The flickering torchlight barely reached the walls of the crumbling corridor. The Rotting Cathedral shifted and sighed, its bones groaning beneath centuries of decay.
Lucien staggered, his breath ragged. His wounds burned, veins blackening from the poison that coursed through them. The darkness was alive behind him, creeping, whispering, pulling.
And then—she stepped forward.
Selene Nocturna emerged from the gloom like a specter. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glowing like molten gold in the abyss. The dim light caught the sharpness of her fangs, the black ichor smeared across her chin from her last victim.
Lucien's legs nearly buckled. His body screamed for air, but the plague within him had already taken root.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Selene mused, stepping closer.
Lucien's fingers fumbled for the dagger at his waist. A feeble act of defiance.
Selene laughed softly. "Oh, you still have fight left in you? How precious."
She lifted her hand, and the air grew thick with rot. A swarm of blackened moths erupted from her fingertips, their wings dusted with decay, their touch dissolving the very air itself.
Lucien swung his dagger wildly. The moths laughed. The sound of crackling bones and distant weeping filled his ears.
His knees hit the stone floor.
Selene tilted her head. "I wonder… what will you become?"
Lucien gasped, but no air came. His vision blurred. His heartbeat slowed.
Selene leaned in close, her breath cold as winter's grave. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, smearing his sweat with the sickness blooming beneath his skin.
"You belong to me now."
Lucien's body seized. His scream never left his throat.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Selene straightened, watching as his body twisted, reshaped itself. Bone cracked. Skin blistered. His final breath exhaled as something… else… drew its first.
And in the shadows, her creation opened its eyes.