The Rotting Cathedral groaned, its walls bleeding with plague-infested ichor, the very air thick with whispered curses. Selene Nocturna sat upon her throne of bone and withered vines, her golden eyes gleaming with the sickly light of corrupted divinity. She exhaled, her lips curling into a smirk as she watched the figure before her—a broken man, barely clinging to life.
Kruger knelt, though not by choice. The weight of Selene's magic pinned him down, an unseen force pressing into his shoulders, forcing submission. His body betrayed him—veins blackened, fever burning beneath his skin—but his spirit had not yet shattered.
Selene tilted her head, feigning curiosity.
"Still fighting? I wonder how much longer you can endure."
She rose from her throne, her cloak flowing behind her like living shadow. Each step she took was measured, deliberate. The cathedral trembled at her presence, the torches flickering, their flames struggling to stay lit in her wake.
Kruger struggled against the force holding him, but his limbs refused to obey. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"You… won't… win," he spat through clenched teeth.
Selene chuckled softly, crouching before him. Her gloved fingers traced his jaw, tilting his face upward, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"Win?" she echoed, amusement lacing her voice. "Kruger, my dear… I already have."
She turned away from him, pacing toward the great stained-glass window, the corrupted saint's face watching over them with hollow, empty eyes.
"The old world is crumbling," Selene murmured. "The gods have abandoned their flock. The dead walk at my command, and the living… oh, how they kneel so easily when they taste despair."
She turned back to Kruger, a wicked glint in her eyes.
"Tell me, warrior—how does it feel to be forsaken?"
Kruger let out a ragged chuckle, the sound strained but defiant.
"You think you've won?" he rasped. "This… this isn't over."
Selene's smile widened.
"No," she agreed, "it isn't. Not yet."
She gestured, and from the cathedral's depths, figures emerged—her creations, her plague-born children. Twisted things of flesh and bone, once human, now bound to her will. They moved like marionettes on invisible strings, their vacant eyes locked onto Kruger.
Selene descended the steps of her throne, standing over him.
She leaned in, whispering against his ear.
"Soon, there will be nothing left to fight for."
She stepped back, lifting her hand. Dark energy coiled around her fingers, a swirling mass of rot and ruin.
A snap of her fingers.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
The cathedral doors slammed shut.
And the Pale Widow sat once more upon her throne.