Surrender

The Harbinger raised a gloved hand, fingers curling like a conductor leading an unseen orchestra. The darkness obeyed.

From the shifting void at his feet, tendrils of shadow erupted—thick, writhing things that slithered through the graveyard like serpents. They moved with unnatural speed, lashing forward like whips, their ink-black forms flickering in and out of solidity.

Thunder cracked through the graveyard. A chain of deafening explosions ripped through the air, kicking up a choking cloud of thick, acrid smoke. The blast waves sent tombstone shards flying, distorting the eldritch figures writhing in the mist.

For a moment, I thought it had worked.

Then, through the smog, I saw him.

Unmoved. Unshaken. The shadows rippling at his feet as though the smoke was merely an inconvenience. His cold, calculating gaze never left me.

Every instinct screamed at me to run. But I knew better. There was no outrunning something like this.