The cavernous temple chamber radiated an ethereal glow, the brilliant golden walls inscribed with a tapestry of indecipherable runes and sigils. White light filtered down from some unseen source high overhead, casting the space in an otherworldly luminance.
In the center of the room stood a singular altar, its smooth stone surface gleaming with reflected illumination. Hovering above the altar in a slow, spiral dance were a series of glyphs – ancient symbols tracing an endless, cyclical pattern. And sprawled atop the altar itself lay the savaged form of the black beast.
His ebon fur was matted and scorched in places, the legacy of the brutal wounds inflicted by Henry and Bob's relentless onslaught. One eye socket gaped empty, a ruined void where the splintered stake had gouged deep, leaving a trail of viscous fluid and gore. Gashes and lacerations crisscrossed his body in a grotesque latticework of mangled flesh, the shredded hide parting to reveal glimpses of bone and sinew beneath.
The beast lay unmoving upon the altar, its grievous wounds seeming too severe to ever recover from. The once-powerful creature was now little more than a broken, ravaged husk.
One of the arcane symbols drifted down and hovered before the empty eye socket, pulsing with eldritch power. A soft glow emanated from the rune, bathing the ruined cavity in lambent radiance. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, new tissue began knitting together, coalescing from the ether in gossamer strands. Tendons and musculature wove themselves from nothingness, rapidly forming the intricate structure of a new eye. Delicate membranes sheathed the newly-formed orb, a milky film at first, which gradually cleared to reveal a piercing amber iris ringed by obsidian sclera. The regenerated eye blinked once, twice, as if testing its newfound sight.
The regenerative process accelerated, the remaining runes joining the first in their spiral dance of restoration, their arcane energies coalescing in a maelstrom of eldritch power. A low thrum reverberated through the chamber, the very air thrumming with eldritch potential as the ritual reached its crescendo.
Charred flesh smoothed and sealed, the ravaged tissue knitting back together in seamless swaths, leaving no trace of the grievous burns that had marred the beast's hide. Burnt fur regrew in a rippling wave along the beast's flanks, emerging first as downy tufts that rapidly lengthened into a sleek, lustrous coat. Torn musculature reknit with startling alacrity, sinuous fibers weaving back into corded strength as gaping wounds closed as if they had never existed, the raw rents in flesh and bone erased without so much as a scar. Shattered claws elongated and reformed in a matter of heartbeats, their razor edges glistening with renewed lethality, wicked points honed to merciless perfection once more.
In mere minutes, the once savaged form was remade, its ebon pelt gleaming with health, eyes blazing with a primal sentience. The creature stirred, rolling its shoulders and extending its forelegs in an experimental stretch. Its maw parted, revealing a mouth filled with dagger-like fangs, and it released a bone-chilling roar that seemed to shake the very foundations.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
From the shadowed corner of the cavernous chamber emerged a slight figure – a young girl with alabaster skin and hair so pale it seemed to leach all color from its surroundings. Lantiana, the last witch, stepped with measured paces toward the beast, her bare feet whispering against the cold stone floor. A tattered cloak of midnight hue swirled about her ankles, its tattered edges dancing in an unseen breeze.
Despite her diminutive stature, an aura of preternatural power clung to her like a shroud, causing the torchlight to flicker and dance erratically. The air itself seemed to bend and shiver around her presence, heavy with the weight of ancient magics.
The beast regarded her approach through narrowed slits, crimson irises burning with a feral intensity that belied its motionless stance. Yet it made no move to attack or retreat, its hulking frame lying motionless atop the altar, obsidian scales glistening like liquid shadow.
From the shadowed recess, the diminutive figure of Lantiana halted beside the monstrous form, her delicate visage an impenetrable veil. "You have been defeated," she uttered, her gentle tone resonating with otherworldly power. "I trust you will honor your pledge."
A low, rumbling growl issued from the beast's throat – a sound rife with anger and defiance. Still, it offered no further protest, even as tendrils of white light began to coalesce around its body, tendrils of radiance snaking across its obsidian hide.
The cavernous chamber echoed with the beast's low, rumbling growl. "Employing a Dreamwalker is cheating," it snarled, lips peeling back to reveal rows of serrated fangs.
Lantiana did not turn to face the creature, her slight form backlit by the soft golden radiance filtering in from the outer passage. She paused for the briefest of moments, head tilting ever so slightly as if in consideration. Then, without a word, she continued on her way, the tattered edges of her cloak whispering against the stone floor as she departed.
The monster's resonant tone carried a hint of menace, akin to the foreboding tremors that precede seismic upheavals. "However, I relished the pursuit," it declared, the confession lingering heavily.
Still, Lantiana offered no response. She passed through the arched doorway, her diminutive form swallowed by the shadows beyond.
The creature exhaled derisively, a mocking noise that echoed within its vast ribcage. "As pledged, it belongs to you," it snarled, the utterance appearing to snag and rattle amid its formidable fangs.
For a long moment, the chamber fell silent, the beast's declaration lingering like a miasma. Then, the tendrils of light encircling its form flared brilliant, radiant filaments lancing outwards to etch glyphs and sigils across the floor in an ever-expanding spiral. The air thrummed with eldritch energies, an unseen force causing the very stones to vibrate in resonance.
From somewhere beyond the chamber's boundaries, a low, throbbing hum began to build – at first scarcely audible, but rapidly crescendoing in intensity. The source of the reverberation was impossible to pinpoint, seeming to emanate from all directions at once, the cadence worming its way into the mind like an insidious fever dream.
The light intensified, the runes scribed into the stone blazing with searing incandescence as that throbbing vibration reached an unbearable pitch. Then, with a silent implosion of force, the light and resonance collapsed inwards upon themselves, drawn inexorably towards the center of the spiral formation.
The luminous mist swirled and eddied, encircling the beast in a vortex of lambent energy that crackled and hummed with arcane power. For a breathless moment, the entire chamber seemed bathed in an otherworldly glow. And then, as abruptly as it had manifested, the light faded, being replaced by a peerless darkness that swallowed every lingering shred of illumination.