I sprint through the shadowed corridors of the mansion. Vael's voice, distorted and alien, echoes through the walls. "Come to us... we wait."

  Behind me, the sound of heavy footsteps grows louder, punctuated by the scrape of sharp metal against wood.

  Pain slows me, the deep wound in my side weeps blood. I don't have time to treat it. But... I don't need to.

  I snatch Zaenith's potion from my belt and down it in one go. Relief floods through me, the pain of the wound fading as I feel the bleeding slow. It will take time to heal properly, but for now, the potion will keep me together.

  "Many, are we...."

  The shadows shift unnaturally, coalescing into forms that fill me with terror.

  Pale men, smiling men.

  Their hollow eyes gleam as they lunge from the darkness. Each one moves with unnatural speed, their elongated limbs twisting as if unbound by the laws of nature.

  I swing my club wildly, the heavy wood connecting with bone, shattering limbs by the dozen. Of course, they do not scream, their bodies crumpling only to rise again, dragging themselves after me regardless of injury. But each blow buys me precious time.

  I won't die.

  Not here. Not anywhere else.

  The manor itself seems to twist and shift, the corridors elongating and narrowing. The walls drip with something dark and viscous, and the portraits that hang askew seem to follow my every move, all of the same man, their painted eyes brimming with malice.

  Vael appears at the end of the corridor, blocking my escape. I skid to a halt, heart hammering, then veer sharply into the nearest door on my right. I slam it shut with trembling hands, twisting the lock and shoving a heavy bookshelf down in front of it. Beyond the door, faint whispers sound through the wood, the handle rattles for a few moments... then falls still.

  I step back cautiously, grimacing as my fingers brush the wound at my waist. The bleeding has stopped, Zaenith’s potion did its work, but the pain still lingers.

  I glance around. It’s a trophy room. Stuffed animal carcasses stand frozen mid-snarl, their glass eyes catching the dim light. Stags, bears, wolves... a lot of wolves.

  A hunter I suppose? But what are.....

  As I venture deeper, the trophies grow more grotesque and unnatural. A giant spider with legs like black spears, the sight of it makes my heart skip a beat.

  Further, there's a two-headed bear twisted unnaturally, both heads snarling and furious.

  And at the far end of the chamber.... there's a wolf so massive it nearly scrapes the high ceiling, hunched awkwardly to fit within the room.

  What in the world is this place?

  Why did Lucien send me here?

  I move to a window, only to find it barred with thick, rusted iron. Beyond it, more wolves wait silently, their glowing eyes fixed on me even here, in this corner of the house.

  Do they surround it entirely?

  I press on, the trophy room having several doors that I could progress through. Blocking the one behind me feels like a mistake now, cutting off any hope of retreat. But I choose another door at random and slip through.

  It’s a library.... a vast chamber with towering shelves made of thick, sturdy wood. The air is heavy with the scent of old paper and dust. My eyes follow the walls, there's several more doors at each end, any of which Vael could step through.

  As I creep closer to one of them, a shadow glides beneath the crack, and soft footsteps echo just beyond. I hold my breath, a sharp spike of panic freezing me in place.

  Without thinking, I dart behind a bookshelf, hoping to hide in its shadows. Through a thin gap between the dusty tomes, I watch the door creak open, holding my breath.

  Vael steps inside.... but not alone. Four of the same man follow him in, each bearing that same foul smile.

  They move in silence, gliding to the library's aisles, each one heading to a different row. My heartbeat roars in my ears, one of them is coming to me.

  I can’t stay here.

  Moving inch by inch, praying the old wood won’t betray me with a creak, I begin to climb. My fingers hook into the frame, hauling me upward with agonizing slowness. At last, I flatten myself atop the shelf, belly pressed against the dust-coated surface.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  From this vantage, I can see them, Vael’s copies, moving on either side of me, inspecting their respective aisle.

  One stops directly below me, turning his head slightly. My lungs ache, begging for air, but I dare not breathe.

  Then… he moves on.

  Thank the goddess.

  Once they've walked a sufficient distance, I seize the moment. Silently, I swing over the edge and drop onto a thick rug that swallows the impact. My heart pounds in my throat as I dash for the door they came through, slipping back into the corridor beyond.

  But the hallway waiting for me isn’t familiar. I don't know which direction to go and there’s no time to think.

  So I just pick a direction and move.

  Dammit, where am I?

  After a few minutes, doubt gnaws at me. I’m beginning to think I chose the wrong path. The corridor feels endless, stretching on without relief. Then, faint but undeniable, footsteps echo behind me, distant but drawing closer. My heart leaps into my throat, and I move faster, my breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

  Finally, the hall ends, a large door looming ahead. Without hesitation, I rush in and push it open.

  Oh no....

  My breath comes in ragged gasps as I burst into a new room, only to be greeted by a scene of nightmarish horror. The chamber is vast, its high ceiling too high and dark to see. Bones decorate every surface, meticulously arranged into grotesque patterns. Skulls line the walls, some unmistakably human, others larger and adorned with twisted horns. The stench of decay is overwhelming, and the floor is littered with brittle fragments that crunch beneath my boots.

  "Beautiful, isn’t it?" Vael’s voice slithers from somewhere unseen, his tone reverent. "A testament to those who came before you."

  Panic surges through me as men emerge from the shadows, each one Vael.

  "Of course, one such as yourself will not be treated so carelessly."

  I draw my club from my belt. There's five of them. Four hold weapons, that same two-pronged dagger. The fifth alone remains weaponless, holding Lucien's head.

  "I'll ask you one more time and you better speak plainly. What do you want with me?" My confident, furious voice belies the fear in my heart.

  And yet...

  It is not entirely without backing.

  As my other hand reaches to my belt, grasping the thin scroll tied to it.

  "What we want..." The fifth man speaks, his fingers running through Lucien's hair.

  "Is your constructed heart."

  "Your keen eyes."

  "Your powerful limbs."

  "Your invaluable mind....."

  Each man speaks, one after the other, with unsettling coordination. But it's the fifth that finishes.

  "What we want, is only what you offered. What you pledged to the chain of sacrifice." His replicas gather around him, their weapons raised. "And once we've taken what is ours and offered it to our lord.... we will happily serve. One of your stature deserves no less."

  I don't need to hear anymore. I'm not sacrificing my body to crazed cultist monsters.

  I drop my club and unfurl the scroll.

  And the moment I do, a torrent of alien knowledge invades my mind. Arcane secrets, impossible and profane, flood my consciousness, truths no mortal should see, let alone grasp, unraveling sanity with every revelation. My vision blurs as incomprehensible symbols flood my vision, each one a key to power I've never known.

  Magic.

  "H?tbolt!!"

  I throw my hand up the moment I shout the word, power filling my voice.

  Fire erupts from my hand, a swirling, chaotic bolt of flame that tears through the dark air.

  It slams into the fifth man, the one I perceive as their leader, his form illuminated in a horrifying blaze as the inferno consumes him. He shrieks, an inhuman, guttural scream that reverberates through the room, the very first expression of pain I've seen from any of them.

  Lucien's severed head tumbles from his grip, rolling grotesquely across the floor, the light in his eyes going out.

  The burning man flails desperately, his arms clawing at the flames as his flesh blackens and cracks. The smell of burning hair and charred meat fills the air.

  The other men stand frozen, their grotesque grins gone as they watch their leader's torment in eerie silence. The fire rages on until he collapses into a smoldering heap. For a brief, agonizing moment, nothing moves.

  Then, as if puppets severed from their strings, the remaining men drop to the ground, lifeless and limp.

  The silence that follows is broken only by my ragged breaths. The flames flicker and die, leaving behind the acrid stench of death. My knees buckle, and I fall, my body trembling as I whisper "Finally... it's over."

  "Over....? Oh Kindred...."

  My heart breaks as the voice returns, reverberating through the chamber.

  From the shadows, another man strides forward. He bends down, plucking Lucien's severed head from the floor with a reverent touch, his pale fingers trailing over its lifeless features.

  "Cr?ftlyft," he intones, the word laced with an ancient, eldritch power. His fingers flick upwards, and with terrifying ease, I am yanked off the ground. My limbs flail uselessly as I hang in the air, frozen.

  The man cradles Lucien's head as though it were his newborn babe, and opens his mouth grotesquely wide. His jaw unhinges, stretching far beyond human limits, and then bites into the head, tearing off its top. The sickening crunch of bone echoes as he devours the brain in one monstrous bite. Blood cascades down his face, pooling in his hollowed cheeks as he revels in the macabre feast.

  Before I can process the horror, the fallen replicas begin to stir. Their lifeless forms jerk and spasm, then move toward him with a dreadful purpose. Their flesh and bones tear apart, shredded into grotesque strands of raw material that spiral through the air, fusing to him. The sound is unbearable, that of wet, ripping tissue and grinding bone.

  The man, or rather... the thing that remains... is a nightmarish abomination. Towering at least twelve feet tall, it looms over me, a vision from hell. Horns protrude from its exposed skull, curling inward and downward, so long that they reach the floor. Its skin is black, marred with veins of glowing, verdant fire that pulse along its limbs. Flesh clings sparsely to its elongated, skeletal frame, barely masking the structure beneath.

  But it is the face that paralyzes me with terror. The fleshless skull grins impossibly wide, jagged teeth gleaming, the smile is unmistakably his. Its hollow eyes lock onto mine, and I slump forward, exhausted.

  It's over. I've lost.

  I can't do it. I'm just a man....

  I can't defeat a demon.

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