The Mark and the Madness

His eyes turned pure red—like the liquid.

His legs trembled. Something was racing through his body—fast, fierce. It started in his chest, sank into his gut, then surged outward. His arms twitched. His legs buckled. Even the soft, boneless rod between his thighs shuddered uncontrollably.

The woman who had called him a stranger watched in stunned silence. She sensed something was terribly wrong—something beyond comprehension—but fear kept her lips sealed.

Yet, while she and Oliver trembled, the veiled woman smiled.

Then—she turned.

Not in alarm.

Not to seek help.

She turned as if this agony was expected. As if it were natural.

Her walk, her smile, her voice—none of it was ordinary. She moved like she didn't belong to this world. Like she'd never existed at all.

Oliver clenched his teeth, trying to contain the searing heat—this power—or whatever cursed force had taken hold of him. Then he saw it again: the light. That pulsing light in the woods. The same metallic-eyed glow that haunted him before the dragons came.

His heart pounded—sharp, violent—like it was trying to claw out of his chest. He threw his head back and screamed:

"OH GOD, WHY?!"

The cry tore through the sky like a stormwind. Its echo made the earth tremble. Buildings in the distance quivered.

Every gaze snapped toward him. He was no longer Oliver. He was something else. Something only Yama and the stranger could name.

As the agony consumed him, the ring and the star-shaped mark on his shoulder began to glow—pulsating in sync. The ring spun wildly around his finger. Dots along the star flickered, one after the other.

He looked up—but the sky wasn't the same. It had become the roof of the cage where the beast once tore him apart.

The pain returned with brutal memory—its claws, its hunger, its hatred.

Leo sprang forward, catching Oliver mid-air as if he'd leapt to end his life. They collapsed together. Oliver writhed violently—his limbs jerking like a man possessed. No one understood what was happening. Not even the woman who watched with fear and awe.

Then—from the shadows—something emerged.

It had no form at first, a dark smear in motion. Slowly, it shaped itself… into something vaguely human.

As it approached, it cast no shadow.

And though the crowd stood frozen in confusion, not a single mind turned to face the thing.

"Leave him!"

The being halted.

A voice, deep and absolute, cracked through the air. A voice so commanding even demons would flee. The moment it rang out, time itself paused.

No sound.

No movement.

Even fire forgot to burn.

Only the voice remained—chanting, living, echoing across sky and soil.

"Take him… to the place you left the dying man."

It wasn't meant for Leo. Nor for Oliver. It called out to her—the woman who had vanished at the twin trees. The one who held a strange object that turned into a bird before disappearing.

"Nyxara! Come out—and take him where you took Rhaziel!"

As the final word faded, she appeared.

Not from the sky. Not from the ground. She simply was—standing once more at the center of the twin tall trees.

Her arrival brought a chill with it—yet somehow calmed Leo's mind. He still feared for Oliver… but less now.

When she neared, Leo rose to his feet. She smiled.

There was no fear in her lips. No flinch in her eyes. But Leo stood firm too, unwilling to cower.

"Listen, young man," she said, her voice clear, each word sharp and deliberate. "If you truly want to help your friend, step aside and let me. Or I'll wipe you out like dust."

The threat wasn't loud. But it cut deep—precise and dreadful.

At the word "dust," Leo faltered. He stepped back, surrendering Oliver into her hands.

Even as he did, fear gnawed at him—where would they take Oliver? What would become of him?

"If you wish," she added, her tone softer now, "I can help you too…"

She turned with Oliver's limp body in her arms. A subtle glance passed between her and Leo, then she walked toward the looming building.

Oliver stirred. Slowly, consciousness returned. Then—he jolted upright.

What he saw froze his breath.

"Why… why are there so many bodies… lying like fish?" He muttered, heart pounding.

He stepped off the bed, searching for answers.

The first body lay beside his cot. But it wasn't whole. No limbs. No head. Just a brutal, mangled torso—flesh torn by something sharp, savage, and monstrous.

He staggered closer. The remains were covered in deep, jagged marks. No identity could be salvaged.

He reached out, drawn by the pale white skin. But as his fingers neared the neck, he saw it—

Smoke.

Pulsing from the severed throat.

As soon as his fingers felt the heat rising off it, he stumbled back.

"No… this is just a dream," he muttered, shaking his head. His fingers came away wet—too real.

But the body didn't vanish. The smoke still rose, slow and steady. Something inside him insisted, "Look closer."

He stepped forward again, drawn by a grim compulsion. His eyes traced the wounds more carefully this time. At first, he saw only jagged, zigzagging slashes—but then… he saw them.

Symbols. Shapes. Etched deep into each shoulder.

"Wait… is that a claw mark?" he whispered. "Or… is it part of the skin?"

He bent in, narrowing his eyes until the shape came into focus.

"What?" he gasped. His voice bounced off the walls and came back to him warped—like the room had shrunk or filled to the brim with invisible things.

"That's… that's the same mark I have on my shoulder… but… the dots—they're different colors…"

His hands gripped the edge of the bed. He leaned his weight forward, pressing his brow into his arm, muttering to himself—trying to hold on to reason.

Crush!

A sharp sound cracked through the air—something shattering on a distant floor.

He snapped upright. His eyes darted toward the noise. Then he started walking.

Each bed he passed carried another body—mutilated, still, and cold. Some bore two shapes: one was the same star that marked his own shoulder. The other was alien—unfamiliar, unreadable. It was like the corpses had been sorted… by mark. By meaning. By power.

The first corpse had just one symbol, but its five dots had burned in distinct colors. The next had two symbols. Then three. Each step forward unveiled a new horror, more complex than the last.

Then—he saw it.

A shape beneath a doorframe.

It stood unnaturally still.

It had no face. No eyes. No lips. No nose.

But its outline mimicked a human head.

Shoulders too, almost human.

He froze.

Then shook it off.

Just a trick of the light… He told himself and kept walking. He focused on counting shapes, tracing dots, anything but that thing.

Clang!

A loud, metallic ring tore through the silence. It came from the exact spot where he'd stood earlier.

He spun around.

Nothing.

No object lay shattered. No metal plate has fallen. Just silence again—thick and pressing.

It felt deliberate.

Like someone—or something—was playing with him.

Toying with his mind.

Or worse—luring him.

Into madness.