The clock tower chamber smelled of antiseptic and old blood, the air thick with the metallic tang of recent dissections. Jack stood over his latest subject—a hollowed one that now retained its human form for precisely five minutes before the corruption resumed its work. The creature's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, its eyes rolling wildly as it cycled between states of torment.
"Fascinating," Jack murmured, pressing a scalpel to the hollowed one's trembling throat. The blade bit deep, ending its suffering with clinical precision.
A whisper of feathers filled the air as his crow perched on the dissection table, its star-flecked eyes reflecting the lamplight. Jack stroked its midnight plumage absently before speaking.
"Bring Elara."
The bird tilted its head but obeyed, vanishing through the cracked window in a flutter of darkness.
The door groaned open before the crow had even cleared the sill. Martin entered, his movements unnaturally smooth, his fingernails retracted into claw-like points. The tattoo on his neck—an inverted cross with a crow perched atop it—pulsed faintly with each breath. His eyes were twin pools of swirling darkness, the fusion with his crow now complete.
"My liege," Martin said, bowing low. "I bring concerns."
Jack wiped the scalpel clean on his already bloodstained overalls. "Speak."
Martin's fingers twitched. "CeeCee. She saw me plant the seed at the mayor's residence. If she interferes—"
Jack's smile was a razor's edge. "She's awake but impotent. The Maw's daughter can no more stop what's coming than a child can halt the tide." He set the scalpel down with a soft click. "Her time will come. But not today."
The door creaked again. Elara stood framed in the doorway, the crow from earlier perched on her shoulder. Her eyes immediately went to the dissected hollowed one, then to the fresh blood staining Jack's hands.
"You summoned me?"
Jack motioned her inside. "Both of you—listen carefully."
The air in the chamber grew heavy, the shadows deepening as if drawn toward some unseen vortex. Jack's voice dropped to a whisper that slithered along their skin.
"I will create seeds from half my essence. The process will leave me vulnerable. My true nature will manifest." His black eyes locked onto each of them in turn. "You must contain the corruption that spills forth. Absorb it. No matter the cost."
Elara's fingers twitched toward the Starved Saint's power coiled in her gut. Martin's claws extended reflexively. Neither spoke. Questions were unnecessary—Jack's plans were absolute.
Jack sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his movements deliberate. The crows in the rafters stilled. The very air seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
Jack's fingernails elongated into obsidian talons, glinting wickedly in the lamplight. Without hesitation, he plunged them into his own chest.
Elara gasped as the sound of rending flesh filled the chamber. Blood—black as pitch and thicker than oil—welled around Jack's fingers as he reached deeper, his face a mask of calm concentration. A wet tearing sound, then—
His heart came free in his grasp.
The organ pulsed in his palm, black and glistening, its surface etched with faint crimson veins that throbbed in time to some unseen rhythm. Jack coughed, a spray of dark blood painting his chin, but his hands remained steady as he took up the scalpel.
The blade flashed.
Elara's stomach lurched as Jack bisected his own heart with surgical precision. The two halves continued beating in sync, each pulse sending twin rivulets of black ichor cascading to the floor where they sizzled against the stone.
Jack returned one half to the gaping cavity in his chest. The wound sealed instantly, the skin knitting together with a sound like wet parchment being smoothed.
Then the corruption erupted.
Darkness exploded from Jack's body in a raging torrent, a living storm of swirling shadows and screaming faces. The temperature plummeted. Frost spiderwebbed across the walls. The crows in the rafters shrieked as the corruption crashed over Elara and Martin like a tidal wave.
Elara's back arched as the darkness forced its way into her pores, her mouth, her eyes. The Starved Saint's power inside her roared to life, thrashing against the invasion even as it hungered for more. Her veins turned black beneath her skin, bulging grotesquely as the corruption fought to reshape her from within.
Martin fared no better. His human form rippled like disturbed water as the crow within him struggled to contain the deluge. Feathers burst from his cheeks, his fingers fused into talons, his jaw unhinged with an audible crack as his face began its terrible metamorphosis.
Jack paid their suffering no mind. His shriveled hands worked methodically, channeling the corruption into the remaining half-heart in his palm. Domu's forestation power surged forth, wrapping the pulsing organ in vines of living shadow that tightened like a vice.
The heart resisted.
It bucked in his grasp, the crimson veins glowing brighter as it fought the transformation. Jack's lips peeled back in a snarl as he increased the pressure, the vines cutting deep into the fleshy mass. A sound like a thousand bones snapping filled the air as the heart finally yielded, its form collapsing inward before exploding outward in a shower of black seeds.
They hovered in the air, each one a perfect sphere of absolute darkness. Tiny crows formed and dissolved on their surfaces, their shrieks echoing though no mouths moved. The very air around them warped, bending light like event horizons around miniature black holes.
The remaining corruption in the room rushed toward the seeds, funneling into their depths with a sound like a dying man's last breath.
Silence.
Jack slumped forward, his body withered, his skin hanging loose on his frame like a suit two sizes too large. The half-heart in his chest beat weakly, its rhythm erratic as it struggled to regenerate. His once-jet-black hair had turned the color of ashes, his lips cracked and bleeding.
Elara and Martin collapsed to their knees, their bodies still twitching with residual transformations. Feathers retracted. Bones snapped back into place. The worst of the damage undone—but not all.
Elara's left hand remained clawed, the nails black and sharp. Martin's right eye stayed avian, the pupil a vertical slit amidst a sea of swirling darkness.
Jack raised a trembling hand, gesturing to the hundred seeds now floating above the floor. "Martin," he rasped, his voice like dry leaves crushed underfoot. "Plant them. Every corner of the city. The gates. The walls. The slums. Everywhere."
Martin bowed, gathering the seeds into a sack that seemed to writhe in his grip. He hesitated, looking at Jack's emaciated form. "My liege—"
"Go."
Martin fled.
Elara remained, her clawed hand flexing unconsciously. She moved to help Jack rise, her muscles protesting every movement. His weight was negligible—he felt hollow, like a doll stuffed with straw.
"You knew this would happen," she whispered, staring at her mutated hand. "You knew we'd change."
Jack's smile was a ghastly thing on his sunken face. "All growth requires sacrifice, Starved Princess."
Outside the tower, the first seed took root.
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