Appolyth stood in the dim chamber, her corrupted divinity seeping into the air like poison. The three corpses of Leon, Reina, and Lemuel lay sprawled before her, motionless and pale. She raised a trembling hand, whispering words in no tongue ever meant for men.
The air grew heavy. Shadows bent and twisted.
The corpses twitched. Bones cracked. Flesh split and reknit as the process of Abyssal Inversion began.
Leon's small body jerked upright, his hollow eye socket now glowing with a faint ember of darkness. But when he opened his mouth, it was Reina's voice that spilled forth in a soft wail.
Reina rose next, her chest cavity still gaping, but when her lips moved, it was Lemuel's young voice that whimpered.
Even Lemuel, the most twisted of them, opened his mouth, and Leon's broken tone cried out.
Then, all their voices—his, hers, theirs—fused into Appolyth herself. She opened her mouth and every cry, sob, laugh, and scream echoed at once, a cacophony of horror that shattered the silence.
But the strain was too much. Her stolen flesh began to betray her.
"Aghhh—" she screamed, blood pouring from her host's mouth.
Her green hair fell out in clumps, strands scattering across the stone floor. The black veins on her arms writhed like serpents as her stolen body began to rot.
The three children dropped lifelessly again, hitting the ground with dull thuds. Appolyth's form flickered, her essence half-torn from Reheil's body. For a moment, she was phasing out—an angel of decay trapped between realms—her voice a shriek that clawed at the walls.
With a violent wrench, she forced herself back inside the corpse, chains of corruption binding her to it. The room filled with the stench of blood and rot.
And just then—
The door creaked open.
Reheil's husband stepped inside, his tired face softening into shock at the sight before him. His eyes widened at the bodies, the blood, the woman he once loved.
"...Reheil?" he whispered.
Appolyth's rotting lips curled into a smile.