The screaming didn't stop.
It poured from the seal, rising, twisting, pressing into the air until the entire chamber felt like it was caving inward.
Raine's breath came sharp, shallow, his pulse hammering like a war drum.
Lenora was frozen. Not moving. Not speaking.
Raine grabbed her wrist. "We need to—"
The seal pulsed again.
A deep, shuddering thrum.
The air fractured—like glass under a hammer.
Raine staggered back as the chamber around them shifted. The walls twisted, the carvings of screaming faces moving, their mouths widening in silent agony. The silver veins that laced the stone flared, a pulse of sickly light spreading through them like infection.
Then the ground cracked open beneath them.
Not all the way. Not yet.
But Raine could feel it. Something waking. Something pushing against the surface.
Something hungry.
Lenora jerked back like she'd been burned.
"Stop," she hissed.
The masked man didn't.
He took another step toward the seal, his gloved hand still wrapped around that bone pendant, fingers tightening like a vice.
Raine's blade was already in his grip.
Lenora's was faster.
The moment her dagger left her belt, she was moving—lunging for the masked man, her blade aimed for his throat.
He turned at the last second.
Not fast enough.
The dagger bit into his shoulder, the sharp rip of fabric splitting through the chamber. Blood bloomed, dark against his coat.
The man stumbled back, cursing.
Then everything collapsed at once.
The seal shattered.
The light died.
And the darkness came alive.
The Cold Below
Raine couldn't see.
The torch died instantly, swallowed by the black.
The whispers didn't.
They grew.
Not like before. Not scattered.
This time, they spoke as one.
"You are not meant to be here."
Raine whipped around, dagger raised, his pulse thrashing against his ribs.
He couldn't see Lenora. Couldn't see the masked man.
Only shadows.
Moving. Reaching.
Then—
A sharp, cold breath against his ear.
"You should not have woken us."
Raine slashed out—but his blade met only air.
A shape lurched in the dark.
No. Not a shape. A hand.
Bone white. Too long. Fingers curling like broken branches.
A heartbeat.
Then dozens more.
Figures unfolding from the shadows, pulling themselves from the cracks in the stone, their bodies wrong, stretched too thin, their mouths twisting open in silent, gaping screams.
Lenora's voice cut through the dark. "RAINE!"
Then she was there, grabbing his wrist, yanking him backward just as one of the figures lunged—clawing hands slicing through the air where he had just been.
Raine didn't have time to process. Didn't have time to think.
They ran.
The darkness moved with them, the whispers hammering against their skulls, the air turning sharp, cold as ice against their skin.
The corridor ahead wasn't the same as before.
It had changed. Warped.
Raine had no idea where it led.
But he knew one thing.
They had to get the hell out of here.
The Price of Blood
They didn't stop running.
Not until the black began to thin, the twisted whispers fading into distant echoes, the cold breath of something ancient pulling away.
Raine staggered to a stop, hand bracing against the wall, gasping for air.
Lenora was next to him, her face pale, her hands shaking.
For a moment—just a moment—neither of them spoke.
Then—
Raine exhaled sharply. "What the hell was that?"
Lenora didn't answer.
She was staring at her hands.
They were stained red.
Raine's stomach dropped.
He turned sharply, eyes scanning the corridor behind them.
The masked man wasn't there.
"Shit," he muttered.
Lenora swallowed. "We have to go back."
"Back?" Raine gave a breathless laugh. "I don't know if you noticed, but we barely made it out alive."
Lenora's jaw tightened. "We left him."
Raine exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "Lenora—"
"He had the key."
That stopped him.
Raine's blood ran cold.
The key. The bone pendant. The thing that had opened the seal.
If they left it behind—
Lenora's voice was low, dark. "If they get it, they won't need him."
Raine cursed under his breath.
Then, before he could argue—
She turned and ran back into the dark.