Kruger sat on the edge of the ruined barricade, wrapping a bloodied bandage around his forearm. The wound from Selene's trap still burned, the infection spreading like fire beneath his skin. He knew it wasn't ordinary decay—it was her venom, her alchemy.
"She's playing with us," Sergeant Dorian muttered, pacing the broken cobblestone street. His eyes flickered with unease.
Kruger didn't respond. He knew it too well.
The Pale Widow never attacked outright. She spread sickness through whispers, through slow death, through the mind. And now, she was getting bolder.
Three slow taps. Measured. Deliberate.
Kruger stood, gripping his blade, as Dorian cautiously approached the rotting wooden door of a nearby chapel. It hadn't been there yesterday. He knew that for certain.
The knocking came again.
Then, a voice. Sweet, lilting. Amused.
"Knock, knock, little soldiers. Won't you invite me in?"
Dorian froze. His knuckles turned white against his weapon.
Kruger didn't wait. He kicked the door open—hard.
The wood splintered inward, revealing a figure standing in the dim candlelight.
She leaned against the altar, her hood pushed back, revealing tangled blonde hair streaked with sickly green. Her lips were blackened with dried blood, curling into a smirk. Around her neck, vials of glowing venom swayed, reflecting the flickering firelight.
"Tsk. No manners, General."
Kruger raised his pistol. He never got the chance to fire.
With a flick of her wrist, a mist of violet smoke erupted from her sleeve, coiling toward them like living tendrils. Kruger yanked Dorian back, covering his mouth, but it was already too late.
Dorian stumbled, eyes glassy, lips trembling. His breath hitched, and then—he smiled.
"Beautiful," he murmured, taking a shaky step forward.
Selene hummed, stepping closer.
"Yes," she whispered, tilting her head. "You finally see it, don't you?"
Kruger gritted his teeth.
She wasn't using just venom this time. This was different.
More potent. More personal.
"Leave him," Kruger growled, keeping his distance.
Selene sighed. Mock disappointment.
"But he's already mine, Kruger. Look."
His pupils were gone, replaced by swirling black voids. His mouth twitched into a grin too wide, too wrong.
Then, he moved. Fast.
Kruger barely blocked the strike, his arm colliding with Dorian's twisted strength. His friend—**his brother-in-arms—**was gone.
Selene watched, her lips curling as she whispered:
"Will you kill him, General? Or will you let him kiss you with my rot?"
Kruger didn't hesitate. He fired.
The bullet tore through Dorian's chest. He staggered, gasping—then fell.
"Oh, Kruger," she cooed, stepping into the mist. "You're already mine too."