Every hard-won instinct Daine possessed screamed at her to stand and charge. This was not just a scene of violent carnage; there was something fundamentally corrupted about what she was seeing. Whatever darkness had bled into the world of the Bloodspires needed to be excised.

And now.

Poising to begin her attack, she felt Donal shift at her shoulder and turned to look at him. The man's bearded face was white, his eyes haunted, but there was something else there, too. A deep, anxious concern that was almost alien to his usual confident persona. "What?" she asked.

"Whilst a lot of fun for cross-mountain treks, this Class does not give me anything like the Skills I'd need to be remotely helpful here. I am not going to be much use against so many of them."

"Then I will take them on my own. It will hardly be the first time." Daine moved to stand, but Donal gripped her arm in a surprisingly firm grip. She tried to shrug him off, but his fingers tightened, pain lancing up her arm from where he held her.

"You do not want to go down there alone."

"You are right; I do not. However," she gesticulated towards the prisoners, "I cannot leave them in that state for a moment longer. An end needs to be brought to this."

Daine again tried to stand, but this time, Donal pulled her back to the ground. Her eyebrows shot upwards. The Frontiersman may not possess the Skills to assist her in melee combat, but he was undoubtedly Goddess-damned strong.

"Listen to me, will you!" Donal hissed, and she felt him trigger a Skill that camouflaged them more deeply in darkness. "I am not saying we leave these people to their fate. I just need you to appreciate that resolving this situation is going to take a little more subtlety than your usual 'wade on in with a broadsword and let the Goddess choose her own' approach."

Daine ground her teeth in frustration but stopped attempting to free herself from Donal's grip. "So speak!"

He held up three fingers. "Consider the following. Firstly, there is no sign that the group below us is awaiting the return of several hundred warriors. Thus, this is not the same group of mountain men whose attack we recently repulsed."

Daine opened her mouth to speak, but Donal glared at her. "Less talk, more listen. If that is so," he raised a second finger, "that means that we can reasonably assume there are more travesties like what is occurring below playing out across the Bloodspires."

Daine peered down at the horrific scenes beneath her and shuddered. The idea that the depravity here was not an isolated group shocked her, but she could follow Donal's reasoning. There would not be room for those they had defeated back at their own camp amongst these tents and shelters. This was a separate group. "And three?" she asked.

"We have been attacked by one feral war party. This is a second. It hardly takes an intellect of my extraordinary ability to say there will be more. Indeed, at this stage, I am concerned something is clearly rotten at the Bloodspires' heart. I fear we may have traded slaughter at the gates of Swinford for something even less palatable."

Before Daine could reply, a hooting shrieking from below grabbed her attention, and they both crawled forward to investigate the cause of the commotion.

Careful, the Goddess whispered, causing Daine to grip the handle of her sword even more tightly.

Undoubtedly, there had been a shift in the atmosphere below, but it took Donal's indication of a portal manifesting at the edge of the camp for Daine to spot the cause. She squinted at the swirling oval shape, taller than a man, jet-black and seemingly oily in texture. It was not like any version of a travel portal she had ever seen before. It reminded her of nothing so much as a wound—a rend in reality itself.

"What is it?"

Donal shook his head. "I do not know. But I will happily tell you this for nothing. We do not want any part of what may come through there."

Almost the moment he said those words, the light from the campfires dimmed, and a tall figure emerged from rippling blackness. The mountain men, savagely feral as they were, fell silent and turned their gaze towards its emergence. Whatever this was, it was cloaked in a hooded robe, the fabric appearing to swallow the light around it, leaving it an almost featureless void.

Daine's heart pounded with an instinctual fear she could not rationalise. She felt the Goddess reach out to her, a comforting hand resting on her shoulder. Had she ever offered such a gesture before? But that was a thought for another place. Another time.

There was something fundamentally wrong about this being, a feeling of wrongness that made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Daine reached out and clutched at Donal’s arm, her knuckles white.

As the dark presence stepped forward, its robe seemed to shiver, not with the motion of cloth, but like the surface of a dark, oily liquid. The air around it warped, distorting the light and bending the shadows in unnatural ways. The fire nearest it guttered and hissed, its flames shrinking back as though trying to escape its proximity.

In response to the appearance of this figure, the mountain men had become like children awaiting judgment from a brutal teacher. They had forgone all their previous activities and had moved to crouch before it, heads bowed. Their leader, a hulking man with a necklace of teeth, approached head lowered in submission.

After a moment of silence, an arm emerged from within the folds of the cloak, revealing a hand that was not entirely human. It was skeletal, with fingers that ended in talons, the skin stretched tight and translucent, revealing black veins that pulsed unpleasantly.

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The claws reached forward to touch the mountain man's forehead lightly, convulsing him, a low moan escaping his lips. Instantly, the flesh beneath the talon's touch began to bubble and blister, the skin splitting open to reveal raw, pulsating muscle. The mountain man's eyes rolled back, his body shuddering violently as if being wracked by fire, the corrupting touch leaving a searing brand that crawled and writhed on the man's skin. His face quickly became a ruin of melted flesh and exposed bone, his eyes dark pits of despair.

This should not be, the Goddess whispered. What has my son done?

Daine could feel the bile rising in her throat, barely able to acknowledge her worry at her patron's evidence concern.

Donal stirred. "I have seen such as this before. Believe me when I say things are going to get worse before they get much better.

"What is it?" Daine asked

"Skuggaseiðr," both Donal and the Goddess said at the same time.

With a reptilian swiftness, the figure flowed forward, passing through the ranks of submissive mountain men. He approached a smaller, more fragile figure. One of the prisoners, Daine, realised and tried to make herself stand. To charge. To save them from the fate she knew was coming. But something - was it fear? - prevented her.

As she watched, the unfortunate soul whimpered as the Skuggaseiðr loomed over him, its form towering and oppressive. With a slow, deliberate motion, the hand extended from the cloak again, the air around it shimmering as if with heat. Clawed fingers were placed on the prisoner’s chest, and the man’s scream tore through the night.

The flesh beneath the Skuggaseiðr's hand began to twist and contort as though the bones were breaking and reassembling themselves in grotesque patterns. The prisoner’s skin turned a mottled black, spreading outwards in a spiderweb of rot. His eyes bulged, blood vessels bursting, filling the whites with a hideous crimson. Daine could hear the wet, tearing sounds as muscles were shredded and reformed.

The mountain men watched in silence as the Skuggaseiðr finally released the prisoner, who collapsed in a heap, his deformed body twitching, his mind shattered by the agony inflicted upon him.

Then the hood turned slightly, and for a moment, Daine felt its gaze sweep over her hiding place. Though its face remained hidden within the cowl, she could sense void-like eyes penetrating the darkness, reaching for her. Her heart felt like it might stop from the sheer force of its regard, an ancient, unfathomable evil that saw her, understood her, and found her wanting.

No, the Goddess said firmly. Mine.

The moment passed as suddenly as it had begun. The Skuggaseiðr turned away, its attention returning to the mountain men who awaited its next command. It lifted both arms, the motion causing its cloak to billow unnaturally, like wings of darkness. The air around it cracked, and the ground beneath shuddered in protest.

Daine and Donal, trembling and nearly paralysed, watched as the Skuggaseiðr began to chant in a guttural language. The sky seemed to pulse with each syllable, the camp bathed in an eerie, shifting light.

As the chanting reached a fever pitch, the shadows around the camp deepened, swallowing the light entirely. Daine felt a scream rise in her throat, but no sound escaped. The terror was complete, an all-encompassing absence that left no room for thought or action. The Skuggaseiðr presence was a black hole, drawing in all light, all hope, all life. Daine pressed her eyes together, willing the horror to subside.

And then, as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Daine opened her eyes, shocked to see the camp standing in an eerie, unnatural silence. The air still felt heavy with whatever dark power had been unleashed by the Skuggaseiðr, but there was no sign of either the hooded figure or the mountain warband.

Only the body of the tortured, transformed prisoner remained. His body twitched and convulsed, his eyes empty sockets oozing out some black substance.

Donal stood, eyes widened with sudden realisation. "My Lady Darkhelm, that is not just a prisoner anymore. It is a vessel for the Skuggaseiðr. We cannot let it leave this place. We must not let this spread further!"

Before Daine could fully process the Frontiersman's words, Donal charged forward, drawing his short sword as he ran. As if sensing the impending threat, the creature let out a guttural, inhuman scream that echoed through the clearing. It rose to its feet, its movements jerky and unnatural, like a marionette controlled by unseen strings.

"Donal, wait!" Daine shouted, her mind racing to catch up with the unfolding danger. But Donal was already upon the creature, his blade swinging in a wide arc aimed at its neck. But the former prisoner moved with a speed that belied its grotesque form, dodging the blow and lashing out with a clawed hand that caught Donal across the chest, leaving deep, bloody gashes.

Donal staggered back, gritting his teeth against the pain. Activating a Skill to increase his Speed, he swung again, this time catching the monster in the side. The blade bit deep, but instead of blood, a thick, dark fluid poured from the wound, hissing and steaming as it hit the ground, some of it splattering Donal and causing him to shrink back in pain.

Help him, the Goddess intoned.

Daine, finally shaken from her paralysis, drew her weapon and rushed forward. She did not know how, but she could see the dark energy coursing through the monster's spirit, its movements fueled by the power left behind by the Skuggaseiðr. She had never been able to see mana in this way before, but perhaps this was a new function of her Templar Ascendant Class?

When she was only a few steps away, the creature lashed out at Donal again, but this time, he was ready, blocking the blow with his sword and countering with a swift strike that severed one of its arms.

It let out another horrifying scream, its remaining hand clawing at the air in a frenzy. Daine closed the distance, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the oppressive weight of the mana radiating from the creature, a palpable force that threatened to overwhelm her.

As she reached Donal's side, the creature turned its empty gaze upon her, its twisted mouth opening in a ghastly grin. Its body seemed to glow brighter, and Daine felt a wave of nausea wash over her as the air around them seemed to shimmer and warp.

"Daine, we have to end this now!" Donal shouted, his voice strained with effort and pain. He lunged forward, his blade aiming for the creature's heart, but it swatted him aside, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Daine tightened her grip on her weapon, her eyes locked on the monstrosity before her. She could feel the raw fear coursing through her veins, but she pushed it down, drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed. With a primal scream, she charged at the creature, her blade aimed at the pulsing, dark heart.

The creature's grin widened, jaw dislocating, its body tensing as it prepared to meet her attack head-on. Just as her blade was about to connect, the creature's eyes flared with a sudden, terrifying light, and the ground beneath them began to tremble. Daine could feel the power surging within it, a last, desperate attempt to unleash its fury. She gritted her teeth, readying herself for the impact.

And then . . .

Nothing.