Story 961: The Hollow Gates

The ruined train hissed as it settled into silence, the last traces of its ghoulish energy dissipating into the cold air. Beyond the obsidian gates, an ancient fortress of decay loomed beneath the swollen moon.

Draven tightened his grip on his shotgun. “I’m guessing that’s where we don’t want to go.”

Mira exhaled, steadying herself. “And yet, we have no choice.”

The Rotting King stood at the threshold, his skeletal frame wrapped in a decayed cloak, the air around him thick with the scent of old death. His hollow eyes fixed on Mira.

“The Book has chosen you,” his voice slithered through the wind. “But do you truly understand its price?”

Elias stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “She understands enough. Question is, do you?” He uncorked his flask, the scent of blessed whiskey burning the air.

The Rotting King let out a low, rumbling laugh. The gates creaked open.