***Raven Blood Pack***
Percival's breath came in shallow gulps as his boots scraped against the damp stone floor. The narrow cell room stank of mildew, rusted blood, and something far fouler—an unnatural rot that crawled into his throat and clung to the back of his tongue.
He'd smelled death before. But not like this.
The creature lunged again—no, not a creature.
A man.
His father.
But not the father he remembered.
His frame, still tall and broad even in death, moved with ghostly precision. His limbs, stiff but swift, carried the weight of a man who had been buried decades ago. His once-golden armor was now mottled green and black, streaked with earth and clinging grave dirt. His cape, torn and reeking of mold, dragged behind him like a funeral shroud.
His sword, Percival's father's old blade, the one engraved with the emblem of the fallen Raven head gleamed coldly in his withered grip. Rust laced the edges, but it sliced through the air as though hungry for flesh.
