Henry glanced back at the villagers, their faces tight with anticipation, every eye on him as if their hopes could pull him back from whatever waited down that red-mist-laden corridor. With a steadying breath, he turned and moved forward, each step pulling him into the thickening fog that seemed to press back with a pulse, almost like breathing.

The mist curled around his ankles as he advanced, thick and oily, and he felt it creeping closer, a damp weight pressing into his lungs. His fingers tightened around the wand, the only thing between him and whatever waited in the depths. He felt the raw energy humming within it, a strange, living pulse responding to the mist, almost like the wand knew it was about to get more powerful.

Ahead, the corridor twisted, the walls narrowing and tilting as if the place itself wanted to trap him. At the end of the hall, a grotesque shape loomed—a pulsing mass of bodies folded and warped together, limbs sprawling at impossible angles. Dozens of eyes, lifeless but watchful, stared at him, each one filled with a lingering, tormented memory.

The thing shifted, muscles contracting in a grotesque rhythm, and a figure stumbled free of the mass. It was vaguely human, its edges blurring between flesh and mist as it lurched forward, hollow eyes locking onto Henry with a desperate hunger.

Elara’s voice floated from behind him, lilting and wild, each word teetering on the edge of laughter and madness.

“Oh, Henry, they’re so hungry, aren’t they? They see you, all shiny and trembling and delicious!” She giggled, a sound like broken glass skittering across stone. “But don’t worry about them… no, no, no. It’s you I’d worry about, dear. What if you start liking the taste of the dark?” Her tone turned sing-song, almost childlike. “What if you breathe it in, let it soak into those pretty bones of yours?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper that twisted with glee. “Maybe, just maybe, the monster in you is waiting for a taste, too.”

And then, silence. She was gone, leaving only the thickening fog, the creeping shadows, and the creature dragging itself closer. Henry’s grip tightened on the wand, her words gnawing at him, mingling with the relentless thrum of fear as he faced the monstrous figure alone.

With a shout, Henry thrust his wand forward. A surge of energy crackled up his arm, and with a whispered command, he called forth his first line of defense—bats, leathery and shadowed, erupted from the wand’s tip, diving at the figure with shrill, piercing cries. Each bat burst into a fiery explosion as it struck, tearing into the creature and scattering it in curling wisps of mist.

But even as the first creature disintegrated, another one clawed its way from the pulsing sphere, malformed and hungry. Henry flicked the wand, summoning a swarm of rats with eyes like embers, who lunged forward, teeth bared, tearing at the mist-thing’s limbs. The rats exploded one after another, ripping chunks from the creature’s body—but it kept coming, barely slowing as it lunged toward him.

The monster was destroying the creatures before they could do any real damage.

Henry’s heart hammered, but he held his ground, feeling the toll on his energy already. He summoned a new flurry of bat-like shadows, sharp and merciless, each one plunging into the figure and exploding, sparks lighting up the corridor. The figure staggered, its shape flickering, but still it clawed forward, its hollow eyes locked on him.

More figures stumbled from the mass, as if drawn by some dark magnetism. Henry steeled himself, summoning a cloud of ravens that erupted from the wand with a unified shriek, their forms streaking toward the creatures. They rammed into the mist-things with brutal precision, each raven combusting on contact, showering the air with sparks and mist.

One figure collapsed, dissolving into the air, but two more took its place, shambling forward with single-minded purpose. Henry bit back a cry of frustration and summoned three Mawlings, their skeletal forms lunging for the creatures. The Mawlings gripped the creatures’ limbs and detonated in a flash, leaving ashen mist in their wake.

The corridor filled with smoke and haze, and Henry staggered back, nearly blind from the thickening mist. He waved his hand, clearing the air just enough to see two new figures lurching toward him, faces twisted with a terrifying, hungry intensity.

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He flicked the wand again, calling forth a swarm of Flighters. The dark-winged creatures spiraled toward the figures, crashing into them in rapid succession, each impact unleashing an explosion that forced the mist-creatures back. Henry felt a spark of hope as he watched them stagger, but already the mass was pulsing again, fresh bodies folding out from its twisted shape.

Desperation edged into his thoughts. He raised the wand high, summoning an entire line of rats, directing them to attack each creature with fierce precision. The rats dove into the fray, gnawing at limbs and torsos before combusting, sending shockwaves down the corridor.

Yet another creature survived, dragging itself toward him, almost taunting in its persistence. With a shout, Henry summoned a Mawling, which latched onto the creature’s back and exploded, tearing it to shreds.

it felt never ending and Henry was starting to slow down, un sure how he could keep up.

More shapes crawled free of the mass, filling the corridor with twisted, nightmarish forms. Henry’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his arm trembling as he summoned a dozen Flighters, their tiny forms spiraling toward the creatures with deadly intent. Each collision lit up the hall in a blinding flash, momentarily clearing the mist.

But no matter how many he struck down, more figures emerged, as relentless as his own fears. He raised the wand and summoned two spectral wolves, which tore through the mist-figures with ferocious bites, each wolf detonating in a fiery burst.

The mist thickened, the walls closing in as the relentless waves kept coming. Henry’s strength waned, but he drew a steadying breath and summoned a chain of explosive bats, linking together in a deadly formation. They tore into the creatures in a rolling chain reaction, blasts cascading down the corridor.

A single figure broke free of the explosions, stumbling toward him, skeletal fingers reaching out.

Henry didn’t want to use the wands inhale power. Every time he did he felt worse and worse like ghosts were digging away at his identity, but he knew when he was beaten. He tried one last time summoning as many creatures as he could to get them closer and closer to the evil at the end of the corridor.

One after the other he creatures rushed forward first attacking the zombie like creature and then heading for the giant blob. With every explosion the mist and smoke got worse and worse.

Henry's every breath felt heavier, like inhaling molten lead. The mist filled his lungs, thick and metallic, tasting of rust and rot as it settled deep within him, sapping his strength with every step. He could feel it clinging to his skin, crawling into every pore, drawing him toward the nightmare that lay ahead. And then the smoke cleared revealing the beast was still there. You have got to be kidding me!

At the corridor's end, the twisted corpse-mass pulsed, each beat sending another mist-formed creature staggering forward, hollow faces and gaping mouths in a relentless tide.

Henry swung the wand again and again, feeling each rush of magic shake his exhausted arms. But every time he failed each summoning fizzling out before it even started. Fatigue crept in, each movement slower, each breath shallower. It was endless. Hopeless.

There has to be a way out without using that power, he thought, his desperation clawing at his mind, a panicked whisper urging him to turn back. But then he saw their faces—faces of the villagers waiting for him, clutching at thin threads of hope. They’d already lost so much. He couldn’t fail them.

The mass pulsed harder, as if mocking him, as another creature dragged itself forward, its limbs twisted and elongated in unnatural ways. Its face melted and reformed in patches, a mocking mask of terror that struck a chill through him. He gritted his teeth and moved forward before inhaling as big as he could.

Then the faint hum of the Wand of Arraiza cut through his haze of exhaustion, a pulse echoing his own racing heartbeat. His hand closed tighter around it, feeling its energy stir and rise, as if it sensed his desperation, his need for something beyond the brute force he’d had so far. He cut off his breath, raised the wand, and with a focused will, he channeled every ounce of fear, every ache, every piece of himself into it.

The wand pulsed in response, drinking in the mist like it was starving. The creatures dissolved in waves as the wand siphoned them into nothingness, each one torn apart into curling wisps of mist. But the cost was steep. Every creature absorbed tugged something out of him—a glimpse of forgotten pain, flashes of old memories, pieces of himself pulled into the wand’s endless hunger.

His grip tightened as a wave of despair clawed up his spine, an echo of each creature’s lifeless gaze, a shadowed reminder of his own fears, his failures. But he didn’t let go. The wand continued to pulse, feeding on the mist, even as it fed on him. And Henry, standing alone in the mist-choked corridor, knew he couldn’t stop—not as long as the villagers needed him, not as long as he still had the strength to hold on.

The wand’s power surged, raw and furious, building within him until it was almost too much to bear. His hand shook as he gripped it tighter, feeling the searing magic blaze through his veins, pushing him closer to his limits. Each creature that dissolved sent another shockwave of heat through his body, and with every pulse, he felt his own strength dwindling, barely held together by sheer will.

But then, through the thinning mist, he caught a glimpse of something buried deep within the grotesque sphere— a skeleton, its bony fingers curled around an artifact that gleamed with a sinister light, like a gem tainted by years of agony. The sight of it stirred something in him.