The fifth toll of the bell thundered across the chapel.
The air thickened with an unnatural weight, pressing down on Aarav's chest until each breath burned.
The corpse-guests stirred once more. But unlike before, they did not rise. Instead, they bowed deeper, foreheads knocking against the pews. A low murmur rippled through them, a sound like wind through a graveyard.
Aarav's gaze locked on the Bride.
Her veil fluttered as though caught in a storm only she could feel. The chains that had slithered like serpents now coiled tighter around her arms, rattling with impatience. Her pale fingers flexed, still holding the black ring suspended above her palm.
She should have waited. That was the law of the chapel—one toll, one vow, one hour.
Yet Aarav felt it in his bones. She was growing restless.
The Bride tilted her head toward him.
"You resist me," she whispered, her voice echoing from every corner of the chapel. "But time is mine to command. And my groom will not delay his vows."
The chains struck the floor.
Aarav stumbled back as cracks split the stone tiles, racing outward from the altar. The bell tolled a sixth time, but this one was wrong—shrill, discordant, jagged. The walls trembled, dust raining from the ceiling.
The innkeeper's warning burned in Aarav's mind: "If she grows impatient, run. For when the Bride breaks her rules, no mortal can stand before her."
His pulse thundered. His only chance was escape.
Aarav bolted for the main chapel doors. His boots echoed on the cracked tiles as he sprinted down the aisle. The corpse-guests hissed, but none moved to block him. They only lifted their heads, hollow eyes glowing red, watching as though eager to see him fail.
The doors loomed ahead. Heavy oak bound in iron. His hands slammed against them.
They didn't budge.
Chains slithered across the wood from the inside, sealing the door shut.
Aarav's chest tightened. He whirled around just in time to see the Bride step down from the altar.
The guests shivered. Veils quivered. Some clawed at their own skin in silent frenzy, as though unable to bear the sight.
She wasn't supposed to move from the altar. That was the unspoken rule of the ritual. But she had broken it.
The Bride glided down the aisle, each step silent yet heavy, as if the chapel itself bowed beneath her weight. Her veil swayed, revealing glimpses of bone-pale skin and lips as dark as dried blood. The chains dragged behind her, scraping sparks from the stone.
Aarav backed away, palms slick with sweat. "Stay back," he rasped.
She smiled—or at least, her veil shifted as if something beneath it curved upward. "You are mine, beloved. No vow can delay what fate has sealed."
The chains lashed forward.
Aarav dove aside. The iron links struck the door, splintering wood and rattling the chapel walls. Shards flew past his face, slicing his cheek.
He scrambled toward the side aisle, ducking behind a row of pews. His mind raced. He couldn't fight her. He couldn't reason with her. But he had to survive until the bell's final toll.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
If he could hold on, maybe—just maybe—the ritual would end.
The Bride's voice seeped through the pews, curling into his ears like smoke. "Why flee from joy? Why turn from the bond every soul craves? You long for warmth. For family. For love. I can give you all."
He grit his teeth, forcing the whispers out. They weren't hers alone—they were stitched from his memories, his desires, his wounds.
The pews shook violently as the chains tore through them, splinters exploding. Aarav rolled to his feet and sprinted toward the side chamber—the mirror room's door.
But when he reached it, the frame was gone. Only blank wall remained.
The Bride's laughter rang, sweet and venomous.
The bell tolled a seventh time.
This toll was different. The corpse-guests rose again—but not as before. Their movements were fluid now, almost graceful. They stepped into the aisles, forming a circle around him. Veils fell back, revealing eyeless sockets that poured streams of black ichor down their hollow cheeks.
They began to sway. Their whispers rose.
"One toll… one vow… one hour…"
Aarav spun, searching desperately for a gap. The circle tightened, corpses pressing closer, arms outstretched. Their touch burned worse than fire—he could still feel the phantom sting from before.
He backed into a corner near the altar, chest heaving.
The Bride approached, chains coiling, veil drifting as though in water. The black ring floated higher above her palm, its pulse quickening.
She stopped only feet away.
"Take it," she said, her voice both command and caress. "Take your place by my side, and your suffering ends."
Aarav's vision blurred. The corpses' whispers grew louder, weaving into his thoughts, pressing against his will. His hand twitched. His body leaned forward despite his screams to resist.
Then—the bell tolled an eighth time.
The sound shook him. It broke through the haze, snapping him back. His knees buckled, but he forced himself upright.
"No," he whispered hoarsely. His voice shook, but it was his own. "I won't."
The Bride stilled. The whispers faltered. The corpses froze mid-sway.
Through the veil, her eyes glowed faint red. The chains hissed in fury, striking the floor.
"You will," she said.
The bell tolled again. The ninth chime.
The chapel shuddered, and the shadows stretched longer across the walls. The corpses twisted their heads toward the altar once more, as though waiting for the end.
Aarav's chest pounded. He didn't know how much more he could endure.
But one thing was certain. The Bride had broken her rules. And that meant the game was no longer bound.
If he was to survive, he couldn't just run. He had to fight the ritual itself.