747: Story 747: Bloodlit Baptism 747: Story 747: Bloodlit Baptism The darkness pulsed.
A heartbeat.
A whisper.
A calling.
Selene Nocturna stood at the altar of the Rotting Cathedral, her golden eyes alight with a malevolent glow.
Crimson energy swirled around her, licking at her skin like sentient fire.
The veined sigils on her arms throbbed, feeding on the suffering in the air.
Her latest prey—the defiant paladin—lay broken at her feet.
Still breathing.
Selene clicked her tongue.
Persistent.
“You truly don’t know when to kneel, do you?” Her voice was smooth, almost affectionate, yet laced with venom.
Her smile widened, revealing sharpened teeth.
The paladin coughed, blood staining his lips, but his faith did not break.
“I will never kneel to you.” His voice was hoarse, but strong.
Selene’s laughter rang through the decaying hall, a chilling lody.
“Oh, but you already have.”
She lifted her hand, and the very blood in his veins rebelled.
The paladin scread as his body seized—his own lifeblood twisting against him, forming writhing tendrils of scarlet silk.
The magic yanked him upright, forcing him to stare into the abyss of Selene’s gaze.
“Do you feel it?” she whispered.
The paladin gritted his teeth, his arms trembling against the unseen chains.
“This is the truth of the Pale Widow,” Selene continued.
“I do not take life.
I rewrite it.”
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear.
“And you, my dear knight, are about to be my finest scripture.”
The cathedral’s walls shuddered, the corpses lining the pews convulsing as Selene’s dark baptism began.
She raised her hands—and the blood-slick tendrils surged forward, wrapping around the paladin’s throat, his wrists, his chest.
A crimson brand burned into his flesh.
His screams turned to howls.
His prayers turned to curses.
His soul turned to dust.
And then—
Silence.
The paladin fell to his knees, his body trembling.
His armor was blackened, his once-radiant sigil now a hollow scar.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
And when he opened his eyes—
They glowed like hers.
Selene sighed in satisfaction, running her fingers along his jaw.
“See?” she cooed.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
The paladin—no, the newborn revenant—bowed his head.
“What is your will, my Queen?”
Selene’s lips curled into a smile of triumph.
“Rise, my Knight of Plague.
We have much work to do.”
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