The night was long. The uneasy feeling gnawed at me, relentless. The Usurper's presence reappeared for the first time in a while, creeping closer, lingering like a vulture waiting for its prey. The blonde-haired girl, lying next to me, took my hand. She could feel it too.
As evening approached the next day, we met with the boss. Three killers stood beside him. We already knew Sir Denis, but the other two introduced themselves as Karfilka and Jorsh. They carried themselves with a heavy, intimidating presence. Karfilka kept a grotesque creature restrained with her power—a writhing, misshapen mass of flesh, its many limbs twitching in restless slumber.
Sir Denis turned to us.
"This is where we part ways."
Without further explanation, he reached into the dark, gripping the creature with eerie precision. With one swift motion, he hurled it into the heart of the mansion.
The landing was nearly silent. Then came the screams. Horrified, wrenching wails erupted within the mansion's walls. Chaos spread through the air like wildfire, shaking the night. The beast had already done its job.
The boss turned back to us, his expression grim.
"You're up."
Without another word, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving us alone in the street's dead silence.
My pulse pounded in my ears. The air was thick with anticipation. This was it.
The four of us moved. Arwik's face was unreadable as ever, the dark figure's eyes held some quiet storm, and the blonde-haired girl beside me set her jaw in silent determination.
We climbed the mansion's side and broke a window. Inside, there was no one—just bloodstains and the traces of a one-sided massacre.
As we ran through the dark corridors, the dark figure suddenly froze. Her expression darkened, her gaze locked on something unseen. She looked torn—like she was staring down an impossible choice.
"What's the matter?"
I asked, urgency lacing my voice.
"…It's nothing."
Her response was indifferent, but forced.
We had no time for questions. We pressed on, following the boss's instructions to Harvent's room.
We broke the door down. Three guards stood ready, their eyes sharp with fear-fueled determination. In the corner of the room, Harvent cowered, trembling.
The guards reacted first, lunging at us with everything they had. They were strong, but not strong enough. I cut them down easily.
Harvent's breath hitched.
"W-What do you want?"
He stammered.
Before I could answer, an explosion rocked the mansion. More screams from below. The guards must have used runes to try and destroy the corpseborn—but the shrieking hadn't stopped. It was still alive.
I turned back to Harvent. No more delays. My blade carved through flesh, his final pleas gurgling in his throat as blood filled his mouth. He twitched once, then fell still.
Then, I felt it—something was off.
Behind me, the dark figure knelt on the ground, her finger bleeding. She had sliced off the tip and was tracing a symbol in blood. A ritual.
"What are you doing?!"
I moved toward her, but it was already too late.
The air grew thick, suffocating. Reality flickered, unsteady—shifting. The walls warped, distorting between here and… somewhere else.
The Red Horizon.
The dark figure's voice trembled.
"I'm sorry…"
Then, before I could react, she grabbed Arwik—pulling him into a desperate kiss—before shoving him into the tear in reality.
He vanished.
Reality snapped shut, sealing like a wound.
"Why would you do that?!"
My voice cracked, raw with anger.
She looked at me, her face breaking apart. I had never seen such devastation in a person's eyes.
"My god… she said I must. She would accept me back, despite my failure. I'm sorry… I did not want things to end like this."
Pain twisted through her expression—gut-wrenching, all-consuming.
Then, she turned and ran into the dark corridors.
I wanted to chase her. I wanted to make her pay. But there were bigger problems.
Flames erupted from the ground.
The corpseborn was upon me.
Its claws tore through my flesh, severing my arms in a single swipe. The pain—it was unreal. This was different. The wounds pulsed with something beyond agony, something that unraveled my mind. It clawed deeper, twisting my nerves like a puppet's strings.
I screamed.
My vision blurred. My thoughts unraveled. How long had I been in this agony? Seconds? Hours?
Then, I heard it.
A voice, slithering into my skull.
The Usurper.
"That doesn't seem fun,"
He mused, his tone dripping with mockery.
"H-Help me,"
I gasped, barely able to form words.
"Oh, but I like watching you suffer… it's a guilty pleasure of mine."
That bastard. I gritted my teeth, but I couldn't last much longer.
"Alright… I suppose I could lend you a hand."
His voice was poison. This was a deal I shouldn't take. But I had no choice.
"Cut yourself with the sword. Shed your skin. Defeat this thing."
No. I couldn't.
My hand shook. I resisted. I tried. But my body—broken, ruined—obeyed him. My fingers moved against my will, bringing the blade to my own stomach. My breath came ragged, my heart pounded in terror.
No. No. No.
DON'T.
My blade cut me in half.
Blood poured from me, forming an orb—just like when the Usurper fought the gods. The crimson reformed, molding itself into bone armor.
But something was wrong.
My muscles locked. My lungs froze. I couldn't move.
I was no longer in control.
A twisted grin spread across my face. Not my grin.
My head turned, my legs stepped forward, but I wasn't doing it.
The Usurper laughed softly. I had let him out.
"Ah, finally,"
He said.
"Veyr?"
A voice. Soft. Trembling.
The blonde-haired girl stood between the flames, staring at me—at him.
The Usurper turned toward her.
No.
No, don't you dare.
DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE.
"Oh yes, I do,"
His voice slashed through the air like a knife.
She froze in terror.
"Y-You are not Veyr."
Her voice cracked.
STOP.
PLEASE.
DON'T.
"Look at you, pleading for someone else's life."
He whispered.
She stepped back. She was reaching for her weapon.
But she hesitated.
It was still my body.
…
…
…
My sword pierced her chest.
She… she touched his—no, my—face, her fingers trembling, slick with blood.
A crimson trail traced her lips as she struggled to speak.
"V-Veyr…"
Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile, desperate. She wanted to say something else—I could see it in her fading eye. But the words never came.
Her body went limp.
The spark in her last, remaining eye flickered—then went out.