Story 770: The Hollow Legion

The Rotting Cathedral stood silent under a moonless sky, its once-grand spires now gnarled with necrotic growth. The air inside was thick with the stench of blood and decay, the only sound a faint, rhythmic chanting—a dirge of the damned.

Selene Nocturna sat upon her throne of bone and blackened iron, her fingers idly tracing the cracks in its armrests. Before her knelt Aldric Vayne, or what remained of him. His once-proud armor was tarnished, his flesh ashen and streaked with black veins, his eyes devoid of life’s fire.

Yet he lived. Or something close to it.

"Rise, my knight."

Aldric obeyed without hesitation. His movements were too smooth, too unnatural, as if he were merely a puppet guided by unseen strings. The power Selene had woven into him pulsed beneath his skin, a constant reminder that his will was no longer his own.

Behind him, others stirred.