Sovereign of the Forsaken Path

Ezra's blood ran cold.

The shadows at the end of the tunnel weren't just moving.

They were splitting apart , like something massive and unseen was pushing through reality itself.

And whatever it was

The figures behind him were afraid of it.

Ezra could tell by the way they shrank back , their shifting forms flickering at the edges like glitches in existence.

One of them rasped in a distorted whisper:

"It comes."

Ezra swallowed hard. "No offense, but I think I'll be leaving before 'it' gets here."

Then

A low, dragging sound echoed through the tunnel.

Not footsteps.

Something worse.

Like wet flesh scraping against stone.

The hairs on Ezra's neck stood on end.

His body screamed at him to run.

But before he could

A voice slithered through the air.

Not from the figures.

Not from behind him.

But from everywhere at once.

"You… took what was mine."

Ezra's stomach dropped.

The shadows at the end of the tunnel convulsed violently and something began to emerge.

A hand.

No too many hands.

Fingers merged, split, and reformed , as if reality itself was unsure what shape they were meant to take.

Ezra's breath hitched.

Then came the faces.

Half formed, writhing, pressing against the shifting darkness like drowning things.

Some of them were crying.

Some were screaming.

And some were smiling.

Ezra took a step back. "Nope. Nope. That's enough horror for one day."

But the thing kept coming.

It pulled itself forward, dragging its impossible form through the tunnel, warping the space around it.

And then

It spoke again.

"You are not the first to bear the Mark."

Ezra's chest ached where the Sigil was burned into his skin.

The thing in the dark tilted its many heads , watching him.

"But you will be the last."

Ezra had heard enough.

He turned and ran.

And this time

The figures did not stop him.

Because they were already fading.

Like they had never been there at all.