The flare sputtered and died, plunging the chamber into the red glow of the runes. Shadows writhed across the walls like serpents.
Damien’s boots scraped stone as he stepped forward. His hand trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of choice. Zara’s grip tightened desperately on his arm.
“Don’t do this,” she begged, her voice cracking. “It’s a trap. He’ll damn you.”
The Keeper’s palm burned brighter, a living ember. His eyes fixed on Damien with fierce expectancy. “Take my hand. Bind them, or be consud by them.”
The dead surged through the doorway, clawing into the chamber in a tidal wave of rot. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Their moans thundered like a funeral choir.
Damien raised his axe, swung once, cleaving through a skull—but the mass pressed closer. He knew he could not fight them all. Not tonight. Not ever.
With a guttural growl, he thrust the axe into his belt and seized the Keeper’s hand.
The world split.
Fire tore through his veins, searing every nerve. His vision bled red, the runes pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The moans of the dead shifted—no longer a mindless hunger, but a chorus that answered him. Chains unseen coiled through the chamber, binding the corpses mid-stride. Their jaws gnashed, their limbs twitched, but they froze as though shackled by invisible hands.
Zara staggered back, eyes wide with horror. “Damien... what have you done?”
Damien gasped, his body shaking, but he did not collapse. His eyes glowed faintly, mirroring the crimson runes. “I... I can feel them.” His voice was rough, alien. “Every one of them. Their hunger. Their pain. And they... obey .”
The Keeper released his grip, his expression grim yet satisfied. “The binding is complete. You are their anchor now.”
Zara’s voice cracked. “Anchor? You’ve cursed him!”
The Keeper turned, ignoring her fury. He faced Damien, bowing his head slightly. “You carry the burden I have borne for centuries. They will follow your will. But if you falter, if doubt clouds you... they will tear you apart as eagerly as before.”
Below, the tower shook as the Tyrannosaur’s roar split the night. The undead bound by Damien’s will twitched, straining against the invisible leash, their hunger driving them toward the ancient beast. Damien clenched his fists, and they froze, waiting.
The power thrumd in his chest, intoxicating and terrifying. For the first ti since the plague began, the dead were not his hunters—they were his weapons.
Zara’s tears glistened in the crimson light. “This isn’t you, Damien. You’re not one of them.”
Damien’s gaze t hers. His voice was low, steady. “No. But I’m the only thing standing between us and the monsters outside. If this curse is what it takes to survive... then so be it.”
The bound dead moaned as one, awaiting command. Outside, wings shrieked through the fog, and claws thundered against stone.
Damien’s grip on the runes’ power tightened. “Let’s see if the old ones bleed.”
User Comments
0 comments from readers