A thick, unnatural mist curled around the Rotting Cathedral, seeping through its cracks like a living thing. Selene Nocturna stood in the heart of her sanctum, her hands lifting the hood of her tattered cloak, veiling her face in shadow.
Tonight, she would not be seen. Only felt.
Before her, a battered mirror reflected a warped, decaying vision of herself. A mocking smile stretched across her lips. Her flesh, still imbued with the alchemical curses she had woven, had begun to shed its human façade. The tendrils of rot clung to her gown, pulsating, shifting as if hungry for more.
Selene let out a breath, watching the mist dance around her.
Beyond the cathedral's walls, a caravan of mercenaries moved cautiously through the cursed lands. Knights. Alchemists. Priests.
They had come to cleanse her domain.
Selene turned, her fingers brushing the bone amulet hanging around her throat. She could feel the spirits writhing within it, their whispers guiding her thoughts. She would show them the cost of their intrusion.
She stepped into the mist, dissolving into it.
The knights moved in a tight formation, torches flickering against the suffocating fog. Their leader, Sir Aldric, gripped his silver-forged longsword, his eyes darting through the darkness.
"Something is wrong," whispered a priest, clutching a blessed relic.
"The air—it's thick with death."
The alchemist at the rear adjusted his mask, his hands tightening around a vial of purging fire.
"No turning back," Aldric said, steeling himself. "We end her tonight."
But the mist grew denser. It slithered between their ranks, wrapping around their armor, sinking into their lungs.
A whisper from everywhere and nowhere.
"Why do you come to my home uninvited?"
A scream rang out. One of the knights dropped his torch, clawing at his throat. His veins blackened in seconds, his eyes rolling back as his flesh peeled away in slow, agonizing strips.
"She's in the fog!" the priest shrieked. "She's watching us!"
Selene's laughter coiled around them, thick with amusement.
"Oh, dear hunters… I am the fog."
Then the mist came alive.
Hands—rotting, spectral, writhing with necrotic power—burst forth from the ground, clawing at their feet.
Aldric swung his blade, severing the phantom limbs, but for every one he struck down, more rose in its place.
The alchemist hurled a vial of purging fire, its blaze tearing through the darkness—only for Selene to step from the flames, untouched.
Her hood still drawn, her lips curled in delight.
The priest fell to his knees, choking on his prayers. Aldric, rage and terror battling in his eyes, charged at her—but Selene simply raised a single, decayed hand.
Aldric froze mid-stride. His breath hitched. His flesh cracked like brittle glass.
Selene pulled back her hood at last, revealing her twisted, grinning visage.
"You never stood a chance."
The mist swallowed the rest.
The Veil of Decay had claimed its victims.