The toll of the Rotting Cathedral's bells carried across the decayed city, shaking dust from the bones of the dead. The alchemist had escaped—for now. But Selene wasn't concerned.
Her lips curled into a smile as she stepped forward, her blackened fingers running idly along the twisted architecture of the Cathedral's entrance. Flesh and stone had merged here, veins of rotting sinew pulsating along the walls. This place had become an extension of her will, a living monument of death.
She let out a slow breath, and the very air shuddered in response.
"Come, my children," she whispered.
From the cathedral's open maw, the dead emerged. Slouched figures, half-eaten by rot but bound by dark alchemy, clawed their way into the open. Some still carried rusted weapons, remnants of who they once were. Others were merely crawling husks, their flesh patchworked together by Selene's cruel hand.
Her gaze lifted toward the city's broken skyline. She could still taste the alchemist's lingering energy. His little trick—his desperate burst of silver light—had been amusing. But it wouldn't protect him forever.
"Find him," she murmured, her words slipping into the ears of the dead like poison. "Drag him back to me."
The horde lurched forward, scattering through the streets.
Selene turned, stepping back into the cathedral's gloom. The grand chamber was as she had left it—a throne of twisted bone and tarnished gold sat at its center, surrounded by flickering green lanterns. The scent of alchemical reagents still lingered from her most recent experiments.
A sound—faint, but deliberate.
Selene's smile didn't waver.
"You hide your steps well," she mused, turning her gaze to the rafters. "But not well enough."
A figure dropped from above. Cloaked in deep crimson, a hunter landed on one knee, a wickedly curved dagger gleaming in their grasp. Their breath was steady, their posture tense.
Selene's eyes gleamed.
"Ah… the Order still clings to hope?"
The hunter said nothing, only shifted into a stance. The blade in their grip hummed with a quiet energy—holy magic.
Selene chuckled, raising one hand.
"Come then, little blade. Let us see how long your light lasts."
The hunter moved. A blur of crimson and steel closed the distance in an instant.
Selene merely smiled as dark hands erupted from the cathedral walls. The hunter's blade sang as it cut through the first shadowed limb—but the second and third grasped their arms, their legs, pulling them back.
Selene sighed, disappointed.
"You should have brought an army."
The hunter struggled—until they suddenly went still. Their lips moved soundlessly.
Selene's brows furrowed.
Then she felt it—a second presence.
From the cathedral's entrance, the air crackled. Silver flames erupted, swallowing the doorway in blinding light.
The alchemist had returned.