Regna’s scream pierced the night, her voice raw and desperate as it echoed across the endless fields.
"Rayne!" she cried, her anguish carrying far beyond the small clearing where she knelt, holding her friend’s cold, lifeless body in her trembling arms.
The sound was filled with a grief so deep it seemed to shake the very earth beneath her. Kassie and the others, who had been huddled together in anxious silence, heard the scream reverberate through the darkness. Kassie’s eyes widened in recognition, a chill running down her spine as she recognized the voice.
"Regna," she whispered, her heart clenching with fear.
Something terrible had happened, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
"You guys wait here,"
"I’m going to find her."
Without waiting for a response, she took off in a sprint, her feet pounding the ground as she raced toward the direction of the scream. The night air was cold and sharp against her skin, but she ignored the discomfort, driven by a growing sense of dread.
Meanwhile, Regna clutched Rayne's still body close, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It’s my fault," she murmured through her sobs, rocking Rayne gently as if trying to bring her back to life.
"I’m so sorry, Rayne. I’m so, so sorry."
But Rayne remained motionless in her arms, her once bright eyes now closed, her skin pale and cold. The weight of her friend’s lifeless form pressed down on Regna’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She felt a searing pain in her head, a sudden, sharp agony that made her cry out, clutching her temples as if someone had driven a blade straight through her brain.
"M-My head... it hurts," Regna whimpered, her voice barely more than a broken whisper. The pain intensified, overwhelming her senses, and she screamed in agony, the sound mingling with her sobs.
Kassie, hearing Regna's scream of pain, pushed herself harder, her legs burning with the effort. She sprinted faster than she ever had before, her lungs screaming for air, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Every fiber of her being told her that Regna needed her, that Rayne needed her.
Suddenly, the night was pierced by an intense, blinding red light that bathed the entire field in an eerie, otherworldly glow.
RED MOON [https://i.postimg.cc/NjhhCPQX/971b6fa1-751d-4988-b81b-d0e9bc388587.jpg]
Kassie skidded to a halt, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked up. The source of the light was the moon, which now hung ominously in the sky, a giant red spot pulsating at its center like a fresh wound. It was as if the moon itself was bleeding, casting its crimson glow over the landscape. A wave of overwhelming fear crashed over Kassie, so intense and primal that it brought her to her knees. She gagged, fighting the urge to vomit as the sheer terror of the moment threatened to consume her. Her hands trembled violently, her body unable to cope with the inexplicable horror unfolding before her eyes.
"What’s going on?!" she gasped.
The red light from the moon seemed to pulsate in rhythm with her racing heartbeat, each pulse sending another wave of dread through her body. She forced herself to look away from the sky, her eyes darting toward the direction where Regna’s scream had come from. Her legs shook as she tried to stand, but the fear held her down, making it impossible to move. The sense of impending doom was suffocating, as if the entire world was collapsing in on itself, and she was powerless to stop it.
But despite the terror, Kassie knew she had to keep going. She had to reach Regna. She had to understand what was happening, why the moon bled, why the night had turned into a living nightmare. With a cry of determination, she forced herself back onto her feet, every step toward Regna filled with both dread and resolve.
As she moved forward, the red light from the moon grew brighter, the pulsating spot intensifying as if responding to her fear. The fields around her, once filled with the familiar sounds of nature, were now eerily silent, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
Kassie had never felt more terrified, more vulnerable. But she pushed on, driven by the need to save her friends, even as the horror of the situation threatened to tear her apart from the inside.
...
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit jail cell, a figure sat motionless, leaning casually against the cold stone wall. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and rust, but the woman seemed unfazed, her expression calm and composed, as if she were merely biding her time. Heathrine, the figure, let out a soft breath, her eyes half-closed in thought.
"The night of prophecy..." she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a breath.
"It should be starting very soon..."
A faint, knowing smile played on her lips, as if she were savoring the anticipation of what was to come.
Suddenly, the silence of the prison was shattered by the sounds of chaos erupting outside the building. Screams echoed through the corridors, accompanied by the clashing of metal and the deafening explosions. Heathrine’s eyes flicked open, the calm demeanor on her face giving way to a look of mild surprise.
"Huh? Is it this soon?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly as if listening to the symphony of destruction outside.
But then, her surprise quickly melted into a smile, a dark, amused smile that hinted at something more sinister beneath the surface.
From behind her, a dark mist began to seep out, coiling and slithering like a living shadow. The mist moved stealthly, slipping through the bars of her cell and disappearing into the corridor beyond. Heathrine watched it go, her smile widening as she stood up, stretching her limbs as if preparing for the main event.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, slow and uneven, accompanied by the dragging sound of something heavy. Heathrine turned her gaze toward the sound, her eyes narrowing as she watched a figure slowly limp towards her cell. The man, dressed in the uniform of a prison guard, moved as if he were under a heavy burden, his every step strained and shaky.
When he finally reached the door to her cell, he stood still, his breathing labored. Heathrine looked into his eyes and saw pure terror reflected there. His pupils darted wildly, as if he were desperately trying to regain control of his own mind his body; but something- someone, held him firmly in its grip.
"Now, open the door," Heathrine commanded, her voice laced with a quiet authority that brooked no defiance.
The man’s hand, trembling, reached into his pocket. His movements were stiff and jerky, like a marionette being controlled by invisible strings. He pulled out a set of keys, the metal jingling softly in the tense silence, and with a fumbling motion, he unlocked the cell door.
Heathrine stepped out of the cell, the smile still playing on her lips as she dusted off her clothes, brushing away the imaginary dirt with an air of casual indifference. She stretched her arms, her joints popping audibly, and took a deep breath, savoring the freedom that had just been handed to her.
The guard, now standing like a statue, stared ahead blankly, his face pale and expressionless. Heathrine snapped her fingers, and as if on cue, the man crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The dark mist that had been slithered out of his shadow and re-entered Heathrine’s body, merging seamlessly with her own.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Now, let the play commence," Heathrine whispered to herself, her voice filled with anticipation. She stepped over the guard’s body, her footsteps light and unhurried as she made her way down the corridor, heading toward the source of the chaos that had erupted outside.
The night of prophecy had begun, and Heathrine was more than ready to play her part in the unfolding drama.
Heathrine walked down the dimly lit corridor, her steps echoing off the cold stone walls. The prison was in uproar, and as she moved past the rows of cells, the prisoners - men who had long since lost hope, began shouting, their voices filled with desperation.
"What’s going on out there?!" one of the prisoners yelled, his hands gripping the bars of his cell as he tried to peer into the darkness beyond.
His cry was soon followed by others, a chorus of confused and frightened voices echoing through the corridor.
Heathrine, her face a mask of calm indifference, ignored the outbursts. She walked steadily, her eyes focused on the path ahead. But just as she was about to step out of the corridor, she paused. Slowly, she turned back to face the rows of prisoners, a sinister grin spreading across her lips.
"Sorry, but no witnesses," she said, her voice dripping with cold amusement.
She brought a finger to her lips, as if shushing a child, the gesture mockingly gentle.
In the blink of an eye, the prisoners’ voices were silenced. One by one, they crumpled to the floor, their bodies falling limp like puppets with their strings cut. The lifeless forms lay scattered in the cells, their eyes wide open in expressions of frozen terror. Just as before, dark, shadowy mists began to rise from their bodies, slithering out of their shadows and converging on Heathrine. The mist swirled around her, merging seamlessly with her own, as if absorbing the very essence of the souls she had just claimed.
Satisfied, Heathrine turned away from the carnage and stepped out into the hallway. The sight that greeted her was one of utter devastation, a blood-soaked corridor, the walls smeared with crimson streaks, and a lone guard slumped against the wall, his uniform soaked in his own blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his eyes were glazed with pain and shock.
Heathrine approached the man with unhurried grace, her footsteps splashing softly in the puddles of blood that stained the floor. She crouched down in front of him, her expression almost tender as she tilted her head slightly to meet his gaze.
"Would you mind telling me what happened?" she asked, her tone as casual as if she were inquiring about the weather.
Her eyes, however, gleamed with a predatory interest, locking onto the dying man’s face.
The guard, his strength rapidly fading, looked up at Heathrine, his lips trembling as he tried to form words.
"Ho—how did you get out..." he groaned, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Heathrine’s smile remained fixed, but her eyes hardened, a sharp edge creeping into her gaze.
"Answer my question," she said, her voice taking on a more commanding tone. She leaned in closer, her face mere inches from his, her eyes boring into his as if searching for his very soul.
"What happened?"
The man swallowed with difficulty, his body shaking with the effort of staying conscious.
"The others... they started... trying to kill each other...", he managed to rasp out, his words punctuated by a violent cough that splattered blood across his chin.
Heathrine’s interest piqued. She stood up gracefully, her eyes never leaving the guard’s. As she rose, the man’s strength gave out completely, and he slumped to the side, his body falling limp as death claimed him. A final tendril of dark mist seeped from his shadow, drifting toward Heathrine before merging with the rest of the swirling darkness.
"This... is something new," Heathrine whispered to herself, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
The corners of her mouth curled upward in a smile, and she turned on her heel, her long strides carrying her confidently down the hallway.
She approached the door to the main office of the building, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Pausing for just a moment, she could sense the chaos beyond the door, the violent, primal energy that had begun to ripple through the fabric of the night.
Heathrine slowly turned the knob, and the door creaked open, revealing the main office. The sight that met her eyes was one of barely restrained chaos. Several officers stood in the room, their uniforms torn and bloodied, their faces contorted with raw, animalistic rage. They were breathing heavily, their eyes wild and unfocused, each of them staring down the others as if they were on the verge of tearing each other apart.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and violence, and a palpable tension hung in the room, like the calm before a storm. Heathrine stepped forward, her presence immediately drawing the attention of the officers. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the officers shifted their gaze to her, their hostility now redirected.
One of the officers, his face twisted into a snarl, let out a guttural growl that echoed through the room. Without warning, he charged toward Heathrine, his knife glinting in the dim light as he aimed straight for her heart.
Heathrine remained perfectly calm, her expression almost bored as she watched the officer close in on her. Just as the knife was about to pierce her, a dark mist erupted from Heathrine’s shadow, moving with blinding speed. The mist solidified into a tendril, wrapping itself around the officer's arm with an iron grip. The knife halted in midair, its point mere inches from Heathrine’s chest, suspended by the force of the shadowy mist.
With a flick of her wrist, Heathrine commanded the mist to act. The tendril tightened around the officer’s arm, causing him to cry out in pain as his bones creaked under the pressure. In one swift motion, the mist lifted him off the ground and flung him across the room. The officer crashed through a window, his body disappearing into the night as he was tossed out of the building with brutal force.
The remaining officers, now fully consumed by their bloodlust, turned their attention to Heathrine. Their eyes burned with hatred as they charged toward her, their movements erratic and filled with the intent to kill.
Heathrine sighed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
"So eager to die..." she murmured.
As the first officer reached her, swinging a baton with deadly force, Heathrine gracefully sidestepped the attack. The dark mist swirled around her like a living shield, intercepting the baton mid-swing and snapping it in half with a sharp crack. The officer barely had time to react before Heathrine lashed out with a backhanded strike. The blow sent the officer crashing into a desk, splintering it into pieces.
The second officer, undeterred, lunged at her, his face twisted in rage. Heathrine raised her hand, and the mist responded instantly, forming a barrier between her and his blood soaked fists.
With a wave of her hand, Heathrine directed the mist to retaliate. The tendrils shot forward, wrapping around the officer’s throat and lifting him off the ground. His eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe, his hands clawing at the mist, but his efforts were in vain. With a flick of her fingers, Heathrine sent him hurtling into the wall with bone-shattering force. The officer slumped to the floor, unconscious and defeated.
The final officer, his face pale with fear, hesitated for a moment, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. But fear quickly turned to desperation, and he made one last, reckless attempt to attack. He drew his firearm, aiming it at Heathrine’s head with trembling hands.
Heathrine’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a dark amusement.
"Go ahead," she taunted, her voice smooth and taunting.
"Let’s see what you’ve got."
The officer pulled the trigger, but before the bullet could even leave the chamber, the dark mist surged forward, wrapping around the barrel of the gun. The weapon was wrenched from his hands, the mist crushing it into a twisted hunk of metal. The officer stumbled back, his face a mask of terror as he realized the futility of his actions.
With a final, decisive gesture, Heathrine commanded the mist to finish him. The tendrils coiled around his legs, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into the ground with a sickening thud. He lay there, dazed and broken. The man attempts to get back up, getting on his feet, before a tendril shot through his chest.
Heathrine stood in the center of the room, surveying the carnage with a satisfied smirk. The officers lay scattered around her, either dead or too injured to continue. The dark mist coiled back, leaving a gaping hole on the officer's body, slithering into Heathrine’s shadow, merging seamlessly with her once again.
She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"And so, the stage is set," she whispered to herself, stepping over the bodies as she made her way toward the exit.