Chapter 11: The Loosening Seal

Chapter 11: The Loosening Seal

The night was as deep as ink, with the moonlight obscured by heavy clouds. Only occasional slivers of pale light filtered through the gaps in the branches, casting a ghostly glow over the desolate altar.

The wind whispered in low tones, like an unseen presence murmuring in the dark. It carried the damp scent of soil and the metallic tang of decaying leaves, suffusing the air with an inexplicable sense of oppression.

Tom stood at the edge of the stone platform, holding his breath, his eyes locked onto the figure crawling out of the earth. A thin sheen of sweat coated his palms as he gripped his folding knife tightly. The blade caught a faint glint of moonlight, reflecting a cold, sharp gleam.

The withered and contorted corpse slowly straightened itself. Its skin was an ashen gray, like rotting wax, its bones protruding beneath its emaciated form. And yet, its limbs remained eerily intact.

Its head tilted slightly, its eye sockets deep and hollow, like twin black voids. A deep, jagged slit stretched across its mouth, revealing rows of stark white teeth, forming what almost seemed like a grotesque, silent grin. More disturbing still was the dark, ominous symbol embedded in its chest—an intricate pattern of twisted lines, resembling an ancient, unknown glyph. The mark pulsed faintly in the darkness, writhing as if alive.

Cold sweat soaked Tom's back. A chill crept up from the soles of his feet, racing up his spine. Forcing down his rising terror, he turned to Elizabeth, his voice unsteady. "Elizabeth, are you sure you just wanted to get rid of the parasite puppet? Because this thing looks a hell of a lot worse."

Elizabeth stood by the stone tablet, her gaze fixed on the corpse. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached out, her fingertips tracing the intricate carvings on the monument, running over the obscure etchings as if in contemplation. Her expression remained unnervingly calm, though a faint tension lurked in her brow.

The corpse moved as if guided by an unseen force, its stiff neck twisting with an unnatural creak to face them directly. Its movements were slow, unnerving, its joints clicking faintly, like an ancient machine stirring after years of inactivity.

Then, its mouth slowly opened. A guttural, rasping sound crawled up from its throat—somewhere between a cry and a laugh, or perhaps a whisper of something far older than words. The chilling sound echoed through the empty woods, setting the air on edge.

Tom inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the handle of his knife until his knuckles turned white. His voice dropped to a near whisper, squeezed through clenched teeth. "I don't care what it is. That thing is bad news. We need to run."

As he spoke, he instinctively took a step back, his eyes darting around in search of an escape route.

Elizabeth, however, didn't move. She stood firm, her gaze deep and unreadable, watching the creature intently. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice low and even, as if she had reached a conclusion.

"…It's not alive."

Tom frowned, his confusion mixed with urgency. "Not alive? Then what the hell is it?"

Elizabeth's eyes shifted downward, landing on the writhing mark on the corpse's chest. Slowly, she spoke, her tone measured. "Some corpses, when infested with certain parasites, retain fragments of consciousness from before they died. But they are no longer human. They're just animated husks—controlled by the parasites… or something much older."

Tom swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He struggled to process her words before asking hesitantly, "So you're saying this thing is… a zombie controlled by parasites?" He hesitated, then added, "And does that mean it's a threat to us?"

Before she could answer, the corpse suddenly jerked, its body shuddering violently as if something within it had been triggered. Its head lifted slightly, and the mark on its chest flared with an eerie red glow—like a signal being activated.

Then, its stiff fingers twitched, curling into a clawed grip. In an instant, its nails turned jet black, razor-sharp, glinting in the dim light like freshly honed blades. Without hesitation, it pointed straight at them.

Tom's pupils shrank. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. He barely had time to react before he blurted out, "I think we can skip the debate about whether it's dangerous!"

His grip on his knife tightened, and he instinctively took a defensive stance.

And then, the creature lunged.

It shot forward with alarming speed, its clawed hand slicing through the air with a sharp whistle—aimed directly at Elizabeth's throat.

A cold glint flickered in Elizabeth's eyes. With a sudden, almost inhuman twist, she contorted her body at an impossible angle, narrowly evading the lethal strike. In the same motion, she drew a slender dagger from her waist, a flash of silver cutting through the darkness as she struck.

"Schk—"

The blade sank deep into the creature's wrist, carving a gash that oozed thick, black blood. The stench was overwhelming—like rotting flesh exposed to the air, sickly and cloying.

Yet, the corpse didn't react. It didn't flinch, didn't recoil. Even as the black blood dripped onto the ground, sizzling as it met the dirt, it continued moving, its twisted fingers still reaching for Elizabeth, undeterred.

Tom felt his scalp prickle with horror. "It doesn't feel pain!" he hissed, his voice edged with panic. His gaze flickered between Elizabeth and the creature, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Elizabeth's expression darkened. She wrenched the dagger free and leaped back, fluid and controlled, putting distance between them. Her movements were precise, practiced—she had fought things like this before.

The creature didn't immediately pursue. It tilted its head slightly, as if studying its own bleeding wrist. The dark ichor seeped from the wound, pooling at its feet. Then, suddenly, its lips stretched wider—into a grin far too deep for a human face.

Tom's breath hitched. His voice was barely a whisper. "Is it… mocking us?" His hands trembled slightly, slick with sweat.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "It's testing us."

Tom blinked. "Testing?" Then, realization struck him. His stomach twisted. "Wait… this thing was sealed, wasn't it? And now it's just waking up?"

Elizabeth nodded, her voice steady. "Its movements are unrefined, like it's unfamiliar with its own body. That means… the seal has weakened, but it hasn't fully broken."

Tom's breath came quicker. "And if it fully awakens…?"

Elizabeth didn't answer immediately. She turned, her gaze flicking toward the stone tablet behind them. After a brief silence, she murmured, "We can't let that happen."

Tom instantly grasped what she meant. His fingers brushed against his pocket, pulling out a lighter. He clicked it open, a small flame flickering to life. With a forced chuckle, he half-joked, "So how about we just burn it? One good fire should do the trick."

"No." Elizabeth shut him down immediately, her tone firm. "Parasite corpses are resistant to fire. Ordinary flames won't destroy them. Worse, it might provoke it into fully awakening."

Tom swore under his breath. "Then what the hell do we do? We can't kill it, we can't run forever… We're just supposed to stand here and hope it drops dead?"

Elizabeth scanned the surroundings, her expression calculating. Then, she spoke. "We stall for time."

Tom blinked. "What?"

"The altar's seal isn't completely broken yet. Given time, it will reactivate." Her eyes locked onto his. "We don't have to defeat it. We just have to keep it from escaping."

Tom hesitated, then a grin spread across his face—sharp, reckless. "So we just have to keep it busy?"

The creature's hollow eyes gleamed red. It had been listening.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it lunged.

The wind howled. Death came rushing toward them—

And Tom?

He smiled wider.