768: Story 768: Beneath the Widow’s Veil 768: Story 768: Beneath the Widow’s Veil The streets of Ebongrave belonged to the dead.
Captain Aldric Vayne did not.
His heartbeat thrumd like war drums in his chest as he bolted through the ruined alleys, his boots slamming against broken stone.
The laughter of the dead followed him—a chorus of twisted, gurgling voices that slithered into his ears.
Selene was toying with him.
He had seen the look in her eyes—the amusent, the cruelty, the promise of sothing far worse than death.
She didn’t want him dead yet.
She wanted him to run.
Aldric grit his teeth, forcing himself forward.
His n were gone, their bodies left to fuel her unholy resurrection of the fallen.
He was the last of the resistance in Ebongrave, the final ember in a fire already drowned in blood.
And still, he refused to let it die.
Selene stood atop the remains of a shattered cathedral, the wind teasing at the edges of her tattered black veil.
A queen of ruin, a goddess of decay.
Below, her creations slithered between the shadows, crawling and shambling in search of their prey.
Their bones cracked as they moved, but they did not falter.
The Widow’s kiss had ensured their loyalty beyond death.
Her pale fingers trailed down her arm, where veins of dark rot pulsed beneath her skin.
The hunger was changing her.
A new evolution.
A new purpose.
Selene’s lips curled as she whispered an ancient incantation.
Her breath turned to black mist, curling into the night.
The city itself shuddered, as if exhaling its final breath.
And then, she felt him.
Aldric.
Still running.
Still fighting.
Fool.
Selene let out a soft chuckle, her teeth glinting in the moonlight.
“Do you not understand, little knight?” she whispered, though her voice carried through the night like a poison-laced promise.
“This city no longer belongs to the living.”
She raised a single hand, her long nails dripping with sothing far blacker than blood.
The streets responded.
From the broken corpses littering Ebongrave, hands began to rise.
Not the shambling dead.
Not re puppets.
No—these were wraiths, their spectral forms untouched by ti or blade.
Their hollow eyes glowed with the abyssal power of the Pale Widow herself.
The hunt was over.
Now ca the execution.
Aldric’s feet skidded to a stop as the air around him grew thick.
A suffocating, unnatural fog swallowed the alley, pressing against his skin like unseen hands.
And then, they appeared.
Shadows with screaming faces.
Wisps of sothing not quite flesh, not quite air.
They surrounded him, closing in, their whispers gnawing at his mind.
He raised his sword in defiance—a pathetic, mortal act.
From above, Selene descended from the mist, her eyes glimring with delight.
“Tell , Aldric… how does it feel to be the last of your kind?”
The veil had fallen.
The nightmare had only just begun.
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