The candlelight flickered as Selene Nocturna stepped forward, her grin carved from the depths of nightmares.
The Rotting Cathedral pulsed with unholy energy, the air thick with the stench of decay and something far worse—delight. She had done it. The Choir of Rot sang at her command, their voices blending into a grotesque symphony of suffering.
Tonight, however, she sought a new verse.
The doors to the cathedral groaned open, revealing a lone figure—Rothwyn, the plague-hunter.
A seasoned warrior, draped in holy relics, his silvered armor glowed faintly in the sickly light. His face was hardened, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation.
"Selene Nocturna," he spoke, voice steady. "Your sickness ends tonight."
Selene chuckled, her fingers lazily trailing along the blood-crusted pendant at her throat.
"Ah, Rothwyn… you always come with such conviction. But tell me—do you feel it yet?"
Rothwyn's breath hitched.
A subtle itch beneath his skin. A crawling sensation in his veins.
Selene's grin widened. She had infected him before he even arrived.
"You reek of desperation, hunter," she purred, stepping closer. Her movements were slow, deliberate, a predator savoring the moment. "Do you really think you can kill me before the sickness claims you?"
Rothwyn's grip on his blade tightened, but a bead of blackened sweat rolled down his temple.
"Oh, darling. I do love when they struggle."
She raised her hand, and the shadows of the cathedral trembled. The Choir of Rot emerged, their bodies contorted with disease, their smiles splitting their rotting faces.
They did not rush him.
They simply stood, watching. Grinning.
Rothwyn's breath came in ragged gasps. His limbs felt heavier. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as something vile seeped into his bones.
Selene tilted her head. "Let me guess… your heart pounds, your throat tightens, and oh—" she traced a gloved finger along his cheek "—your teeth ache?"
Rothwyn's jaw clenched as a sharp pain pulsed through his gums.
Selene sighed in mock sympathy. "The first sign of my new plague… is the hunger."
Rothwyn staggered, eyes wide with horror. His own body—turning against him.
Selene leaned in, her breath cold against his ear.
"You'll sing for me soon, Rothwyn."
And then, she smiled.