The battlefield below was a sea of flickering torches, marching boots, and hushed prayers. The Silver Order and Crimson Pact had come with steel, fire, and faith—tools they believed would end the reign of the Pale Widow.
Selene Nocturna stood at the shattered window of The Rotting Cathedral, watching with amusement as the mortals prepared their assault. They had no idea they had already lost.
Behind her, the shadows stirred. Kruger hadn't left.
"You didn't run." Selene's voice was silk and smoke, curling between them.
Kruger's grip tightened around his silver blade. He had watched her for years, hunted her across dead cities and rotting fields, yet here he stood—close enough to smell the blood on her lips.
"I should kill you." His voice was low, as if saying it too loudly might shatter his resolve.
Selene turned to face him, the moonlight catching the golden glow of her eyes, the dark stain on her mouth.
"Then why don't you?"
The question hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Because he couldn't.
Selene tilted her head, stepping forward, her movements slow, deliberate. A predator closing in.
"You are brave, Kruger, I'll grant you that. But bravery is such a thin veil for foolishness."
She reached out, her gloved fingers grazing his jaw, tracing old scars and fresh wounds. He flinched but did not pull away.
"Tell me…" she whispered, her breath cold against his lips. "Do you dream of me?"
Kruger's breathing hitched.
Selene's smile widened.
A horn blast from the battlefield below shattered the moment. The attack had begun.
Selene sighed, her expression shifting from playfulness to cold indifference.
"We'll continue this later."
She turned to the window, lifting her hands. Dark veins crawled beneath her pale skin as she whispered forbidden words. The air thickened, turning rancid. The earth trembled.
From the battlefield, screams erupted.
Bodies twisted, contorted, and fell as Selene's plague spread like wildfire. Skin blackened, flesh peeled, lungs rotted from within. The living turned into monstrous husks, bound to her will.
The Silver Order paladins swung their blades at their former allies, now grotesque plague revenants. The Crimson Pact warlocks tried to counter the magic, but Selene's curse was deeper than spellwork—it was a disease that clung to the soul.
Kruger watched in horror as men and women collapsed, choking on their own decay.
"Mercy!" someone screamed.
"Mercy is for the weak."
She turned back to Kruger, her lips curling. "Stay with me, hunter. Let me show you what true power looks like."
His fingers trembled over his blade. He should strike. He should run.
Instead, he stood frozen.
The Pale Widow smiled.
And below them, the world burned.