The forest was heavy, saturated with a silence too thick to be natural. The black trees twisted as if they had suffered from an ancient fire, their gnarled branches intertwining above their heads like a funeral vault. The air smelled of ash and rotten sap. The group's footsteps cracked at irregular intervals on the carpet of dead leaves, but nothing else moved. Not an insect, not a bird's breath. Just that impression that the forest itself was holding its breath.
The veteran, a longsword knocking against his side, spat on the ground, sweat already running down his unkempt beard.
— "Fuck, Lisa, is it still far?"
The priestess raised a weary gaze, her staff pressed against her chest. Her blond hair, dirty and stuck with dust, gave her a look more fanatical than pious.
— "No… the revelation of our god never extends more than a few kilometers. If the vision brought me here, it means the target is close."
The young man with the spear, elegant silhouette, a face too handsome not to be arrogant, stepped forward with a frown. His green eyes shone in the gloom as if he already believed himself the hero of a fresco.
— "Are you certain, Lisa? Was your omen really a good sign… or a bad one?"
The woman with short, spiky red hair, a scar crossing her cheek, clenched her daggers with a sharp snap. She rolled her eyes.
— "Harald, for fuck's sake… how many times do we have to tell you? Her level of foresight doesn't distinguish good from evil. We voted. We take the risk. If anything shady happens, we get the hell out. It's not complicated."
She turned to the tracker, an old wiry fellow with steel eyes, a knotted bow in hand.
— "Roy, do you see any tracks? A sign, anything?"
The man crouched, dirty fingers raking through the bed of leaves. He sniffed, shook his head.
— "Nothing. No prints. No animals. Not even a stray deer. That's what gives me goosebumps… This forest is dead."
— "There's a reason the entrance is forbidden," Lisa reminded with a trembling voice. "Here, life refuses to venture. It's cursed land."
The redhead sneered, though her eyes still glimmered with all-too-human greed.
— "Or a land of treasure. If nothing lives here, nothing's come to plunder it either. The chances your revelation leads to gold rather than a monster are far higher, so…"
She didn't get the chance to finish.
A scream shattered the silence.
— "AAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
The troop flinched as one. Harald gripped his spear, Roy nocked an arrow, Lisa stifled a curse, and even the redhead froze, short of breath. The cry was feminine, full, vibrant—a howl of pain or terror, hard to tell. But it carried a note too perfect, too pure… it didn't sound like a lost woman's voice, but like a broken melody, as if someone had sculpted the sound from marble.
It was Lisa who broke the silence:
— "A woman, here? Impossible…"
But then, the branches parted.
She appeared.
A woman, diaphanous silhouette amidst the shadows, stumbling, tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. Her black hair escaped in sticky strands, her glistening lips seemed made for begging. Her dress, torn at the thigh, revealed skin too smooth, unblemished, glowing even in that unhealthy half-light. Her chest rose with each sob, opulent and indecent, squeezed by a bodice ready to burst. Her slender legs trembled with fatigue, but every movement remained strangely graceful, like an involuntary dance.
She collapsed against Harald, clutching his leg, her eyes drowned in tears.
— "Help me… I beg you…"
The next cry made bowstrings snap taut and blades rise.
A beast burst from the shadows: monstrous quadruped, hybrid of wolf and hyena, raw flesh held together by silver threads that stretched its muscles like violin strings. Its gaping maw let a black tongue hang, alive, undulating like an impatient serpent.
— "A creature of evil! Kill it!" Lisa shouted.
The next instant, Roy's arrow whistled. It pierced the beast's flank, which staggered back, howling, then vanished between the trunks, leaving behind a trail of dark blood.
The woman burst into sobs, her hands trembling against Harald's leg.
— "Thank you… thank you so much… I owe you my life…"
Harald, face flushed, gently lifted her, his eyes widening at such beauty.
— "It's all right. It's… it's normal to help a defenseless woman."
Lisa stepped closer, worried, her hands already sliding along the stranger's arms, inspecting for wounds.
— "You're not hurt?"
— "No… it's thanks to you…"
The veteran swordsman, harder, scrutinized her with a wary eye, his hand tightening on his weapon's hilt.
— "Young lady… you seem fragile. What are you doing alone in a forbidden forest?"
— "You suspect her?!" Harald snapped. "Can't you see she's lost, terrified? Imagine what she's been through, asshole!"
The redhead with cropped hair, scar slashed across her cheek, let out a bitter laugh.
— "No… he's right. It's suspicious. Too suspicious."
The young woman lowered her head, shoulders shaking, her strands sticking to her damp cheeks.
— "I'm… sorry…"
Lisa stroked her arm in a soothing gesture.
— "It's nothing. Catch your breath. You're safe now. Just explain later."
A few minutes were enough to calm her sobs. When she lifted her head, her damp eyes shone with a troubling gentleness.
— "Forgive me… I feel better. A woman in the city told me… that to save my mother, I had to enter the manor at the heart of the forest. There I'd find a field of a rare flower… a pink rosaline, able to purify any evil. With it, I could craft an elixir. But as I approached the manor, that thing… blocked my path."
— "She was alone?" the redhead asked harshly.
— "Yes… at least, from what I saw."
Lisa drew in a deep breath, pierced by certainty.
— "That must be it. A field of rosaline. That would fit my vision."
Harald's eyes lit up instantly.
— "An entire field? If it's true… we'd be rich. Never need to work again in our lives."
Roy nodded gravely.
— "If it's only one wounded beast guarding the place… then it's doable."
The swordsman raised his hand.
— "Vote."
A moment of silence, then five voices fell, firm.
— "For."
Harald stepped toward the young woman and held out his hand, almost solemn.
— "We'll escort you to the field. You'll pick your flower to save your mother, and we'll take the rest. Deal?"
The beauty's eyes filled with fresh tears. She clung to his arm, her breasts bouncing against his breastplate, her hot breath brushing his skin.
— "Of course! Thank you… thank you so much…"
Harald puffed out his chest, glowing with pride.
— "No problem. That's what adventurers are for."
Then they naturally began to follow the dark trail left by the wounded beast. Blood clung to the roots, splattered red shards on the white stones, and each step drove them deeper into the shadows of twisted trees. The air grew heavier, more suffocating, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to cross an invisible line.
The young woman still clung to Harald's arm. Her tearful eyes constantly sought his, her body pressed against him with troubling closeness. Her swollen breasts rubbed against his breastplate at every step, and her fingers curled around his elbow as if afraid he might vanish.
— "Tell me… you're adventurers, aren't you?" she asked in a soft, almost caressing voice.
— "Yes," Harald murmured, cheeks reddening.
— "And… you're often in danger?" she continued, tilting her head, her lips nearly brushing his ear.
He let out a nervous, stiff laugh.— "It's… our daily life."
She sighed, her black hair sliding over her cheek.— "Then… thank you. Thank you for existing, thank you for saving me. Without you… I'd already be dead."
She tightened her grip, her chest flattening harder against him. Harald gritted his teeth, trying to stay composed, but his breath already betrayed his turmoil. Behind him, Roy rolled his eyes, the redhead chuckled under her breath, and Lisa frowned, uneasy.
At last, they emerged before the manor.
A colossus of shattered stones, once noble, now in tatters. Broken stained-glass windows gaped like hollow eye sockets, and collapsed towers leaned like rotten columns. At the entrance, the quadruped beast still awaited. Its eyes gleamed with a sickly light, its flesh still hung in strips bound by silver threads. But at their approach, it backed off, growling, and vanished into the shadow of the doorway.
The group crossed the threshold. Light died at once, swallowed by the damp darkness of the hall. The air reeked of burnt wax and rotting flesh.
The woman tightened her hold on Harald, face still tilted toward him.
— "And you… what were you doing here, before you met me?"
— "We were heading to a dungeon," Harald answered, a bit hesitant. "But on the way, Lisa… she had a vision."
The woman's voice then changed. Deep, metallic, distorted. No longer human.
— "So… if you disappear… everyone will believe you died in the dungeon?"
A shiver ran down the column of adventurers. They froze, blood chilling in their veins.
The door slammed shut behind them with a dull crash.
When she raised her head, the softness was gone. Her smile split into a demonic grin, too wide, her eyes empty and gleaming like glass. Still clinging to Harald's arm, she abruptly turned her head and sank her teeth into his throat.
Blood spurted in a hot geyser, splattering Lisa's face as she screamed and fell back. Harald convulsed, his hands flailing, his strangled cry drowning in the scarlet flood. The rest of the group stood frozen, stunned, unable to comprehend.
— "FUCK!" roared the veteran swordsman, lunging at her.
But before he could bring his blade down, the air warped.
She appeared.
Irkalla.
In mortal eyes, she wasn't a woman but a living tear in reality. Her raven wings filled the vault of the hall, each feather trembling with dark gleams. Her slit dress revealed legs too perfect to belong to flesh, her glossy stockings etched in the gloom. Her corset swelled to bursting, and her red eyes, crossed by impossible crosses, froze every breath.
The veteran stepped back, mouth agape, his blade trembling in his hands.
No one dared move.
A deathly silence fell, crushing.
And then, behind her, he advanced.
A man—or something wearing that mask. His skin was cadaverous white, as if polished by the very absence of life. He wore a dark suit, immaculate gloves, and on his lips, a smile too wide, too cold. Not a human smile: the rictus of a satisfied puppeteer.
Above him, in the manor's heights, black threads dangled. They descended, rose, fell again, as if the world itself hesitated whether to exist on its own… or to be controlled.
Lisa brought trembling hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror.
— "A… a… a God…"