one more time, the rope giving a little more, his hand almost free. It wasn't going to be easy. But easy wasn't his style.