The chamber was stone. Nothing more. Stone that had forgotten sunlight. There were no markings on the walls, no carvings or reliefs—only the raw, suffocating weight of confinement. The air was thick and still, like the earth itself was holding its breath. Damp stone, old blood, and dust clung to the skin like a second skin.
Two shapes filled the space. Nothing more.
On one side, slumped against the wall, was a man. Akhem. Soldier. Survivor. His body was still, chest rising. A ragged trail of blood traced from his arm to the floor, pooling beside him like an offering. His sword lay nearby, too far for defense.
And in the center—
The carcass that once was Ereshgal.
Its body was a brittle cage, collapsed inward on itself, the spine bent and the ribs close together, as if clutching emptiness. The skin had hardened into something dry and uneven, marked by deep splits along the joints and edges. Where its fingers curled inward. There were no lashes, no hair, not even the suggestion of blood beneath the flesh.
Something shifted—so slight it could have been missed.
There was no sound when the change began. No drum, no thunder.
Just the faintest motion.
The right index finger trembled—once.
It barely moved, a vibration so subtle it could have been imagined.
Then the neck cracked, vertebrae shifting in slow succession. The skull turned, the motion deliberate, forced. Its jaw clicked as it angled to face Akhem. The open mouth tried to shape something—a breath, a word, a scream—but the voice had long been buried.
The left shoulder strained upward. Dried ligaments cracked. The torso bent forward an inch, then another. The rest of the body refused to follow.
It tried again.
The right arm dragged across the floor, bone grinding against stone. Dust scattered in its wake. One of the blackened fingernails caught and tore free, snapping with a brittle sound that echoed in the stillness. No blood came. There was no blood to give.
Muscles that hadn't existed began to awaken—fibers growing, twisting into place. The figure's limbs shook as life attempted to rebuild what had rotted away.
It crawled.
It did not rise. Did not walk.
It clawed and scraped its way forward, inch by inch, every motion an act of agony and purpose. The bones cracked. The jaw opened wider. The shoulders jerked unnaturally, dragging its body closer to the one it had seen, the one that bled.
The tunnel held its breath.
Akhem didn't stir. His face was pale, but still alive.
The corpse crept beside him.
It stopped.
It tilted its head and leaned in, mouth hovering near the wound. A tremor passed through its frame.
A drop of blood slid down Akhem's arm.
It landed on the figure's lips—cracked, gray, unmoving.
Then another.
The change began.
The jaw jerked sideways, a violent crack echoing through the chamber.
The gums bulged and twisted, reshaping around teeth that hadn't touched flesh in centuries. Blackened tissue peeled away as something beneath it began to pulse, slow and steady. The mouth clenched, and beneath it, bone shivered.
A low sound followed.
Gums tore slightly as the bone beneath pushed upward, reshaping itself. The front teeth lengthened. Sharpened.
Fangs emerged.
The neck lifted. The spine straightened by small degrees.
Then, carefully—almost reverently—it bit.
Not a violent lunge.
It drank.
Slowly.
As if remembering how.
And the chamber stayed silent, save for the wet sound of blood disappearing into flesh that began to move again.
(Akhem POV)
The first thing I felt was a pull on my arm.
Then the burn hit. Sharp. Immediate. A flash of heat that gave way to cold.
My eyes opened slowly. Everything was doubled. The walls bent inward.
Where…?
What is…?
I turned my head.
A shape hunched over me—close, too close.
Its mouth was on my arm. I felt the pressure before I understood the pain.
Teeth.
It was biting me.
I froze. My body locked, my breath caught in my throat.
The thing wasn't human.
It didn't make sense. The image didn't match anything I knew.
Pure instinct took over. I roared and kicked with my leg, hard.
My foot hit something solid—rib or spine or both—and the thing let out a sound. A grunt, low and wet, like breath through a broken windpipe.
It toppled sideways, hitting the ground in a clatter of limbs and bone.
I scrambled back, heart racing, eyes locked on the shape that now writhed beside me.
Tried to stand, but the world spun. I dropped to my knees, breath caught in my throat.
How the hell did I fall asleep?
After everything I saw. Everything I lost.
My companions—Toras, Eman, Aeli. All gone.
Those things were following me. I ran. I hid. Then...
I looked again.
The thing on the floor.
Was it the same dried husk that had been in the center of the chamber?
The one that didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Now it lay on the floor, twitching, convulsing in place—and changing.
The skin, once gray and cracked, had turned damp—glistening with sweat, streaked with fresh blood. It stretched tighter over the body with each second, smoothing, reshaping.
Beneath it, muscles pulsed violently, thickening with unnatural speed—fibers twisting and knotting into place, as if the body were remembering itself piece by piece.
Bones popped with sickening precision, shifting in quick bursts. The spine arched. The ribs expanded. Shoulders widened. Limbs restructured.
This wasn't just motion. This was resurrection.
Patches of hair had already begun to sprout across the scalp—thick, black, and wild, spreading like roots through soil.
The chest heaved once, then again. Shallow, unstable breaths. Not human yet—but trying.
The whole frame trembled as if caught between death and something far more terrifying: life returning where it no longer belonged.
It paused.
And for a moment—I wondered if I was watching a god descend into the world.
Then its head lifted and locked onto me.
Eyes—red.
Full.
Hungry.
No.
That wasn't a god. That was a monster.
It didn't blink. It didn't breathe.
It just stared.
Then it moved.
No—disappeared.
A blink ago it was on the ground. Now it was in front of me.
Too fast to track.
I tried to react, but my limbs were slow. My arm burned. My chest tightened.
Too much blood lost.
My body failed.
Then pain.
Teeth, sinking deep into my neck.
I screamed, or tried to.
My voice didn't make it out.
Heat rushed through me—sharp, hot, wrong.
It was feeding.
And I couldn't stop it.
My son's face flashed behind my eyes.
Then everything went black.