Story 751: The Many Arms of Death

The air inside the Rotting Cathedral had grown thick—a choking fog of plague and malice. The blackened spires trembled as the final rites of Selene Nocturna’s coronation continued. The Laughing Dead groveled and howled, their broken forms writhing in ecstatic suffering, praising their queen in whispers and screams.

But something had changed.

As Selene stepped onto the altar, the shadows behind her began to move—twisting and writhing like something alive. The blood-stained sigils on the cathedral walls pulsed with an unnatural glow, as if feeding off the corruption spreading from her body.

Selene smiled, sensing it. Welcoming it.

The Dark Arms had awakened.

A ripple of black, tendril-like limbs erupted from her back—six in total—twisting, clawed, each radiating a different essence of decay. The congregation gasped in a mix of horror and reverence as the arms crawled and contorted, flexing their unholy strength.