Story 982: Root of the Rot

The room pulsed with sickly, black light, emanating from the sigils etched into the stone. Draven hovered above the floor like a marionette with severed strings, his limbs limp, yet bound by the tendrils of living shadow. The voice that had escaped his lips was not his own—it was older, colder, and filled with delight.

Mira stepped forward, voice trembling. “Draven, can you hear me?”

His eyes flicked toward her—just for a moment, a spark of recognition. Then, they clouded again.

Zara readied her blade. “If he’s gone, we put him down. We can’t risk—”

“Wait,” Mira snapped. She flipped open the cursed book, its pages feverishly fluttering. The ink bled as she turned, as if the book itself feared what was coming.

The Forsaken Girl moved closer, her voice eerily calm. “He’s still in there… but the Hollow Man has rooted himself deep. You’ll have to tear him out.”

Elias growled, raising his revolver. “And if we can’t?”