Screams tore through the air. The audience surged back, colliding in their desperation to escape, but a cluster of them broke off and sprinted toward the entrance, terror blazing in their eyes. The first man to reach the door slammed into it with his shoulder, the impact reverberating through the hall with a hollow thud. He staggered back, his face contorted with pain and shock. Around him, shouts of alarm and confusion rang out, the crowd jostling violently as more people poured forward, pushing and shoving in a wild bid for freedom.

A burly man lunged toward the doors, shoving past the crowd with wild, frantic eyes. “We have to leave—get out of here—something’s wrong, something’s—” He threw himself against the door, his massive frame crashing into it with a force that made the entire hall tremble. But it held fast. The wood groaned and splintered beneath the assault, but didn’t break. He staggered back, breathing hard, his expression twisted with disbelief.

“It’s locked!” he cried, pounding against the thick wood, his fists slamming into the door with desperate, savage force. The sound echoed in the confined space—each impact a dull, hopeless thud that seemed to reverberate through the bones of every person in the room.

The others shoved forward, clawing at the door, their panic mounting as they realized it wouldn’t budge. Men and women alike beat at the wood with their hands, scratched at the iron hinges, kicked at the base, their voices rising into a frenzied, chaotic wail.

“Help! Someone—get it open!”

“Please, please—let us out!”

A woman’s voice, high and keening, broke through the din. “Oh gods, oh gods, we’re trapped—we’re trapped in here!” Her words sent a fresh wave of terror rippling through the crowd, the mob surging forward with renewed desperation. Elbows jabbed, hands grasped, feet stumbled and kicked as people scrambled over one another in a wild, mindless frenzy.

“It’s sealed!” a young man shouted, his voice cracking as he threw himself against the door again and again, blood smeared across his knuckles from the effort. “We’re locked in! We can’t get out!”

The press of bodies grew frantic, hands clawing at the wood, nails splintering and breaking as they tore at the unyielding surface. Faces contorted in fear, eyes wild and glistening in the dim light. The room seemed to close in around them, the walls looming high and oppressive, the ceiling pressing down. Sweat beaded on foreheads, mingling with tears as the reality of their situation tightened its grip around their throats.

“It won’t open!” a man wailed, his voice breaking with a sob. “It’s locked—why is it locked?!”

One of them—a lanky, wide-eyed youth barely out of boyhood—turned suddenly, his gaze wild and frenzied. He stumbled toward the attendant standing by the door, a hunched figure shrouded in shadow. His hands reached out, trembling, and then he lunged.

“You! Open it! Open it now!” he shouted, his voice cracking with raw, hysterical panic.

The crowd stilled, a strange, breathless silence falling over the frenzied mass as all eyes turned to the attendant. A glimmer of hope, of something fragile and desperate, flickered in their gazes.

But the attendant merely smiled.

A slow, eerie grin spread across his face, twisting his features into something grotesque and terrible. His lips stretched wide, too wide, baring yellowed teeth, his eyes rolling back in his head until only the whites showed. And then he laughed—a high, shrill sound that rang out in the chaos like a bell of madness. It cut through the hall like a blade, sharp and jarring, sending shivers crawling down spines.

“There’s no leaving,” he sang, his voice dripping with a manic glee. His body swayed slightly, his grin widening as he leaned closer, as if imparting some terrible secret. “Not for you. Not for anyone. You’re all his now.”

The words sank into the townsfolk like poisoned arrows, freezing them where they stood. For a heartbeat, no one moved, no one spoke. The laughter echoed in the silence, filling the room with its hollow, unnatural sound. And then—

“No!” a woman screamed, her voice breaking into a sob. “No, that’s not true—that can’t be true!”

Others broke in, voices rising in a panicked clamour.

“Open it—let us out, let us out!”

“Lies! You’re lying!”

But the attendant only shook his head, his laughter bubbling up again, wild and frenzied. “Oh, but it is true,” he whispered, his voice almost a purr. “Don’t you see? You’re his. All of you. There’s no escape. No way out.”

The realization rippled like a shockwave—the door was permanently barred.

Trapped.

They were trapped.

The realization hit them all at once, spreading through the crowd like a wave, leaving terror and despair in its wake. But amidst the chaos, two figures stood motionless, hidden in the shadows along the back wall.

Ada and Marin.

The two hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound. Wide-eyed and trembling, they stared out at the nightmare unfolding before them, their breaths shallow and quick. All the revelations, all the horror that had gripped the room, had rooted them in place, locking their limbs as if they, too, were ensnared by the shadows creeping along the floor. Marin’s face was ashen, his eyes glassy and unfocused, lips quivering with suppressed sobs. Beside him, Ada clutched his arm, her knuckles white, her own expression caught somewhere between disbelief and outright terror.

How had they gotten here? Why had they ever thought it a good idea to sneak into the Great Hall? Curiosity had brought them to the precipice of doom, and now, as the nightmare deepened, the gravity of their mistake pressed down like a weight, crushing the breath from their lungs.

We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here.

The thought looped endlessly through Ada’s mind, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She felt paralyzed, trapped in a waking horror that defied comprehension. She had thought they’d be safe, that they could sneak in, listen, and slip away unnoticed. But that plan had shattered the moment Finnian’s smile stretched too wide, the moment the door sealed shut, the moment Roric neck snapped.

This was no place for children. No place for anyone.

Marin choked back a sob, his frame shaking violently. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders hunched, desperately trying to disappear into himself. But then a whimper slipped out, low and desperate, and Ada’s heart clenched painfully.

“What can we do, Ada?” Marin’s voice trembled, thick with fear as he peeked through his fingers.

Ada took a breath, searching for the right words. “We have to think, Marin. We can’t give up.”

Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess. What could they do? How would they survive? And then she remembered.

“Marin! The key!”

Marin's eyes widened as he recalled their discovery. "The key!”

His breaths quickened as he scanned the chaotic hall, the weight of panic threatening to swallow him whole. "What if it’s too late?" he whispered, fear lacing his words.

Ada leaned in close, her voice a fierce whisper amid the surrounding turmoil. "Marin, we have the key," she urged, her gaze steady despite the fear flickering within. "We can get out of here. We can escape."

He met her eyes, a flicker of hope igniting before doubt smothered it. "But what about the sickness, Ada?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rising din. "What good will it be if we get away and still die?"

Her jaw tightened, resolve hardening her features. "We can't give up," she insisted, her grip on his arm firm. "There has to be a way—we'll find it."

A sudden crash echoed through the hall as a wooden bench toppled over, bodies scrambling away from the convulsing forms emerging among them. The air filled with guttural groans and terrified screams. Marin's gaze snapped to the main doors, now blocked by the writhing bodies of the panicked mob.

His shoulders sagged, the weight of despair pressing down like a physical force. "It's too late," he whispered, eyes glistening. "We're trapped."

Ada's own fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she swallowed hard, refusing to let it take hold. "No," she said firmly. "We still have each other—we'll think of something."

"Perhaps I can help," a quiet voice spoke from the shadows behind them.

They spun around, hearts leaping into their throats.

"Ada, Marin," the figure whispered, pulling back a hood to reveal familiar features.

"Serena?!" they exclaimed in unison, a mix of shock and tentative relief washing over them.

*Flashback to the woods*

As Thorn squinted against the fading light. Someone had chosen to hide here—among the protective shadows of the ancient oaks, yet so close to the lake that it raised questions.

He pushed off toward the campsite, every sense attuned to his surroundings. The silence returned, heavy and foreboding, wrapping around him like a shroud. The closer he got, the more the oppressive stillness pressed in on him, as if the very woods held their breath, waiting for the unknown to unfold.

Thorn navigated the thick underbrush carefully, his mind racing with possibilities. Who had set up this camp? Were they a threat? Or had they perhaps felt the same unsettling pull he did? As he approached, the first thing that struck him was the remnants of a fire pit, cold and abandoned. Scattered around it were torn scraps of fabric—tattered and weathered—clinging to the ground like remnants of an old dream.

Crouching down, he picked up a piece, tracing his fingers over the frayed edges. This was no ordinary fabric; it was finely woven, likely taken from a cloak or a tunic.

Recognition flared Through Thorn.

“You can step out now” he called.

A sudden noise shattered the silence—a low rustling coming from the nearby thicket. Thorn tensed, instincts sharpening, ready for whatever might emerge. The brush parted, and from the shadows stepped figures, cloaked and hooded, features obscured by the fading light.

“Who—” one of them began, but the words faltered as they locked eyes with him.

Thorn took a moment to assess them: a girl, perhaps no older than seventeen, with striking features that betrayed a fierce determination, and a boy, younger and taller, whose wide eyes darted nervously between Thorn and the forest behind them.

“Easy,” Thorn said, raising a hand slightly to signal peace. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m just looking for answers.”

The girl stepped forward, a mix of caution and curiosity in her stance. “I’m Serena,” she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “And this is Ben.”

“Thorn,” he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied them both. “Why are you out here?”

Serena exchanged a quick glance with Ben before answering, her voice lowering as if fearing eavesdroppers. “Not long ago, I was working in the stables when I noticed something odd. None of the grain that had just been delivered would be eaten by any of the horses. They completely avoided it.”

Thorn’s heart sank. He could already sense where this was heading.

“I thought it was just a phase,” she continued, urgency creeping into her tone. “But when I checked on them again, they were still refusing to touch it. I investigated further and found out that the grain was donated by the tavern.”

“Finnian,” Thorn muttered under his breath, recalling the name that hung over the town like a dark cloud.

“Exactly,” Serena said, eyes flashing with determination. “When I realized what might be happening, I knew I had to get away, to find a solution myself before it was too late.”

Ben stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with concern. “I knew something was wrong, Serena loves the horses. When she disappeared, I knew something was off. By chance I spotted her sneaking around, so I followed her.” he admitted, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

“She figured out I was following and pulled me aside.” His gaze shifted to her. “When she explained, I knew I had to follow her. But I dropped my stuff because she told me it would be better if I left it behind.”

Thorn nodded, absorbing their story. “You did well to come out here,” he said, the weight of their words deepening the resolve within him. “We need to find a way to counter whatever darkness is festering in the town.”

With a flick of his wrist, Thorn opened his tome, the pages whispering against one another as he searched for answers. His fingers danced over the intricate text, glancing at the recipes and formulas detailed within. He paused, eyes narrowing in focus as he finally found what he was looking for—a recipe for a cleansing potion, its ingredients outlined in a neat, flowing script.

“I can make this potion,” he said, looking up at them with newfound determination. “I have a plan, but I’m going to need your help.”

“Whatever you need, we’ll do it,” Serena replied, the fire in her eyes rekindled. Ben nodded in agreement, the tension easing from his shoulders as hope began to bloom in the face of despair.

“Good,” Thorn said, feeling a surge of confidence. “We need to act quickly. Time is running out.”

As the three of them huddled together, Thorn laid out a plan, outlining each step they would take to gather the ingredients for the potion. The air crackled with urgency as they strategized.

*Flashback ends*

Serena stepped closer, her eyes sharp and alert. Ben hovered just behind her, his expression serious, a cloak concealing most of his face and form.

"How did you—?" Ada began, her mind racing.

"No time to explain," Serena interrupted gently but urgently. "We need to move, now. There's a way out."

Marin exchanged a glance with Ada, the faintest spark of hope rekindling in his chest. "But the sickness..." he began.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"We have a plan," Ben said quietly, his eyes meeting Marin's. "Trust us."

“How did you—?” Ada began, her mind racing with questions, but Serena interrupted gently yet urgently.

“No time to explain,” she insisted, her voice low and intense. “We need to move, now.”

Marin exchanged a glance with Ada, the faintest spark of hope rekindling in his chest. “But the sickness…” he started, his voice wavering.

“We have a plan,” Ben said quietly, his eyes meeting Marin’s with an earnestness that demanded trust. “Trust us.”

Serena fished a satchel from beneath her cloak, its leather worn and creased. She opened it, revealing several vials of bright yellow liquid, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. “This will cleanse the sickness,” she explained, urgency threading through her words. “We need to get it to those who are still fighting.”

“Have you seen my sister, Selena?” Serena’s voice cracked slightly as she searched Ada’s face for any sign of hope.

Ada hesitated, the dread pooling in her stomach as she pointed toward the chaos. “Over there—Selena is with Old Callen. He… he’s,” she said, her voice thick with fear. “She’s trying to help him.”

Serena’s expression shifted, a shadow of panic crossing her features. “We need to hurry,” she urged, glancing around as the cries of the crowd intensified. “We don’t have much time.”

With determination, she turned back to Ada and Marin. “You two need to take the remaining vials to Thorn. He’s our only hope now.” She removed two vials from the satchel and pressed it into Ada’s hands, her grip firm and resolute. “And this.” Serena pulled out Thorn’s weapon, a sleek dagger, and placed it in Marin’s trembling hands. “We have to trust the outsider; he’s the only one who can stand against Finnian.”

Marin nodded, a mix of fear and resolve washing over him.

“Get to Thorn, no matter what. He’ll know what to do.”

The urgency in Serena’s voice sent a shiver down Ada’s spine, propelling her into action. “We can do this,” she whispered, determination flooding her veins. “We have to.”

Serena gave them a final, resolute nod before slipping back into the shadows, Ben close on her heels. The two moved swiftly through the chaos, weaving between panicked townsfolk and disappearing into the tumult like phantoms.

Ada and Marin stood rooted for a heartbeat, the enormity of their task pressing down upon them. The cacophony of screams and the unsettling sounds of transformation filled the air, but in that moment, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

Ada clutched the satchel to her chest, feeling the irregular shapes of the vials within pressing against the worn leather. She exchanged a tense glance with Marin before unfastening the flap with trembling fingers.

They both peered inside.

A flickering torch nearby cast a wavering light over the contents. The luminous liquid inside the vials pulsed faintly, casting an eerie glow on their faces. Ada's breath caught, her eyes widening as the harsh reality settled in.

Marin swallowed hard, his face pale. "There's so few," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Ada's gaze met his, a mix of fear and determination swirling in her eyes. The weight of the situation bore down on them—so many lives at stake, and only a scant hope cradled in their hands.

"Not everyone will make it," she said softly, the admission tasting bitter on her tongue.

Marin's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "How do we choose?" he asked, his voice cracking. The innocence in his question was heart-wrenching.

Ada closed the satchel firmly, resolve hardening her features. "We have to get these to Thorn," she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "He'll know what to do."

A violent crash echoed nearby as a table was overturned, snapping them back to the urgency of their mission. The hall was descending further into chaos—shadows twisting, figures contorting, the air thick with despair.

Ada grabbed Marin's hand. "We need to move. Now."

He nodded, gripping her hand tightly. Together, they plunged into the fray, dodging panicked townsfolk and sidestepping those who had already succumbed to the darkness.

The sounds of anguish and terror swirled around them—a haunting symphony of a world unravelling. Faces they recognized flashed by, contorted in fear or lost to the corruption overtaking the hall.

As they pressed on, the enormity of their task weighed heavier. Each step was a reminder of the precious cargo they carried and the impossible choices that lay ahead.

Marin glanced at Ada, his expression a mixture of determination and sorrow. "We have to hurry," he urged.

She nodded, her jaw set. "We're doing this for everyone," she reminded him—and perhaps herself. "For those we can save."

They navigated through the maze of overturned benches and fleeing people, the distance between them and Thorn closing. Amidst the turmoil, he stood out—a solitary figure battling against the encroaching darkness, his movements purposeful yet strained.

"Thorn!" Ada called out, her voice slicing through the din.

Thorn turned sharply at the unfamiliar voices, eyes narrowing in confusion as he spotted the two children amidst the chaos. "Who are you?" he demanded, fending off a shadowy tendril that lashed out toward him.

"We're friends of Serena and Ben!" Marin shouted, desperation edging his voice. "They sent us!"

Recognition flickered across Thorn's face. He nodded curtly, understanding dawning. "You shouldn't be here!" he called back, concern threading through his stern expression.

"We have something for you!" Ada yelled, holding up the satchel just enough for Thorn to see.

Before they could reach him, a twisted form lurched into their path—a woman mid-transformation, eyes wild with pain and fury. For a heartbeat, Ada and Marin hesitated. The creature's gaze locked onto them, a guttural moan escaping its lips.

Marin's grip tightened on the satchel. "Should we...?" he began, glancing at the agonized figure.

Ada swallowed hard, conflict warring in her eyes. But the screams around them, the pressing urgency, pushed her forward. "We can't stop," she said firmly. "Thorn is our only hope."

Side-stepping the abomination, they pressed on, the weight of their choice heavy but necessary. Each step was fraught with danger, the very air seeming to thicken with malevolence.

Across the hall, Finnian's gaze swept over them, irritation flickering as he dismissed the children. But then his eyes narrowed, catching sight of the satchel and the glint of Thorn's dagger clutched in Marin's hand. His expression twisted into one of rage.

"NO!" Finnian roared, his voice echoing unnaturally. Shadows writhed around him as he began to stride toward them, malevolent intent clear.

Ada and Marin froze under his piercing glare, fear rooting them to the spot. The cacophony of the hall seemed to fade, the space between them and Finnian stretching into a chasm of impending doom.

Sensing the danger, Thorn seized the moment. "Hey!" he shouted, lunging at Finnian to divert his attention. Their clash was explosive, fists flying as Thorn distracted Finnian.

"Now!" Thorn bellowed over his shoulder, his voice commanding and urgent. "Throw Zephyr and a vial! Hurry!"

Ada and Marin snapped back to reality. They exchanged a swift glance, uncertainty flashing between them. Time seemed to slow as they realized what they had to do.

"Are you ready?" Ada whispered.

Marin nodded, determination hardening his features. Together, they pulled out a single glowing vial and Thorn's dagger, Zephyr. The world around them blurred, the chaos dimming as they focused solely on their task.

With synchronized motions, they hurled the items toward Thorn. The vial arced through the air, its radiant contents casting a golden trail. Zephyr spun end over end beside it, the blade reflecting flashes of the surrounding mayhem.

Finnian's eyes widened as he noticed the flying objects. "You dare!" he snarled, attempting to break free from Thorn's assault to intercept them.

But Thorn moved with lightning speed. His breathing deepened, senses honing in on the vial and dagger hurtling toward him. The sounds of battle faded into the background as he extended his hands.

In one fluid motion, he caught Zephyr by the hilt, its familiar weight settling into his grasp. A heartbeat later, his other hand snatched the vial from the air, fingers closing securely around it.

Finnian lunged, form spiralling toward Thorn, but it was too late.

Thorn leapt back, creating distance between himself and Finnian. Without hesitation, he uncorked the vial with his teeth and downed its contents. A surge of warmth flooded through him, the cleansing liquid coursing like fire in his veins.

He crushed the empty vial in his hand, shards scattering like stardust. The oppressive weight of the sickness lifted instantly, clarity and strength returning in a powerful wave.

Thorn straightened, brandishing Zephyr with renewed vigour. The dagger gleamed with an ethereal light, its blade humming as if alive. His stance was formidable—a warrior reborn, radiating an aura of unyielding resolve.

Ada and Marin watched in awe, the breath catching in their throats. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

Thorn met Finnian's gaze, a steely determination burning in his eyes. "This ends now," he declared, his voice steady and unwavering.

“Give out the remaining vials before it’s too late!” Thorn commanded Ada and Marin, urgency threading through his words.

Finnian recoiled slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his twisted features before anger overtook him. "You think a mere trinket can save you?" he spat.

Thorn smiled faintly. "Not just me."

Behind him, the atmosphere began to shift. The crowd who had not yet succumbed drew hope from Thorn's resurgence. Whispers of awe rippled through those who still fought against despair.

Finnian snarled, shadows coiling tightly around him. "I will make you all serve!"

Thorn slowly advanced, Zephyr held confidently at his side. "You'll try," he replied calmly.

In that charged moment, the balance shifted. The tide of darkness that had threatened to consume them all wavered against the light ignited by Thorn's resolve.

Ada squeezed Marin's hand, a newfound hope blooming in her chest. "We did it," she whispered, the thrill of their success coursing through her.

“We need to find my mother!” Marin urged. Ada hesitated and then nodded. They had done their part, Ada and Marin darted away, weaving through the chaos, vials clutched tightly in hand.

Thorn and Finnian prepared to clash once more.

The battle shifted dramatically. Thorn moved with renewed vigour, Zephyr glinting as it sliced through the air. He weaved around Finnian's grotesquely extending limbs, each strike calculated, each movement purposeful. Finnian's earlier advantage—the unnatural length and reach of his arms—had become a liability. Thorn anticipated the overextended swings, sidestepping and countering with swift cuts.

A sharp slash caught Finnian across the shoulder. He hissed, recoiling as a dark fluid seeped from the wound. Thorn's eyes flickered to it—a glistening, inky substance that oozed slowly, too thick and too dark to be blood. At first, it seemed almost like shadow given form, but as more wounds opened, the black liquid became unmistakable.

He nodded, eyes never leaving Thorn's figure. "It's not over yet," he said softly, but a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.

Finnian's face twisted with frustration. His attacks grew erratic, his composure slipping away like sand through clenched fingers. "You meddle where you shouldn't," he snarled, eyes flashing with a sinister light.

Thorn dodged effortlessly, his focus intensifying. "You're losing your grip, Finnian," he retorted, delivering another precise strike that grazed Finnian's side. More of the dark fluid spilled forth, splattering onto the floor.

Unnoticed by Thorn, tiny droplets of the black substance clung to his forearms where Finnian's blood had splashed. A subtle tingling sensation began to creep over his skin.

Drip.

A singular sound punctuated the chaos—a heavy droplet hitting the ritual pool at the center of the hall.

Finnian's lips curled into a sly smile. "Do you hear that?" he whispered, almost to himself.

Drip. Drip.

Across the hall, a man flinched as a cold droplet struck his shoulder. He blinked, brow furrowing as he wiped at the wet spot. His fingers came away damp. Confusion knitted his brow as he looked upward. "What the...?" he murmured, squinting into the dim recesses of the vaulted stone ceiling. "Is it... raining in here?"

Drip. Drip.

The sound multiplied, droplets falling faster, each one echoing loudly in the sudden hush that fell over the hall. Another person glanced up, their face pale and strained. "What is... what is that?" they whispered, voice trembling.

More faces turned skyward, eyes widening with unease. Whispers of confusion rippled outward as heads tilted back to watch the droplets descending—clear, cold, and impossible.

The first man reached out with hesitant curiosity, catching a droplet in his palm. He stared as the water pooled—a simple, ordinary thing, yet utterly out of place. The ceiling was solid stone; no rain could penetrate it. A chill raced up his spine as realization dawned.

His breath hitched. A sudden, profound dread seized him.

Staggering back, panic twisted his features. He stared at his hand as if it bore a mortal wound, eyes wide with mounting terror. "It's water," he whispered hoarsely. "The lake... it's above us."

Gasps rippled through the crowd as the weight of his words sank in. The Great Hall was built beneath the lake—the skylight overhead the only barrier between them and the crushing depths.

Drip. Drip.

"How can this be?" a woman cried, her voice high and quavering. "The skylight... it's failing!"

All around, droplets continued to fall—onto shoulders, into hair, onto upturned faces. Each person touched by the water recoiled, fear gripping them as they understood the implications.

The murmurs escalated to panic. "The lake is coming in!" someone shouted. "We're trapped!"

Thorn spared a glance toward the commotion, his gaze snapping to the falling droplets. His eyes widened as realization struck. The water seeping in wasn't an accident—it was intentional. This was Finnian's doing.

Finnian threw back his head and laughed—a chilling sound that reverberated ominously. "Do you see now?" he called out, his voice dripping with triumph. "The sanctuary you trusted is nothing but a grave."

Thorn locked eyes with Finnian. "What have you done?" he demanded, a steely edge to his voice.

Finnian's eyes gleamed with malevolence. "The lake has always held your fate. Now, it decides to claim you."

Deep down, they all knew. The Great Hall was becoming a tomb.

Drip. Drip.

The sound was relentless, a grim metronome counting down to catastrophe.

"I won't let you doom these people," he declared, raising Zephyr. The blade shimmered with a faint light, a beacon amidst the encroaching darkness.

Finnian's expression hardened. "You can't save them," he sneered. "Nor can you save yourself."

The sound was everywhere now, a relentless patter of dark liquid raining down from above, coating the floor in a thin, glistening film. Thorn’s gaze snapped upward, his stomach twisting as he followed the terrified stares to the ceiling — to the great skylight high above.

What had once been a window to the night sky, a perfect frame for the twin moons, was now a terrible sight.

The skylight was still there, but the sky beyond was gone. In its place, a vast, undulating mass of water pressed against the glass, churning and boiling like a living thing. It rippled and writhed, the pressure building with each passing second.

Panic exploded.

People screamed, stumbling over each other in their frantic haste to get away from the steadily growing puddle at the centre of the hall. The ritual pool, once serene and shallow, was now overflowing, dark water pouring in from the skylight above, turning the sacred basin into a swirling, churning vortex. It was as if the lake itself was being funnelled down, pouring through the open wound of the skylight, flooding the hall with its cold, suffocating embrace.

“This can’t be happening!” someone wailed, their voice cracking. “It can’t—”

“It’s the lake!” another cried, eyes wide and wild. “We’re going to drown!”

The room erupted into chaos. Townspeople shoved and clawed at each other, desperation turning their movements frantic, their faces twisted in terror as they watched the water rise, inch by inch, spilling over the edges of the pool and spreading across the floor in a dark, oily tide.

And still, the water came.

“Please, someone—make it stop!” Leora’s voice was high and frantic, her eyes darting around the room, wild with terror. “Make it stop!”

A dark laugh answered her plea.

The sound was a wet, gurgling rasp, issuing from a dozen mouths at once. It reverberated through the hall, filled with a grotesque delight that sent shudders through every soul present.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Finnian murmured, his voice a sickly, bubbling purr, echoing from every twisted corner of his form. “It’s just the beginning.”

The crowd stilled, a shiver rippling through them at the sound of that voice — at the way it seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the hall.

“Do you see now?” he purred, his voice dripping with a mockery that made the hairs on Thorn’s neck stand on end. “Do you understand, Thorn?”

Thorn’s hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, every instinct screaming at him to move, to do something. But he was frozen, caught in the web of Finnian’s gaze.

“This has been fun, truly,” Finnian continued, his tone light, almost conversational.

“But I think,” Finnian’s smile widened grotesquely, “it’s time to show you just how hopeless it really is.”

With a single, fluid motion, he raised a hand and traced a pattern in the air—dark, arcane symbols that shimmered with a sinister light. He chanted, guttural words in a language long forgotten, a tongue that twisted and writhed in the ears of those who heard it:

“Ush'kathor, vahl'draxis, nekrum saeth'ul.”

“Zaroth-nul, vir'kareth, ash'koroth maelth.”

“Dra'kelmoth, shaal'thoris, un'vrasthak shai.”

The symbols burned in the air for a heartbeat—then shattered.

And then he began to change.

The shadows around him swelled, rippling like the surface of a black sea. His form wavered, blurred, then solidified—growing, expanding, limbs twisting and reshaping as the darkness poured from him in great, roiling waves. His skin darkened, mottled and scaled, muscles bulging beneath, and his eyes—those terrible, blazing eyes—burned brighter, hotter, until they were twin suns of malevolent light.

“Look,” he whispered, the sound reverberating through the hall, filling every corner with its weight. “Look upon your master.”

The true face of evil had been before them all along.

Finnian — if the thing could even still be called by that name — loomed over the terrified people like a twisted god. The transformation was hideous to behold, a grotesque mockery of humanity. His body had stretched and contorted; the familiar lines of a man replaced by a mass of sinuous, writhing appendages that sprouted from every angle.

Limbs, too many to count, sprouted like the twisted branches of a nightmare tree, each tipped with hooked claws that glistened wetly in the dim light. His skin, once smooth and human, had turned the slick, dark hue of a deep-sea predator, glistening with a sheen of oily blackness.

Eyes — too many eyes — blinked open across his monstrous form, scattered haphazardly along his body. Two bulging orbs, grotesquely large, protruded from the sides of his warped head, bulging and throbbing like tumours, their surface rippling with an unnatural, luminous light. A single, vertical eye, red as fresh blood, stared out from the centre of his face, unblinking, unrelenting, taking in every twitch, every shiver of terror that rippled through the hall.

But it was his mouth — or mouths — that made bile rise in the throats of those who beheld him. Dozens of them, scattered and gaping, lined his chest, his limbs, his torso. Each one was filled with jagged, needle-like teeth, interlocking in a grisly, eternal grin that stretched too wide, too far, splitting the flesh in obscene ways.

They snapped and gnashed hungrily, some whispering, some muttering incoherent words, others laughing — a chorus of madness that filled the air like the gibbering of some eldritch creature from the deepest abyss.

A low, guttural growl emanated from somewhere deep within his mass, reverberating through the hall, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The sound was thick, heavy — like the grinding of stones in the lightless depths, like the creak of a sunken ship’s timbers ready to break apart.

And then, slowly, his form rippled and shifted, bending and folding in ways that defied nature, his limbs moving with a boneless fluidity as if he were more liquid than flesh. One massive appendage, slick and coiling, split apart, forming into a dozen thinner tendrils that lashed out, tasting the air, before reforming again into a grotesque arm tipped with a cluster of claws.

Finnian’s form shifted, rippling with a grotesque fluidity as he towered over the chaos, his eyes blazing with unholy light. Multiple eyes turned, their gaze settling on Thorn.

“Do you see now?” he purred, his voice a terrible, echoing cacophony. “Do you understand, Thorn? This is my town now. My people. My domain.”