The world outside the Rotting Cathedral trembled. The air was thick with decay, and the very ground seemed to rot under the weight of Selene Nocturna's unnatural presence.
Inside the sanctum, candlelight flickered against the walls of bone, casting twisting shadows that danced like specters. Selene stood at the altar, her hood drawn low over her face, her bloodstained lips curved into something between a smile and a snarl.
Across from her, the Harbinger stood unyielding, the silver of their mask catching the dim glow. Their plague censer still swayed, releasing an ancient mist—one that Selene recognized all too well.
"You wield my own craft against me?" she mused, tilting her head.
The Harbinger did not answer. Instead, they stepped forward, drawing a ritual dagger, its jagged edge gleaming with sickly green venom.
Selene chuckled. Foolish.
With a mere flick of her fingers, the shadows responded. They surged like sentient tendrils, seeking to consume the intruder.
But the Harbinger had anticipated this.
They raised their gloved hand, revealing a glyph etched into their very flesh. It pulsed with ancient power, and at once, Selene felt it—a crack in her dominion.
The shadows hesitated.
For the first time in decades, something else controlled them.
Selene's smile faltered.
"You misunderstand your place, Harbinger." Her voice was cold, even as the veins along her throat pulsed an eerie black.
The Harbinger exhaled softly, their voice calm and deliberate.
"You are not a goddess, Pale Widow. You are merely a woman who drank from the wrong well of power."
Selene's laughter filled the cathedral, shrill and venomous.
"And yet, here you stand, trembling before me."
But then, something shifted.
The mist from the censer grew thicker, its tendrils wrapping around the cathedral itself. The bone walls groaned, the very foundation of her sanctuary… rebelling against her.
Selene staggered, gripping the altar. The Rotting Cathedral had never denied her before.
"What have you done?" she hissed.
The Harbinger lowered their mask, revealing a face partially consumed by the same plague she had long spread. Their skin was cracked, veins blackened, lips torn from years of rot and rebirth.
"I have done what you feared most, Nocturna," they whispered.
Selene's eyes narrowed.
"I have taken your curse… and made it my own."
The last of the candles flickered out.
A silence fell over the Rotting Cathedral. Then—
The mist surged, engulfing everything in darkness.