The cloaked figure stood tall, unmoving. Its black mantle extended from head to floor, spreading in every direction until it lay flat across four meters of marble—an exaggerated profusion, like a pitch-black carpet bleeding from the void.
The woman worshipper stood frozen, paralyzed by unrelenting fear.
It rasped and purred, its voice a jagged sound—like whispers spoken backward through a throat full of sand.
> "A painting... in the hidden basement. Beneath the second tree. Left of the gate."
Arnold stumbled a step back, trembling. "What?"
The creature did not move, yet the air thickened. The room grew heavier—each breath tasted like molten ash. Arnold dropped to one knee, teeth clenched, eyes watering from the pressure in his chest.
> "Second tree on the left. Dig. The painting... of purest white."
He paled. Shaking from the shock of his god's early arrival, Arnold grabbed the mirror at his feet and raised it above his head.
"I... I do not mean to disrespect you, my Lord. Your arrival is... surprising to me," he whispered, sweat pouring down his face. "Why now? Why so soon?"
The creature's form convulsed.
Arnold remained kneeling in the main hall of the ruined mansion as the monstrous entity pulsed and heaved, twitching—breathing, if such a thing could breathe.
Then, silence.
A crack split the column of flesh down the center. Wet, glistening folds peeled apart like petals of raw meat.
From within, it began to emerge.
First came the neck—absurdly long and serpentine, composed entirely of bloated, pale human skin. Bulging veins throbbed beneath the surface, as though filled with something far worse than blood. At the end of this grotesque appendage, a smooth, featureless head stretched forward—no eyes, no nose—just one massive, lipless mouth wide enough to swallow a grown man whole.
Arnold watched with a grotesque, ecstatic smile and eyes stretched wide in awe.
The creature's torso followed—lumpy and malformed, sagging like melted wax over rotting muscle. From either side extended arms, and from ribs to forearms stretched thin, parchment-like flaps of skin—mocking a dragon's wingspan.
At every joint, the tissue creaked. Veins squirmed with unearthly fluid.
It stood fully now.
Towering.
Its limbs dragged behind it, the skin trailing like wet laundry across the marble floor. The long neck curled downward, head tilting left, then right, mouth twitching. It had no eyes—but Arnold felt its gaze.
The jaw creaked open. Bones clicked beneath its rubbery exterior, and a low rumble spilled from its throat—less growl than laugh, hollow and cold.
Then came its voice—no longer whispered.
The creature extended one hand-like appendage from its wing and took the stone mirror from Arnold. Its voice boomed, ancient and terrible, as if spoken by something that had never lived, only waited.
> "LEAVE NOW. FIND THE NEXT ARTIFACT, ARNOLD."
Arnold gasped, clutching his chest as a strange warmth seized his heart.
> "A painting... in the hidden basement. Beneath the second tree. Left of the gate. Dig below. The painting... of purest white. BRING IT TO ME."
Straining, Arnold rose to his feet. His legs stiff. His mouth dry.
"Y... Yes, my Lord. I shall do as you command."
The creature leaned low, its vast mouth inches above Arnold's trembling form. Then it smiled—not with its lips, but with the skin itself. The folds of its head shifted grotesquely in a silent, knowing grin.
Arnold turned, grabbed the paralyzed woman worshipper by the arm, and ran.
Behind him, the mansion shuddered.
The roof exploded upward as the creature spread its wings—skin flaps stretched taut as it rose, its body pale and bloated against the sky. With unnatural grace, it took flight, heading southward.
Toward the Leicester family's main estate.
---
Lady Merilin Leicester moved briskly along the oak shelves, slipping glass vials into a leather satchel. The liquids shimmered in unnatural hues—vivid blue, bile green, cloudy crimson, and one that glowed with a faint, golden inner pulse.
She wore a navy-blue military coat, trimmed in gold, with silver-threaded cuffs and a polished row of buttons. On her chest gleamed a medal of gold—a sign of her rank as one of the Awakened.
The room smelled of lavender, dried sage, and something faintly metallic. Ivy curled along the floral wallpaper. Ornate curtains framed the windows, and a freshly painted sigil pulsed faintly beneath their boots—its ink still wet, its magic still hungry.
"Kaelin," Merilin barked without turning, "tighten your boots and bring me the blood compass. Now."
Kaelin, who had been lounging on a velvet chaise, sprang to his feet. "Y-Yes, Ma'am!" He disappeared into the next room, boots clattering.
"Vance," she continued, her tone sharp as a blade, "check the western window. Watch for anything unnatural. Anything."
Vance, already strapping his coat tighter, crossed the room with grim efficiency. He pressed his palm to the warded frame. Faint blue light flickered from the wood.
Behind them, a woman stirred. She was younger—orange hair tied into a loose, practical bun, freckles beneath her hood. The priest's robe she wore was old and ceremonial, but underneath it, modern joggers and a sleeveless tank top peeked out, like rebellion barely hidden.
"You," Merilin turned, voice direct. She handed the girl a strange talisman—an oval object like a flattened eye, rimmed in black metal. It blinked once, alive. "As a Seer, I trust you to keep this safe. Don't speak to it. Don't look into it."
The girl blinked, hesitant. "That's true, I'm a Seer... but just to be safe, may I have a healing potion?"
"Yes," Merilin snapped. She reached up, grabbed a rune-etched bottle of green liquid, and tossed it to her. "Don't waste it."
The bottle landed softly in the girl's hands. She bowed slightly, lips pressed tight.
Then the floor rumbled.
The ceiling groaned.
And the sharp scent of herbs was overpowered by the stench of rotting flesh.
"Vance!" Merilin barked.
"I swear, ma'am," Vance called out, wide-eyed, "I didn't see it!"
A shadow passed over the windows.
Something vast had arrived.
The sigil on the floor dimmed.
The potions rattled in Merilin's satchel.
A deep, distant crack sounded above them—like a ribcage splitting open.
"Move!" Merilin barked, sweeping open the office door and storming into the hallway. The others followed at a sprint, boots slamming against polished wood, coats flaring behind them. The Seer clutched the blinking eye-talisman to her chest, jaw clenched.
Kaelin dashed forward to clear the next corridor.
Then she froze.
So did Merilin.
And everyone else.
Ahead of them, through the shattered beams and half-collapsed ceiling, hung a head.
It was smooth, pale, featureless—as if carved from swollen flesh. No eyes. No mouth. No ears. Just skin stretched taut over a skull that had never belonged to anything human.
And yet… it looked at them.
It tilted, slightly.
The impossibly long neck that held it curled down like a serpent from above the rafters, its veined surface pressed nearly against the hallway wall.
For a moment, no one breathed.
The creature didn't move, but something invisible filled the air—like a weight pressing into their thoughts, slipping cold fingers into their minds.
A low creaking echoed from the thing's unseen jaw—an invisible gesture. A thought masquerading as a noise.
Vance swallowed. "We should run
"I know," Merilin muttered, hand tightening around a vial. " Rico, take miss Amilia and ascape through the windows, we will go through the other exit."
The Seer whimpered under her breath, clutching the necklace harder.
Then, the head shifted.
Just slightly—enough for the folds of skin along its blank face to twitch… forming a grotesque smile.
That was all it needed to do.
The hallway trembled.
Plaster cracked and fell like snow. The wooden floor groaned under their boots. Far above, something beat its wings—slow and vast, like the shifting of mountains cloaked in flesh.
Merilin hissed through clenched teeth. "Run."
They did.
Rico's body shimmered—muscles flexing, skin rippling into golden fur. In seconds, he became a lion-like beast, maned and massive. Without a word, Amilia clambered onto his back, clutching the talisman in on of her hands.
With a snarl, Rico turned and leapt—crashing through the nearest window in a hail of glass and splinters. He landed two stories down with a ground-shaking thud, paws skidding through dirt, then sprinted toward the outer gate. Amilia clung tight, eyes wide, silent.
Behind them, down the hall, Merilin, Kaelin, and Vance bolted past the gaping hole in the ceiling—past the grotesque, featureless head still watching, still smiling.
They didn't speak.
They didn't look back.
Only ran—down the staircase, into the side door beside the landing, boots echoing in the narrowing dark.
Above them, the creature shifted.
It slowly withdrew its neck from the shattered roof, sinews retracting like coiled rope vanishing into the sky. A final creak passed through the wood as the house settled again.
The creature turned.
Its eyeless face tilted toward the fleeing lion and his rider, already halfway through the manor's burned gate and into the collapsing city beyond.
It said nothing.
But something in the air pulsed—like laughter with no sound.
Then it stretched its wingspan.