The gates of Gloomspire groaned open with a sound like bone splitting.
The crowd froze. Even the shadows curling around me seemed to still, as if the air itself knew what was coming.
Boots struck the cobblestones in a rhythm too precise to be human.
Four guards in black plate stepped through first — silent, faces hidden behind expressionless helms — and between them came the thing.
It wore no armor. Its bare skin was pale as bleached bone, but gold pulsed beneath it, running through veins like molten rivers. Its eyes were liquid metal, unblinking, reflecting the crimson sky above.
When it spoke, its voice was both male and female, too smooth to belong to either.
"Subject is unshackled," it said. "Veil breach detected. Purification required."
It stepped forward, and the ground where it walked hissed — rainwater boiling away. The guards fanned out around it, spears lowered.
Varrick's hand found my arm. "Run," he hissed.
I didn't. My body ached, my head throbbed from the… break. But the shadows still coiled around my limbs, warm and ready. They wanted blood.
The gold-eyed thing tilted its head at me. "You will kneel," it said. "And the breach will be closed."
I spat rainwater at its feet. "Come close enough, and I'll close something for you."
Its eyes flared.
The next moment, it wasn't there — it was in front of me. One heartbeat gone, the next filled with the flash of golden veins and the weight of a hand on my throat.
The grip wasn't crushing. Not yet. But I could feel the heat in its skin, like a forge's heart pressed against my windpipe.
The shadows reacted before I did — lashing out, coiling around its arm. For the first time, its head moved slightly back, eyes narrowing.
"First Mark manifestation," it murmured. "Crude. Unrefined."
I clenched my teeth and pushed. The shadows thickened, dozens of tendrils wrapping up its arm, its torso. The air grew cold, the rain freezing midair before hitting the ground.
It didn't scream. It didn't even grunt. It simply drove its free hand forward into my gut.
White heat exploded in my vision. My knees buckled, the shadows shuddered. Something inside me — not bone, not flesh — tore.
I tasted blood.
"This body will be recycled," it said. "Minimal resistance recorded."
The crowd had scattered to the edges of the yard, some watching, some running, most too afraid to move. Varrick hadn't moved at all. His eyes were wide, his lips moving — maybe praying, maybe cursing.
The thing lifted me off my feet by the throat.
The shadows surged again, but this time it wasn't hunger driving them. It was desperation. They didn't lash randomly; they pulled toward its face, its eyes, stabbing like black spears.
One struck.
The thing's head snapped back slightly. Not much — just enough for me to feel its grip loosen. I fell, my knees hitting wet stone.
The pain hit fully then — my chest heaving, stomach roiling. The shadows shivered violently, pulling tighter against my arms and ribs, as if trying to keep me together.
The thing wiped at its eye. A thin line of black ran down its pale cheek — not blood, not shadow. Something in between.
"You are… inefficient," it said, as if that meant something.
I pushed myself to my feet. My hands shook, the shadows curling tighter. My voice was raw, but I made it work. "And you talk too much."
I lunged.
It didn't expect that. Maybe it didn't think mortals could be stupid enough to attack it head-on. The shadows stretched forward in a dozen tendrils, striking like whips, wrapping around its legs and chest.
It moved — fast — but not fast enough. One tendril wrapped its neck. Another its arm. I could feel its heat through them, feel the pulse of something deeper than blood.
And then I pulled.
The yard filled with a sound like stone cracking under ice. The thing staggered forward, gold light spilling from the lines where the shadows dug in.
For a moment, I thought I'd win.
Then the light flared.
It wasn't fire. It wasn't heat. It was pressure — crushing, impossible, filling every space inside me and forcing the shadows back. My ears rang, my vision went white.
The shadows screamed — not in my head, but out loud. The sound made the guards falter, hands going to their helmets.
The thing stepped forward, my tendrils falling limp.
"You are not the first to break the First Veil," it said. "And you will not be the last to die for it."
It raised a hand, palm open. Gold swirled in the center, forming a needle of pure light.
The shadows tried to rise again. They didn't have the strength. Neither did I. My legs felt hollow, my ribs ached with every breath.
I could see my death in that light.
And then someone else moved.
A stone — jagged, wet — smashed against the side of the thing's head. It didn't do much damage, but it made it turn.
Varrick stood ten paces away, another stone in hand, his face pale but his jaw set. "If you're gonna kill him," he shouted, "you'll have to kill me too."
The gold eyes narrowed. "Then I will."
It turned toward him.
The shadows inside me stirred. Not slow this time. Not hungry. Furious. They didn't wait for me — they surged out, dozens of tendrils exploding from my back and shoulders, whipping across the yard toward the thing.
They struck. Hard.
The gold-eyed thing reeled, more black seeping from cracks along its skin. Its voice, still too smooth, had an edge now. "Mark corruption exceeding limits. Host will be unstable."
The shadows didn't care.
I pushed — not with muscle, not even with will — but with something deeper, something raw and ugly. The tendrils pulled, dragged, constricted.
The gold-eyed thing's skin split. Beneath wasn't bone. Wasn't flesh. It was molten gold, writhing, shaping itself into something else.
The guards finally broke. They ran, spears clattering on the stone as they fled through the gates.
The thing didn't run. It just stood there, looking at me with eyes that seemed… almost curious now.
"You will not survive this," it said. "But you will be remembered."
And then it let go.
Its body collapsed in on itself, molten gold and pale skin twisting until nothing was left but a single drop of black-gold liquid on the wet stone.
The shadows hissed, retreating into me. My legs buckled again, and this time I hit the ground hard.
The pain came in waves now — deep, cutting pain in my ribs, my throat, my head. The world swam. My vision blurred.
Somewhere far away, I heard Varrick shouting my name. Hands grabbed my shoulders.
I couldn't answer. The shadows were still whispering. Not to me — to something else.
Above, the crimson sky flickered. The rain started again, heavier than before.
And then… a second horn sounded.
This one wasn't from the gates. It came from the temple.
The shadows went still. Even Varrick's voice cut off.
Because something far bigger than the gold-eyed thing was coming.