760: Story 760: A Banquet of Shape 760: Story 760: A Banquet of Shape The Rotting Cathedral trembled beneath the weight of sothing unseen, sothing ancient.
The torches flickered, their green flas writhing as though afraid.
Selene Nocturna stood at the altar, her bloodstained fingers tracing the sigils carved into its surface.
Outside, the Fog of Unmaking still drifted through the ruins, whispering the last mories of the alchemist it had devoured.
Their na was already fading, their existence unspooled thread by thread.
Selene inhaled deeply, feeling the remnants of their essence coil into her lungs.
“A poor sacrifice,” she muttered, dissatisfied.
“But necessary.”
A sound—faint, but deliberate.
She turned sharply, eyes narrowing as a figure erged from the gloom.
Kruger.
The rcenary was battered, his armor cracked, his breathing labored—but his eyes burned with hatred.
He had followed her.
“You should have stayed buried with the others,” Selene murmured, her voice both amused and venomous.
Kruger ignored the taunt.
His blade glead, coated in an alchemical venom ant for one thing—undoing her magic.
“No more tricks, Nocturna.” He spat blood onto the stone.
“No more fog, no more whispers.
Just you and .”
Selene tilted her head, then laughed softly.
“How adorable,” she cooed, stepping away from the altar.
The candlelight flickered across her blackened lips, her scarred, smiling face.
“You think you’re the hunter?”
Kruger lunged.
His sword sliced through empty air.
Selene was gone.
The fog surged behind him, twisting—and then she stepped from it, her hand outstretched.
Venomous claws lashed across his back.
Kruger roared, staggering forward, but Selene was already moving, circling, like a specter in the darkness.
“You are a fool, Kruger,” she whispered, her voice suddenly behind him.
Another slash—deeper this ti.
Blood splattered against the cold stone.
Kruger fell to one knee, panting.
His grip on the sword tightened.
Selene lood over him, her silhouette half-swallowed by the mist.
“I wonder,” she mused, kneeling beside him, “what will the Fog make of you?”
Kruger lashed out with the last of his strength, plunging the alchemical blade straight through her ribs.
A hiss—not of pain, but of anger.
The weapon’s venom burned against her flesh, searing her essence.
For a mont, the shadows around her staggered.
Kruger grinned, despite the blood in his mouth.
“Not so untouchable now, are you?”
Selene exhaled sharply, looking down at the blade buried in her side.
Then—she laughed.
A slow, chilling, terrifying laugh.
She grabbed the sword with her bare hands, her flesh blistering—and pulled it deeper.
Kruger’s expression twisted in shock.
“Untouchable?” Selene whispered, leaning close.
Her breath slled of rot.
“You have no idea.”
The Fog of Unmaking surged forward.
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