Clayton's head felt like it was about to explode as the black light tore through his mind. At the same time, thick, oily liquid—putrid and black—began oozing from every opening in his head: his ears, mouth, nose, and even his eyes.
The slime clung to his skin, sticky and revolting, reeking of rotting corpses. Clayton squirmed, but his body was paralyzed—unable to move. He was trapped in pure agony.
Gemma, seeing her master in such a horrific state, panicked. She wanted to rush to him but hesitated, fearing that interference might make things worse.
Unbeknownst to Clayton, the remains of the shadow creature had turned into a familiar black mist. It slowly condensed, then seeped into the surrounding skeletons.
Their eye sockets—once faintly lit with the flames of their souls—now flared brighter and fiercer after absorbing the dark mist.
The black light continued to swirl inside Clayton's skull until, at last, it dissipated.
