Sonhu reeled back, falling backward and landing on the cold stone floor. His ears rang loud, and the room was too bright. Sensation blazed across his mind. It was all too much. He spasmed on the floor as he rubbed his eyes and scratched at his ears spastically.
After a few moments, when all the sensations died down enough for him to collect his thoughts, he did his best to recall where he was. There was the temple… the room… the statue… the altar, and then… His hand went instinctively to the back of his neck. His hand pressed against his fur, then it searched, looking for some cut… some scar, some remnant from what had happened.
Nothing. Sonhu relaxed and let out a small sigh. The overwhelming sensations were finally gone, and now he was fixated on something that had become more apparent to him: the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh.
Cautiously, Sonhu rose to his feet, still crouching low. He scanned the room. His eyes were still not adjusted fully, but he could now make out the outlines. The altar was still in front of him, but there was no sign of illumination from a torch. Dropping to all fours, he crept across the cold floor. As he moved, he noticed the statue was gone. Maybe the priest and crusaeders had taken it somehow and left me? He reached the source of the smell of rotting flesh. A large mass, Sonhu could not discern much more than its outline.
Sonhu reached out with his hand, feeling it. A layer of soft linen over the body… of a human. Sonhu did a quick feel around the body. The linen was torn and tattered in some areas. There was a large tear and a deep gash in the skin just above the stomach. The gash stretched from the left collarbone to the right peck. The gash was caked with dried blood. The body was the unmistakable figure of the priest, as plump and disgusting in death as it was in life. A chill ran down his spine, and the cold hands of dread were strangling his heart. What could have done this to him? Did the crusaeders turn on him? No. I need to leave now.
Sonhu scanned the walls and could just make out the shape of the door they had entered from. He began making his way towards the door. There was a strange presence in the room. He could feel it. The sensation of being watched that he had felt in the corridors before was so much stronger. He felt it like two eyes were boring into the back of his head. Something screamed at him to run. But whatever was in the room might notice him. Then again… what if it already has? Some part of his mind whispers to him, and then an even more chilling part coos to him. We could turn around. Make sure it didn't.
There was something uncanny about these desires. The first was a pure, instinctual desire to survive—overwhelming and hard to resist —but his better judgment told him that running was not the smartest option. The second… was foreign… a curiosity that wasn't exactly his.
As Sonhu reached the door, his curiosity became unbearable. Just a peek, he thought to himself. He turned. Just a moment. Just a glance. What greeted him were four black tendrils. Long shadows stretched across from the center of the other room, hovering just above him. Tracing them back to the center of the room, somewhere in an obfuscated shadowy mass, two purple orbs shone brightly, illuminating the room and the three corpses.
Sonhu's heart skipped a beat. His breath hitched and caught in his throat, and then... the tendrils were upon him. They wrapped around him tightly, constricting and pulling him towards the room. Sonhu flailed around and squirmed in their grasp, trying his hardest to gain any footing—any hold to pull against the tendrils. He dug his claws into the stone floor, stabilizing himself and fighting against the shadows. Sonhu put all his strength into pulling against the tendrils.
Their grasp was firm, but he managed to hold himself. His mind spiraled. Plans began and faded. What could he do? His heart beat so fast, it felt like it might just explode. The pressure from the tendrils grew and grew. His muscles felt like they might tear, but he would not let himself fall victim to this… thing. Not like the priest. Not like the crusaeders.
Sonhu let out a yowl. A mixture of pain, frustration, and determination. He had almost lost this life before, and though he was not sure how, he was still alive. He would not give up easily on this second chance.
The tendrils' grip faltered. They loosed for a split second after his yowl and seemed to freeze, but a moment was all he needed. He broke free of their grip and began his dash—up the stairs, through the corridors, down the temple steps—without a second thought.
He did not turn back, not for a moment. He had made it… somehow. He didn't care about whatever was behind him. The priest. The crusaeders. The thing. His gear. All of it—gone.