Story 800: The Widow’s Last Breath

The Rotting Cathedral quaked as the whisper grew into a deafening wail. Selene Nocturna staggered back, her eerie confidence cracking as the mist twisted into something darker. Something older.

Kruger, battered and bleeding, forced himself to his feet. He knew that voice. It was no ally. No savior. It was something even Selene feared.

A figure emerged from the abyssal fog—clad in tattered robes, its skeletal face hidden beneath a deep hood. The air around it crackled with unnatural energy. This was not one of Selene’s abominations. It was something beyond undeath. Beyond her control.

Selene’s lips curled into a snarl. “No. This is my dominion. My curse. You do not belong here!”

The entity did not speak. It simply raised one bony hand.

Selene screamed as her body convulsed. The dark magic she had hoarded for centuries turned against her, writhing beneath her skin like a parasite seeking to escape. Her veins blackened, her eyes clouded with necrotic haze.