After the meeting, King Xerxez was escorted by Matheros, Phalleon, Vethor, and Catana to the Betelgeuse district. There, ministers awaited them, their faces etched with deep concern for Thallerion's future, fearing another dark chapter might unfold. Newest update provided by NoveI[F]ire.net
The whispers of the elders painted a chilling portrait of the Ossibians: their attacks would cloak the land in shadow, and ravens, grim harbingers, would circle above, awaiting the spill of blood before descending like a plague to feast on human flesh. More horrifying still, the dead would rise in monstrous forms once the Entity unleashed its most potent magic.
"I agree with the old saying that ravens bring ill omens," Vethor murmured, his eyes fixated on something beyond the window. He recoiled abruptly, drawing curious glances from his companions.
"What's wrong, Vethor?" Matheros asked, following Vethor's startled gaze. "Raven! A black raven!" Vethor gasped, his voice laced with horror.
"That brings misfortune!" Vethor exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger. "It needs to be driven away, banished from this place, or killed immediately!"
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Xerxez stated, taking a guard's pistol. "Perhaps Sapar sent it to spy on us here in the kingdom." He slowly approached the window, weapon in hand.
"No, Xerxez, I'll kill that raven," Phalleon interjected, snatching his own pistol and carefully pushing the window open.
"At first, I believed that seeing such a thing was a bad omen," Matheros explained, his voice strained with urgency. "A danger, but with the Ossibians, I say it carries a vile curse! Don't get too close!" Fear gripped everyone present, paralyzing them. Even the king seemed utterly convinced by Matheros's words.
"But if we butcher that raven, they won't hear any news about what we're discussing now," Phalleon said, a chilling, almost unsettling smile playing on his lips.
Phalleon then feigned nonchalance, as if he had no intention of harming the bird. "What's wrong with you? It's just a raven!" he chuckled, still smiling. "Why do you believe in things that are often just meant to scare children?" He playfully admonished his companions. "Look, it'll fly away immediately. Maybe it didn't see us; perhaps it's blind!" He opened the window wider, revealing the raven perched outside.
"Shoo! Shoo!" he shooed, but instead of taking flight, the raven merely stared at him with an eerie, knowing gaze. Its dark feathers gleamed with an unnatural sheen, and its red eyes, fixed intently on them, held an unearthly intensity. It let out a loud, unsettling caw.
"Don't touch it, Phalleon!" Matheros cried, his voice laced with heightened alarm at Phalleon's dangerous recklessness.
"Don't worry, this raven is kind!" Phalleon quipped, but his tone instantly shifted from feigned innocence to pure rage and contempt as he faced the bird. "Hey, you wretched bird, don't you dare scare us!" Phalleon lunged, attempting to strike the raven, but as his hand neared, the bird suddenly pecked him with surprising force, drawing blood. "Ow! You damned raven!" he cursed, firing his pistol. The shot merely grazed the bird, but it swiftly took flight, disappearing into the sky. "May you die!" Phalleon yelled after it, but it was gone.
In a fit of anger, Phalleon slammed the window shut, then turned, clutching his bleeding right hand. A strange, agonizing pain pulsed through him, unlike anything he had ever felt, as if crabs were relentlessly pinching the muscles of his hand.
"W-what happened to your hand?" Catana's eyes widened in horror, fixed on his bleeding hand.
Phalleon's face abruptly paled, and a chill, known only to him, seized his frame. Yet, it wasn't just the cold. Screams, high-pitched and guttural, tore through his mind, not from without, but from deep within, as if malevolent spirits clawed at his sanity. He felt as though a virulent fever was consuming him, and his vision blurred, almost blinded by a light that wasn't there in the dimly lit room. He was convinced, utterly, that his flesh was twisting, elongating, his teeth sharpening into fangs—though outwardly, he remained unchanged. He alone experienced the grotesque transformation within his body. A wave of vertigo washed over him, followed by the stench of decay that dissipated as quickly as it came. Then, just as suddenly, his well-being returned, the agonizing voices in his head quieting to a sinister hum. He stared at his hand; the blood had ceased its flow, as if desiccated, yet the wound's color shifted, a sickly pallor replacing the crimson that should have been. The change, though subtle, was unsettling. His companions stared, their faces contorted in shock, especially after his sudden turn towards them. A laugh, cold and unnerving, escaped his lips.
"What afflicts you all? Why this shock? Truly, I've merely banished the raven; must your reactions be so dramatic?" he chided, a strange lightness in his voice, oblivious to their terror, convinced they saw the monstrous change he felt within himself.
"What happened to the raven?" Matheros dared to ask, his gaze fixed on Phalleon's hand. "Your—your hand?"
"It flew off, obviously! Annoyed, perhaps, that it dared to peck me! Damned bird!" Phalleon spat, a lingering irritation in his tone. "It's nothing! Just a raven!" He settled down abruptly, yet an overwhelming thirst gnawed at him. It felt like a burning in his throat, a primal hunger for something far thicker than water, a viscous, metallic craving for blood. He fought it, focusing on the available water, a desperate act of control. Thankfully, water sat before him. He poured a glass, but it wasn't enough. He poured another, and still, the thirst persisted. Finally, he seized the glass pitcher and drained its contents. Only then did Phalleon breathe a sigh of relief, panting, grateful the oppressive thirst had vanished, the gruesome craving momentarily suppressed. An unholy silence descended upon them. They could scarcely believe Phalleon's actions, unable to utter a sound, unnerved by his unnatural demeanor. After several minutes, Phalleon broke the silence.
"Forgive me, I couldn't bear the thirst," he mumbled, a hint of shame in his voice, as all eyes remained fixed upon him. Something truly bizarre was unfolding, a moment so peculiar it seemed shrouded in macabre mystery. Phalleon's actions gradually normalized, and the terror began to recede from their faces as the unsettling atmosphere subsided.
"Let's forget it," Xerxez urged his companions, his voice strained. "Let us return to our normal discourse."