Every muscle in my body grew tight as I froze to listen.
The scream echoed again. It sounded closer this time, thick with pain.
My stomach dropped.
There was a trail, barely visible, but it was worn. It had been kept clear through the dead underbrush. Something…or someone…had paced that path again and again.
I hesitated, only for a moment, before moving toward the sound. My legs wove through the trail with ease.
It was what a magical researcher would do, after all.
Branches scraped against my skin, making tiny cuts that healed almost immediately. The air grew colder the farther I pushed. Magic stirred in my blood, reacting instinctively to the shift in arcane pressure. A faint shimmer of spell-work brushed against my senses like a thousand tiny spider legs.
It was completely different from the feeling of Drecken Grimsworn’s magic.
Something was wrong here.
The air was too still, and it was far too cold.
The path ended at a ring of jagged stones, moss-covered and half-swallowed by dirt. At the center was a broken figure. It was thin and bent backward in a way that defied anatomy.
It was a man, and he flickered in that ghostly glitch phantoms were able to do, which freaked me out. Only, the man was barely clinging to either form. His arms stretched in jagged spasms toward invisible walls of a binding circle carved into the earth, etched with decayed runes that pulsed with unstable, corrupted magic.
I found the phantom.
The magic circle was drenched in the dark green rot.
I stepped closer, but he shrieked again. His form snapped, splitting one half of his body into faded ghostly shadows before reforming with a sickening crackle of energy. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth even as he faded in and out.
“Oh my Fates.”My voice was barely a whisper.
His head turned sharply toward me.
He saw me. His eyes were wide, glowing yellow, and his mouth opened in silent horror as ifIhad done this to him.
“What—” I started to speak, but then, he lunged at me.
He hit the invisible barrier of the circle, rebounding with an echoing blast of force that sent up a wave of energy so violent it knocked me back a step.
My heart thundered, echoing loudly in my ears.
I was not a fan of phantoms as it was. But this guy?
The man dropped to the ground in the center of the circle, convulsing. His body bent and twisted, as if trying to escape the confines of his own flesh.
Terrifying.
He let out a whimper, a child-like whimper, that hit me harder than the scream.
This man had been trapped here since the village was sealed off.
Alone.
For twenty years.
I gritted my teeth and knelt, examining the edge of the binding circle. The runes were old magic. It looked to be improvised and rushed. Not only that, but the entire circle had been corrupted. It was leaking that magical essence rot into the surrounding area. Whatever warlock had cast this had zero care for anyone or anything but themselves.
The man jerked his head toward me again. This time, there were tears streaking down his flickering face.
