The Womb Tomb Reborn

Ash fell like black rain as the Cathedral of Ash crumbled behind them, stone screaming against stone. Selene and Varek stumbled into the skeletal forest beyond, breathless, bloodied, and broken—but alive.

Barely.

The ground shuddered beneath their feet, as though the world itself recoiled in agony. Behind them, a plume of dark red light erupted from the cathedral ruins—not light exactly, but something wrong, something that painted the trees in hues of decay and made the moon weep above.

"She's free," Selene whispered. Her voice was hollow.

Varek didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the shifting skies, where the stars had turned. Eriseth, now riding Kael's flesh, had torn the veil between worlds. The air smelled of iron, rot, and lust.

Selene fell to her knees beside a fallen tree, one hand bracing herself, the other clutched to her chest.

"I can still feel her…" she gasped. "Even though she left me—there's… a tether."

Varek knelt beside her, brushing a hand over her face. "You're pale."

"I'm always pale."

"You're dying."

She didn't deny it.

The severing of Eriseth's divine parasite hadn't come without cost. Selene's blood now lacked the monstrous power that had kept her alive through wounds, corruption, and rage. Without Eriseth, her body was just a vessel—cracked, fragile, mortal.

"We need shelter," Varek muttered. "There's a ruin not far—an old outpost where the hybrids once gathered before the purge."

"Do you think they left hot baths and wine?"

"I think they left bones and warnings."

Selene smiled weakly.

They moved through the forest as shadows warped around them. Trees whispered in tongues that hurt to hear. Shapes moved just beyond the edge of vision—creatures that hadn't existed yesterday.

When they reached the outpost ruins, night had fully fallen. The stone was pitted, blackened with old blood. Thorn vines wrapped around shattered pillars. In the center, a cracked pool reflected nothing.

Varek carried Selene into the structure that remained—a half-collapsed stone hall littered with debris. The ceiling was open, revealing a sky twisted with bleeding stars.

"Sleep," he told her.

But Selene wasn't sleeping. She was trembling.

"It's not just her voice anymore," she whispered. "There are others. Something was waiting. In the dark. Eriseth broke the barrier and now… they're watching."

Varek crouched beside her. "Gods?"

"Worse. What came before them."

She stared up at the bleeding sky.

Then her body seized.

Varek grabbed her, holding her close as her eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and black liquid streamed from the corners of her lips—a residue of divine rot.

"Selene!" he shouted.

Her limbs thrashed. Then, suddenly, she was still.

And not alone.

She spoke with two voices—her own, and something lower, deeper, like the cracking of old wood in a fire.

"She marked him. Even in rebirth, she claimed no throne. He is her herald. He is the Womb-Tomb Reborn."

Varek froze.

Then, Selene blinked, and the presence was gone. Her body went limp in his arms.

He held her tighter.

"Don't do that again," he whispered.

Her lips curved into a smirk, even half-conscious. "You afraid of a little prophecy?"

"I'm afraid of losing you."

Their eyes met in the half-light. She reached up, touching his face.

"I'm still here," she said.

Then she pulled him down to her—mouth meeting mouth with slow, deliberate heat. Despite the blood and ruin around them, their bodies remembered each other. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him deeply, desperately.

He returned the kiss with a hunger that bordered on madness. Their clothes were already torn, soaked from ash and battle. He slid his hands over her thighs, her waist, the curve of her back, pulling her astride him.

Their foreheads touched.

"You still smell like fire," she murmured. "And blood."

"I bleed for you."

She smiled. "Then spill it."

Their passion ignited, slow but burning. Each kiss was laced with memory and fear, each touch layered with something that felt like grief and desire entwined. They made love like people who knew the world was ending—soft and savage, reverent and wild. Every breath was worship. Every moan, a prayer to nothing.

When it ended, she lay against him, sweat cooling on her skin, eyes distant.

"They're coming for us," she said. "Not vampires. Not werewolves. The ones who crawled through the breach Eriseth made."

Varek nodded. "Then we face them together."

Hours later

Selene slept.

Varek sat by the shattered doorway of the ruin, sharpening a blade that could barely hold an edge anymore. The air had grown heavier. Not just the unnatural silence—but the sense that the world itself was holding its breath.

A rustle behind him. Not Selene.

He turned.

A figure emerged from the forest—a tall, skeletal being draped in silken robes of moth-wing and bone. Its face was veiled, but its voice was dust and honey.

"You bear the mark of two dying races," it said.

Varek stood. "What are you?"

"I am the Oracle of the First Hollow. I have no name. Only truths."

"What do you want?"

"To offer you knowledge. Before the end."

The oracle moved slowly, hands folded. "Kael was only the beginning. Eriseth now rides his flesh, but her soul has split, fractured across dimensions. There are other Kaels now—versions of him, some with wings, others with fire, each carrying her like a virus."

Varek's blood ran cold.

"You mean she's multiplying."

The oracle nodded. "She is remaking the world in her image. Soon, there will be no night or day. Only crimson hours. You must kill him—kill all of him. In every place. Every echo."

Varek's jaw clenched. "How?"

The oracle extended a hand, and from its palm emerged a shard of obsidian, wrapped in sinew.

"The dagger from the cathedral was only one piece. The true weapon lies in the Womb Tomb—the place where the first gods bred corruption into flesh. Go there. Face the birth of all horror. End it."

Then, the oracle turned to leave.

"Wait," Varek said. "Why help me?"

The oracle paused. "Because even gods fear what comes after them."

It vanished into the mist.

Later that night

Selene woke to find Varek watching her.

"You ever get tired of brooding?" she murmured.

"Not when I have good reason."

He told her what the oracle said.

Selene sat up slowly, hand over her chest.

"The Womb Tomb… I've dreamed of it. A temple inside something alive. Walls that pulse. Floors that breathe. I think I was born there."

Varek nodded. "Then that's where we go."

They packed what little they had. As they stepped beyond the ruins, the forest opened to reveal a path that hadn't existed the day before—a road of bone and ash.

Above it, carved into the horizon like a tumor of flesh, was a mountain that breathed.

Selene shivered. "It's waking up."

Varek looked at her. "So are we."

They walked forward, together.

And the world began to bleed.