721: Story 721: The Last Breath 721: Story 721: The Last Breath The flickering torchlight barely reached the walls of the crumbling corridor.
The Rotting Cathedral shifted and sighed, its bones groaning beneath centuries of decay.
Lucien staggered, his breath ragged.
His wounds burned, veins blackening from the poison that coursed through them.
The darkness was alive behind him, creeping, whispering, pulling.
And then—she stepped forward.
Selene Nocturna erged from the gloom like a specter.
Her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glowing like molten gold in the abyss.
The dim light caught the sharpness of her fangs, the black ichor sared across her chin from her last victim.
Lucien’s legs nearly buckled.
His body scread for air, but the plague within him had already taken root.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Selene mused, stepping closer.
Lucien’s fingers fumbled for the dagger at his waist.
A feeble act of defiance.
Selene laughed softly.
“Oh, you still have fight left in you?
How precious.”
She lifted her hand, and the air grew thick with rot.
A swarm of blackened moths erupted from her fingertips, their wings dusted with decay, their touch dissolving the very air itself.
Lucien swung his dagger wildly.
The moths laughed.
The sound of crackling bones and distant weeping filled his ears.
His knees hit the stone floor.
Selene tilted her head.
“I wonder… what will you beco?”
Lucien gasped, but no air ca.
His vision blurred.
His heartbeat slowed.
Selene leaned in close, her breath cold as winter’s grave.
Her fingers brushed against his cheek, saring his sweat with the sickness blooming beneath his skin.
“You belong to now.”
Lucien’s body seized.
His scream never left his throat.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Selene straightened, watching as his body twisted, reshaped itself.
Bone cracked.
Skin blistered.
His final breath exhaled as sothing… else… drew its first.
She smiled.
And in the shadows, her creation opened its eyes.
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