Blood.
Everywhere.
Dark, dried pools smeared along the walls. Bones—hundreds of them—piled like discarded kindling. Skulls with gaping eye sockets stared back, some cracked, others still bearing jagged, rusted metal bindings. Flesh hung in sickly, congealed strips from the stone, some fresh, some rotted beyond recognition. The air was thick with the coppery stench of death, mold, and something far worse—wrongness.
Senna staggered back, a hand covering her mouth as her stomach twisted. "What the—what is this?!"
Nyr didn't answer.
He stood silently near the edge of the largest pile, his face half-lit, pale and unreadable. His eyes were locked on something farther down the tunnel.
"...Nyr?" she said more quietly now, her voice shaking. "Say something."
Senna took a shaky step forward. "Is this where… the children went?"
He didn't look at her. "Not just children."
From deeper in the tunnel, there was a sound.
The sound came again—closer this time. A dragging, wet slither against stone, like something half-dead pulling itself forward with too many limbs.
Senna raised her flame higher, the fire trembling with her breath. Nyr instinctively stepped in front of her, his hand drifting to his weapon, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.
Then it emerged.
At first, it looked like a mass of shadows. But as the light caught it—it moved.
A twisted, nightmarish form crawled from the far end of the tunnel. It was humanoid in only the vaguest sense. Its skin—if it could even be called that—was like stretched wax, translucent and rotting. Dozens of tiny arms protruded from its sides, some no larger than a child's, others longer and jointed at unnatural angles. A dozen faces pulsed within its torso, mouths opening in silent screams, eyes twitching and rolling, locked forever in agony.
Its head… was featureless. No eyes. No nose. Just a gaping maw that stretched from chin to scalp, full of teeth that never stopped grinding.
Senna choked on a cry, taking a step back. "What in the hells—"
Nyr's voice was cold steel. "That's not a curse."
The creature twisted toward them, that horrible mouth splitting wider as it let out a sound that was not a roar, not a shriek—but a chorus. A choir of suffering, all the voices it had devoured, crying out as one.
Senna's flame burst into a blazing sphere.
"That's a goddamn abomination!"
And it lunged.
The abomination lunged, limbs flailing, mouth gaping with that hellish choir-scream echoing through the tunnel.
Nyr hurled a crackling sphere of lightning directly into its core. The electricity surged through the creature's malformed body, paralyzing it mid-lunge.
Senna didn't hesitate.
Her golden fire followed a heartbeat later, piercing through the monster like a spear from the heavens. It struck the lightning-locked core, igniting it from within.
The abomination convulsed violently.
And then—
Gone.
It didn't explode. It didn't shriek again. It simply collapsed inward, like shadows retreating from sunlight—bones crumbling, flesh evaporating, its many faces frozen in silence before they vanished into ash.
The tunnel grew still.
Senna blinked, her hands still faintly aglow. "...That was kind of anticlimactic."
Nyr lowered his arms, panting slightly. "Hmm."
They stood in the quiet, scorched corridor, surrounded by the aftermath: silence, ash, and the faint smell of ozone and burnt corruption.
"Guess cursed monsters don't always get dramatic death scenes," Senna muttered, wiping blood from her cheek.
"No monologue. No second phase. Just…" Nyr waved vaguely at the pile of ash. "Dead."
Senna let out a breath, half a laugh. "Well. I'm not complaining."
Nyr and Senna climbed out of the well in silence, their bodies aching and stained with blood and soot. The night was still heavy, the stars dim behind wisps of dark clouds.
Nyr lit a small signal spark—blue and bright enough to be seen across the village.
Within minutes, the villagers began gathering, torches in hand, eyes wide with fear and curiosity. They saw the pair standing beside the cursed well... and the trail of scorched stone, the lingering ash, the faint but undeniable scent of something burned away.
Senna pointed at the well. "It's over. The thing that haunted this place—it's gone."
There was a heavy silence. Then, murmurs. Relief. Awe.
A few people crossed themselves. Others wept softly. The elder man who had doubted them bowed deeply and handed over a wrapped satchel of coin and supplies. "You've saved us from something we didn't even understand," he said hoarsely. "Thank you."
Senna took it with a nod, but her gaze drifted to the edge of the crowd.
There she was. The mother.
She stood apart from the others, arms around herself. Her face was pale and hollow—not with fear, but with the absence of what she'd hoped for.
Senna stepped toward her, but the woman gave a small shake of her head.
No words. No blame. Just sorrow.
Senna stopped, her throat tight.
Nyr stood beside her quietly.
The night air was cool as Nyr and Senna left the village behind. The haunted well was quiet now, no longer whispering curses into the soil. Still, the silence felt heavy—not peaceful, but hushed... like something had ended, but not quite settled.
traveled in silence through the woods until the torches and rooftops of Thyrm's Reach came into view. The town was quiet at this hour, its streets lit only by flickering lanterns and the occasional passing guard.
At the inn, the innkeeper barely looked up as they stepped inside, dirt-streaked and weary. He simply gestured with a tired grunt toward their keys on the counter—same rooms as before.
Senna picked hers up first. "I need a bath and fourteen hours of sleep."
Nyr gave her a sidelong look. "Don't forget food."
She gave a soft snort, the ghost of a smile on her face. "That too."
They parted at the stairs, each heading to their room.
But as Nyr closed his door behind him, tossing his coat over the chair and falling onto the bed.
...
The town was engulfed in purple flames—destruction stretched in every direction. People were dying everywhere: some burned alive, while others chose death over the agony of the fire.
But not all perished in flames. Some were impaled by piercing tails that tore through their bodies.
Chaos reigned. Destruction was absolute.
At the center of it all stood a 16-year-old fox-kin. Her face was void of emotion as she slaughtered everyone in her path.
"Senna!"
"Stop!"
"Please!"
Voices cried out, begging for mercy—but none was given. Every plea was silenced. She killed without hesitation, without remorse.
The massacre lasted all through the night, until every living soul in the town was mercilessly slaughtered.
When young Senna awoke, she found herself in the middle of the carnage. And then—she began to cry.
"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry! I really..."
Her voice broke, cut off by a chilling sound—whispers, footsteps, and the rustle of movement.
The people she had killed... were standing before her. Their eyes burned with hatred—her family, her friends, her neighbors—all staring with silent condemnation.
They pointed at her and spoke:
"So she was the one who killed us."
"Why? Weren't we friends?"
"You witch! We raised you—and you killed us!"
"A total witch!"
Senna's eyes widened in fear, her face a chaotic mess of emotion. She stammered, shaking her head.
"I didn't... it wasn't me..."
Senna's heart felt as though it had been pierced by ice. The warmth of familiar faces—once sources of comfort—now twisted in hatred, carved deep wounds into her soul.
Her breath caught in her throat, trembling between sobs and denial. Guilt surged like a wave, crashing into the fragile dam of her mind.
Her knees buckled beneath the weight of their stares. Every voice, every accusation echoed louder than the last, drowning her in a sea of shame and confusion.
She clutched her head, as if trying to shut out the reality, her voice breaking into fractured pleas.
"Please... stop... I didn't..."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but no amount of crying could wash away the blood on her hands—or the horror in their eyes.
The pain of betrayal cut deeper than any blade, not because they betrayed her—but because she had become the monster they believed she was.
What had she done...?
Their faces... she could still see them. She could still hear them screaming—pleading. Her hands... they were stained. No matter how much she wiped them, the blood wouldn't come off.
Why couldn't she remember? Why did it feel like she was watching from somewhere far away, trapped inside herself while her body moved on its own?
But it was her. She knew it was. The way they looked at her... Mother's eyes—they used to be so warm. Now they burned like coals. And Father—he didn't say a word, but the way he looked through her... like she was something unholy.
She didn't mean to hurt anyone. She never wanted this. She wanted to protect them, didn't she?
Then why were they all gone?
She kept saying it wasn't her, but... if it wasn't, then who? There was no one else here. Just her... and the silence. And their eyes. Always their eyes.
Maybe she was a monster.
She woke with a gasp, her body tense, the morning light spilling gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breath uneven as if she had just escaped something chasing her in the dark.
Her eyes fluttered open, and though she was awake, the weight of the nightmare still clung to her like a second skin.
A tears clung to the corner of her eyes, trailing slowly down her cheeks—silent evidence of crying in her sleep.
Senna touched her face, her fingertips brushing against cold skin stretched tight with a terrified expression.
Her heart still pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the fading terror of the nightmare.