Suddenly a distant scream pierced the silence. It was a sharp and unnatural cry for help.
Derek froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing toward the hallway. The scream echoed again, closer this time—panicked, ragged, followed by a horrified wail.
"What was that?" Eamon asked, his voice hoarse, eyes wide.
Derek raised his hand, signaling him to stay quiet. "Wait here, Eamon," he whispered, moving towards the door of the hidden room. "Let me check what's going on. Don't move until I come back."
Eamon tried to sit up, but his body felt like a thousand weights had been dumped over him. "Derek, be careful…"
"I will," Derek said without turning back, his voice already fading as he crept toward the hallway.
The hall outside the room was lit faintly by the fire's light sneaking through the cracks in the boarded windows. Derek padded quietly, hugging the walls, and finally reached the window at the front of the house. He gently pulled the curtain aside.
What he saw made the blood in his veins freeze.
Outside, the front yard and the narrow street were painted in red. Bodies—twisted, slashed, lifeless—lay scattered across the ground. Kern's soldiers were in chaos, hacking desperately at creatures that looked like shadows given form—gaunt, hunched beasts with clawed arms, glowing red eyes, and skin that shimmered like oil.
"T-Torkes," Derek muttered. "They can't be... here?"
The Torkes, the lowest tier demons of the Dark Realm, were crawling, pouncing, snarling. They were attacking not just Kern's men but also the villagers—men who had arrived full of rage and purpose to kill Eamon were now screaming in terror.
"Hold the line!" Kern bellowed from the back, his sword bloodied but his stance defensive. "Kill the beasts! Cut them down!"
But it was useless. Every time a Torke was slain, another emerged from the shadows, almost like they multiplied from spilled blood. Villagers screamed and scattered in every direction, but the demons were faster. Claws tore through flesh, jaws crunched bone. The village square was turning into a massacre.
"What's happening?!" shouted one of the villagers. "Weren't we supposed to be protected?! Kern, you said—"
"I said fight you idiots. This isn't why I manipulated and brought you here! You should listen to me you worthless fools" Kern barked, backing away.
"You lied to us!" another man shrieked, trying to hold back a Torke with a pitchfork. "You used us! So Aegon was innocent? And you made us murder him?"
But Kern wasn't listening anymore. He was retreating, using his men as shields, pushing them into the path of the demons to buy himself time.
Derek's fists clenched. His family, his neighbours—these people didn't deserve this. Kern had betrayed them, thrown them into the maw of darkness just to get to Eamon. And now… now it was too late.
He turned around and ran—back into the hidden room.
"Eamon!" Derek shouted, slamming the door shut behind him. "They're being slaughtered! Kern's soldiers, the villagers—they're all under attack by Torkes!"
Eamon tried to rise, clutching the edge of the bed. "Torkes?! What? How did they get here?" His eyes darted to the small window. "Wait… today is the new moon."
"What?", said, Derek.
"The curse," Eamon whispered, horror dawning in his eyes. "It's already begun. That must be why they're here. To kill me."
"But why aren't they attacking us?" Derek asked, pacing frantically.
"This house…" Eamon looked around, realization hitting him. "My grandfather. He enchanted the entire house with protection spells. High-tier magic. Maybe… maybe they can't sense us inside it. We're cloaked. And even if they do sense us, they can't come inside."
Derek's breath slowed. "So we're safe?"
"For now," Eamon said. "But your family—"
"They're not here," Derek interrupted quickly. "I sent them away. To my parents' village. I had a feeling something was wrong when I saw Kern's men in town in the evening."
Eamon nodded, relief softening his eyes. "That's good. That's very good. But we need to help the villagers. We can't let them die like this—"
Suddenly, Eamon staggered, clutching his head. "Wait… something's wrong. I feel dizzy…"
"Eamon?" Derek rushed forward. "What's happening?"
Eamon's nose began to bleed. Then, blood trickled from the corners of his eyes. He dropped to his knees, convulsing.
"Eamon!" Derek shouted, panicking. "You're bleeding! What's happening to you?!"
"I used too much… energy," Eamon gasped. "That… resurrection spell… the dark powers… too much for my body…" He groaned, swaying. "There should be… a potion… in the cupboard… called Herbia… green vial… put few drops in my mouth…"
Derek didn't waste a second.
He scrambled to the cupboard on the far side of the room. He threw open shelves, flinging aside bottles, scrolls, herbs, old relics. His hands trembled as he opened a small drawer at the bottom—and there it was. A green-glass vial labeled Herbia in thin golden ink.
Derek rushed back, opened the stopper, and carefully poured a few drops into Eamon's mouth.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, Eamon's spasms calmed. The blood stopped flowing. His breathing slowed. But he was still unconscious.
Derek exhaled in relief, collapsing beside Eamon, his body trembling. But the sounds from outside—the screams, the ripping, the howling—kept coming. He buried his face in his hands, paralyzed.
"I have to go out there… I have to help them…"
He pushed himself to his knees. He looked toward the door.
One step.
Then another.
But as he stood up fully, his vision blackened.
He collapsed.
Darkness took him.
Outside, the screams had started to fade. Not because the villagers had escaped—but because most of them were dead.
The Torkes rampaged through the crowd. Their claws gleamed with gore; their teeth dripped blood. The sky slowly began to pale with the coming dawn, but the creatures didn't stop.
Kern, ever the coward, shouted to his remaining men, "Hold them! I need to regroup!"
"But we're dying out here!" one of them yelled.
"You think I care? Hold them!" he repeated, shoving the man into a charging Torke.
With each body that fell, Kern retreated further, eventually slipping into the trees beyond the village. He glanced back once—just once—to see his men overwhelmed, their screams fading into silence.
He didn't care. As long as he lived. He ran away.
Within minutes, the first rays of sunlight broke through the night.
And with it, the Torkes began to fade—literally. Their forms twitched, howled, and then dissolved like mist, vanishing into nothing as the light touched them.
Everything went silent.
Only corpses remained.
The sun rose and the Torkes turned to ashes and vanished.
After a few minutes, Eamon woke up.
The protective enchantments had blocked the worst of the energies, but he still felt like his brain had been pulled through a hurricane. He opened his eyes slowly, then noticed Derek lying beside him.
"Derek?" he whispered, crawling to him. "Derek, wake up."
He lightly tapped Derek's cheek. "Derek…Wake up."
Derek's eyes fluttered open. "Ugh… what… what happened?"
"You must've fainted too," Eamon said gently. "The magic. You don't have a mana core, and being exposed to such dense and sinister magical presence—your body couldn't handle it."
Derek sat up, holding his head. "I remember feeling dizzy. Then I fell… after that, nothing. But…but are you okay, Eamon?"
Eamon gave a soft nod. "I'm fine. The potion helped. Barely. Thanks to you."
There was a long silence between them. The air in the room was still. Heavy.
Then Eamon stood up. "We should go outside," he said. "We need to see who survived."
Derek followed him, though his steps were uncertain.
As they stepped out of the hidden chamber, the house was eerily quiet. The dust hung in the shafts of morning sunlight that pierced through the broken window panes.
But as they moved through the hallway toward the front door, Eamon stopped.
His eyes fell on the still figure lying in the center of the room.
It was his grandfather.
His face was peaceful, but his body had been there all night—exposed, alone.
Eamon walked slowly to him, knelt down, and with trembling hands pulled a cloth from a nearby table to cover the old man's body.
For a moment, he just sat there, hand over the cloth, eyes closed.
Some tears rolled down his cheek.
But he didn't say a word.
He then stood up, wiped his tears, and slowly walked toward the door.