The Rotting Cathedral lay in eerie silence. The battle had ended, yet the war still breathed. Selene Nocturna stood alone, her bloodied lips curved into something unreadable—neither a smile nor a scowl. A thin stream of dark ichor dripped from her side where Kruger's dagger had struck her, yet she seemed... unbothered.
She slowly raised her hand, pressing her palm against the wound. Dark tendrils of necrotic energy slithered beneath her skin, sealing the injury. The pain was nothing. A mere reminder of his resistance.
Her fingers traced the edge of her hood as she lowered it, revealing hollowed cheekbones, veins blackened like cracked marble, and eyes that burned with an unnatural glow. This form—this face—was not the one she once had.
Not the one she was born with.
She tilted her head, whispering incantations into the stale air. The shadows around her pulsed in response, writhing like living things. The walls of the cathedral groaned as if awakening from a long slumber.
Then, from the darkness, a voice slithered forth.
A chuckle followed—deep, inhuman, ancient. It echoed from the void itself.
Selene's smirk did not waver. "And yet, I stand."
The air rippled, and from the shadows, a figure emerged. Not human. Not entirely real. A phantom draped in a tattered priest's robe, its skeletal hands clutched in prayer. Its face—a hollow mask of sorrow—split open to reveal a toothless maw, whispering secrets in dead tongues.
Selene's laughter was soft, almost amused.
"Of course he does. He wouldn't be any fun if he didn't."
She turned, the long strands of her blackened hair spilling over her shoulder like silk dipped in blood. She could still feel Kruger's defiance—like a lingering ember in a corpse fire. He had wounded her, yes. But it was a mistake.
Because now, she understood him better.
She understood what kept him standing.
"Tell me, old one..." she purred, stepping closer to the phantom. "What happens when a man clings to his last shreds of light?"
The phantom's mouth twitched, forming something akin to a grin.
Selene nodded. "Exactly."
She reached into her cloak, fingers curling around a small glass vial. Inside, the liquid shimmered—sickly green, pulsing as if alive. A new plague. A new curse.
"Let's see how long he lasts."
With a flick of her wrist, she shattered the vial against the ground.
The darkness stirred.
And something began to crawl out.