Story 760: A Banquet of Shape

The Rotting Cathedral trembled beneath the weight of something unseen, something ancient. The torches flickered, their green flames writhing as though afraid. Selene Nocturna stood at the altar, her bloodstained fingers tracing the sigils carved into its surface.

Outside, the Fog of Unmaking still drifted through the ruins, whispering the last memories of the alchemist it had devoured. Their name was already fading, their existence unspooled thread by thread.

Selene inhaled deeply, feeling the remnants of their essence coil into her lungs.

"A poor sacrifice," she muttered, dissatisfied. "But necessary."

A sound—faint, but deliberate.

She turned sharply, eyes narrowing as a figure emerged from the gloom.

Kruger.

The mercenary was battered, his armor cracked, his breathing labored—but his eyes burned with hatred. He had followed her.

"You should have stayed buried with the others," Selene murmured, her voice both amused and venomous.