The morning fog clogged every street of Blackmire like rotting wool.
Raine followed behind the hunchback, the sticky squelch beneath his boots reminding him of waterlogged corpses in the swamp. The hunchback's neck craned forward at an unnatural angle, and from the gap in his collar, black veins could be seen faintly pulsing with each breath.
"Just ahead," the hunchback pointed toward a crooked barn to the east, his voice oozing with greasy obsequiousness. "Old Tom's daughter started coughing blood this morning, same symptoms as last time."
The barn doors had been shattered from the inside by some violent force, jagged edges of splintered wood still clinging to strips of linen.
Raine's right hand instinctively moved to the silver dagger at his waist—an heirloom he'd found among Old Martha's belongings.
When his fingertips brushed the runes on the hilt, a faint electric current shot up his arm.
"After you." The hunchback bowed low, gesturing invitingly.
His mouth twisted into a grin for the briefest second in the shadows.
The interior of the barn was more spacious than expected.
On a pile of rotting straw lay a girl of about sixteen. Her golden hair was fading visibly into a dull gray.
At the sound of footsteps, she jerked her head up—her left eye had turned a murky green, black fungal tendrils creeping through the iris.
"H...Help me..." She reached out with blistered hands, yellow pus oozing from beneath her nails.
Raine knelt beside her. Beneath her translucent skin, he saw black filaments writhing in her veins, pulsing like hungry parasites.
As he reached for her forehead, the hunchback leaned in from behind.
"Careful. It's contagious," he whispered into Raine's ear, breath thick with the stench of rot. "Spreads by touch."
A shadow in the barn's corner twisted unnaturally.
From the corner of his eye, Raine spotted at least three figures slowly rising from behind the straw. He pretended not to notice and quietly loosened the pouch of powder at his waist.
"We need to bleed her," he said loudly, eyes fixed on the pulsing black vein at her neck. "Can you fetch some clean linen?"
A flicker of triumph flashed in the hunchback's eyes.
"Of course." He strode toward the door, far too spry for an old man.
The moment the door shut, the figures in the straw lunged.
Raine was ready.
His left hand flung the powder into the air—silver dust burst forth, glittering in the sunlight.
The first attacker, a pustule-covered brute, shrieked as the dust seared his skin into black char.
Raine dodged a second lunge, slashing with his silver blade. It sliced through a wrist, spraying black blood onto the straw, which immediately hissed and smoked.
A third creature dropped from the rafters.
Raine rolled, but not fast enough—claws raked across his shoulder.
Warm blood flowed down his back, but instead of pain, a creeping numbness spread from the wound.
He looked down—the skin around the gash was already turning gray-white.
"Silver powder works on lesser corrupted."
The familiar voice came from the doorway.
The hunchback entered slowly, now covered head to toe in black veins that pulsed like worms.
"But not against those blessed by the Council."
His spine cracked grotesquely as his body stretched like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
Veins writhed beneath his skin, converging at his forehead into a warped sigil.
Raine's vision blurred. The numbness crept toward his heart. He bit down hard on his tongue—the taste of blood snapped his mind into clarity.
"What... did you do to the townsfolk?"
He forced himself to stand, noticing the girl on the straw had stopped breathing. Her body shriveled rapidly, as if something were feasting on her from within.
"Conversion. Or fodder."
The hunchback—no, the corrupted—his voice rasped like eroded bone.
"Just like what you're about to become."
At that moment, rhythmic knocking rang out from the barn wall.
All the corrupted turned toward the sound—
And in that instant, a feathered arrow shattered the window, driving straight into the nearest creature's eye.
The glass vial tied to the shaft burst, spilling silver liquid.
"Down!"
The old hunter's roar came with the explosion.
Raine threw himself to the ground just as searing silver flame engulfed the barn.
The corrupted shrieked like tortured animals.
Through the flames, Raine saw the hunchback's body melt and contort like wax, finally bursting into a cloud of black spores.
"Move!"
The old hunter kicked through the burning door, his bow still smoking.
"The whole town's gone!"
As they burst into the street, the sight froze Raine's blood.
Dozens of townsfolk wandered like sleepwalkers, black veins writhing beneath their skin.
A small group of uninfected huddled at the center, including the shepherd girl clutching her infant.
Worse still—the ground. Black fungal tendrils had broken through the earth, spreading like veins across walls and buildings.
"Three days."
The old hunter dragged Raine into an alley, his half-eared head twitching like a feral beast.
"Three days from the first case to total collapse."
Raine leaned against the damp bricks, the wound on his shoulder now a sickly gray.
The rune on his left wrist glowed faintly green.
"What... are they preparing?"
Raine panted, his gaze drifting to the black smoke rising from the town square.
The old hunter pulled a leather flask from his coat, filled not with water, but silver liquid.
"Drink it," he growled, prying open Raine's jaw.
"Sanctified water. From the Holy Alliance. It'll slow the corruption."
The moment the liquid hit his throat, Raine's veins lit up.Black ichor sprayed from his shoulder wound, writhing on the ground like a living thing.
The old hunter pinned it with a silver arrow. It let out a baby's shriek before going still.
"The full moon."
Fear gleamed in the hunter's single eye.
"The Abyssal Council's holding a ritual in the Bone Mire. Twelve seeds. To awaken something."
He pointed toward the square.
"They're building the altar now."
Raine suddenly recalled the vision shown by Old Martha—eleven tainted seeds floating above a black crystal altar.
If the one inside him was the twelfth...
"How many uncorrupted townsfolk remain?"
"Fewer than twenty."
The hunter spat.
"They're hiding in the western cellar. But..."
He glanced at Raine's chest with unease.
"They say you're the cause of all this."
Raine didn't argue.
He touched the silver dagger at his waist. The rune on the hilt pulsed in sync with the one on his wrist.
"Take me to them."
Raine stood tall, his wound no longer spreading.
"Before the corrupted find that cellar."
As they crept through the drainage ditch, Raine noticed the sky had changed.
Though it was noon, the sun was veiled in gray, and the clouds shimmered with sickly green at the edges.
Worse were the plants—every blade of grass that touched the black tendrils had twisted into claw-like shapes, as if writhing in agony.
The old hunter suddenly halted, sniffing the air like a hound.
"Blood," he murmured, pointing ahead.
Bodies lay sprawled across the ground, their chests split open, hearts missing.
Raine crouched to examine them—silver vine tattoos circled their wrists.
"Guardians?"
"The last batch," the hunter rasped.
"My brother was among them."
The cellar entrance was hidden beneath the old mill's trough.
The hunter tapped a precise rhythm on the boards.
With a heavy creak, the oak cover slid aside.
A dozen terrified faces emerged in the candlelight.
Raine immediately noticed the silver pendants on their necks—engraved with the same sigil Old Martha once wore.
"Why did you bring him here?"
A scar-faced blacksmith bellowed, brandishing a glowing iron rod.
"He brought the plague!"
Raine didn't defend himself.
His gaze fixed on the corner—
The shepherd girl's infant glowed faintly green, the pulse of light matching Raine's heartbeat exactly.
"Eighteen years ago..."
Raine stepped forward as the crowd recoiled,
"Did a foreign woman give birth here?"
The shepherd girl clutched the baby tighter—
But from the bundle, a small hand reached out—
On the infant's wrist was a glowing rune, identical to the one on Raine's own.