The beast shrieks, more of a rattling screech than a true sound, and dives again.
I turn, my breath heaving.
Gods above. Why didn’t I ask Torin to teach me to use my magic?
If I could just burn it or create a shield. Anything. But I didn’t practice. I hadn't even tried. Even after surviving the catacombs, I still treat my magic like a curse that might solve itself.
Click. Clickclickclickclick.
It’s going to strike again.
I drop to my knees, slamming my hand into the water, and willing something,anything, to respond. Warmth flares beneath my skin, too wild and unfocused. It sparks in my veins like lightning with no direction…then sputters out.
The scorpion lunges from behind, and this time, I turn just in time, driving my sword straight into its underbelly. The blade lodges. I shove it deeper with all my weight, twisting.
The creature writhes and screeches, thrashing its legs before it finally collapses, stinger twitching weakly as it sinks beneath the surface.
My chest heaves as I stumble backwards in water that's up to my thighs now.
My arms tremble with fatigue, and I wince as I touch a shallow gash on my left arm. I’d gotten clipped during that last lunge, but I hadn’t even felt it through the adrenaline. Now I can feel the scorpion’s venom spreading like ice in my veins.
I trudge toward the nearest island, more of a stone platform than anything, and pull myself up. The sun above is hiding behind the clouds, and the water around me seems to stretch for miles in every direction.
I sit on the stone for a while trying to catch my breath. That’s when I see them.
Figures. Dozens of them. Wading through the water.
Cloaked. Hooded. Hunched over. Lanterns swing from hooked sticks they carry, casting long shadows across the water as they pass.
They make no sound.
Not a splash. Not a word. Not a breath.
I stay crouched, my hand instinctively going to my sword again. The water shimmers strangely around them, like their presence distorts the air. They don’t have faces.Just blackness beneath their hoods, like they’d been scooped out.
I watch as one pauses, its lantern swinging slowly.Though it has no eyes, no mouth, it turns its head toward me.
I don't move. Don’t breathe.
After a long, torturous moment, it turns back and continues on, disappearing behind a toppled pillar.
I wait another full minute before exhaling. I stay crouched in the water, barely breathing. The rest of the cloaked figures silently drift past. I stop trembling, but only because the cold has sunken too deep to feel my fingers.
“Delicious.”
I stiffen, turning slowly. The voice, low and gravelly, didn’t come from the lantern creatures. It didn't come from anything I’d seen yet.
A tall, cloaked figure stands twenty paces behind me, but unlike the others, this one walks. Its cloak drags through the water, making the surface ripple. Its sleeves are long and wide, but not enough to hide the hands. No. Not hands. Claws. Four long, jointed fingers, tipped in black nails like polished obsidian.
“So soft. So fresh. Soscared.”
The figure steps closer to me, and I stagger back. My stomach twists, and bile begins to rise in my throat. The thing wears Aren’s face.
A mawless.
The figure tilts its head, like a predator admiring its prey.
“Do you like it?” it rasps. “Found it not long ago. Still warm,” he says, caressing his stolen face.
