Story 721: The Last Breath

The flickering torchlight barely reached the walls of the crumbling corridor. The Rotting Cathedral shifted and sighed, its bones groaning beneath centuries of decay.

Lucien staggered, his breath ragged. His wounds burned, veins blackening from the poison that coursed through them. The darkness was alive behind him, creeping, whispering, pulling.

And then—she stepped forward.

Selene Nocturna emerged from the gloom like a specter. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glowing like molten gold in the abyss. The dim light caught the sharpness of her fangs, the black ichor smeared across her chin from her last victim.

Lucien’s legs nearly buckled. His body screamed for air, but the plague within him had already taken root.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" Selene mused, stepping closer.

Lucien’s fingers fumbled for the dagger at his waist. A feeble act of defiance.

Selene laughed softly. "Oh, you still have fight left in you? How precious."