Medusa sat upon her throne, the dim lanterns casting flickering shadows across the ornate chamber. Her seat was carved from ancient ivory and petrified vines, its armrests curling like snakes about to strike. The air smelled faintly of incense, and the distant drip of water echoed through the silent halls. She reclined gracefully, one elbow propped on a twisted armrest, her mismatched eyes glittering with a quiet malevolence.
“Clementine,” Medusa called out, her voice smooth and commanding. “Come in.”
A door at the far end of the room creaked open. Clementine entered, her presence instantly easing the suffocating hush. She wore a pair of thick goggles over orange eyes that gleamed with keen intelligence. Medium-length orange hair framed her face, and from beneath it sprouted a pair of long, twisted horns—reminiscent of a markhor’s, grand and spiraling. Her maid outfit was unexpectedly elegant, tailored to perfection, and on her arms were black gauntlets tipped with purple claws. The combination of fine cloth and deadly weaponry exuded both refinement and peril. There was a poised dignity about Clementine, as if she were not just a servant, but a confidante and guardian.
Medusa did not smile, but there was a certain satisfaction in her gaze as she examined her maid. “Clementine,” she began, each syllable deliberate, “I want you to remain here. We have guests—uninvited guests.”
Clementine tilted her head, curiosity lighting her orange eyes. “My lady, you do not wish me to fight?” Her tone was respectful yet puzzled.
Medusa shook her head gently, sending subtle ripples through the serpents entwined in her hair. “No, not at this moment. The true threat is not those intruders outside. The most dangerous presences are here, in this very room.” She raised her voice slightly, and the serpents hissed in unison. “You two, you can come out. I know you’ve been lurking.”
From the ornate ceiling beams, two figures dropped silently, landing lightly on the polished stone floor. The first wore a signature black cloak and a plague doctor–style mask: Blank, the enigmatic leader of The Crows. His presence carried an air of dark humor and chilling intent. He stood with a certain easy confidence, folding his arms as he observed Medusa and her maid.
Next to him was another figure, his attire simultaneously elegant and savage. A coat of white snow-fur framed his hood, and the rest of his garb blended into shades of pristine white and muted gray. A mask covered his face, featureless except for two cold eyeholes. Its texture seemed both crystalline and organic—like ice-sculpted bark. Blue chains floated around him, encircling his body as if held aloft by invisible currents of magic, their faint jingling the only sound in the chamber. Where Blank brought an unsettling mirth, this man radiated quiet menace.
Medusa’s eyes narrowed. She leaned forward on her throne, resting her chin in her hand, her snakes shifting restlessly. “The rat in my walls was you after all, Blank,” she said dryly, no attempt to hide her disdain. “But who’s this companion of yours? You usually bring the fox or the snake mask. I admit I preferred the snake—he suited my motif. But today, you’ve brought someone new.”
Blank shrugged, a low chuckle escaping from beneath his mask. “Viper’s on leave, I’m afraid. But do not worry, my dear Medusa. This is Jackpot, one of my Seven Wings. If Viper’s absence troubles you, rest assured that Jackpot’s power is no less significant.”
There was a gleam in Blank’s eyes as he spoke. The atmosphere tensed, Clementine instinctively shifting her stance behind Medusa’s throne. The mention of Seven Wings, each a name whispered in hushed fear, was enough to make anyone reconsider their arrogance.
Medusa’s serpentine hair tilted as though listening. A slight smile curled her lips. “So you’ve come here with one of your strongest, Blank. How considerate. I’m certain our conversation will be… enlightening.”
Blank offered a cordial smile, though it never reached his concealed eyes. “I do have one more ally on the way—a rookie, running a bit late. I’m thinking of assigning him to Viper’s unit. You’ll encounter him often, I’m sure. I’m only here to offer you some assistance against your intruders.”
Medusa leaned forward on her throne, her mismatched eyes narrowing. The serpents in her hair hissed softly, reflecting her annoyance. “I fail to see how any of this is your concern,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with irritation. “An inexperienced hero and a fledgling god don’t worry me, and the rest of that group are hardly worth mentioning.”
Blank chuckled lightly under his mask. “Oh, spare me the bravado. We both know you’d rather avoid a certain confrontation—especially one involving Cyrus.” His tone held a teasing note that only deepened Medusa’s scowl. “It’s no secret you don’t have the stomach to face him, let alone handle him.”
Medusa’s lip curled, exposing her frustration. “Shut up,” she snapped. “I’m not interested in idle chatter unless you’re delivering the usual shipment.”
Blank bowed theatrically, spreading his arms wide. “No need to worry. The corpses will arrive right on schedule, as always. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing my favorite business partner,” he said, voice dripping with mock courtesy. “I only came out of concern, but if you’d rather we leave—”
Medusa cut him off, flicking her hand dismissively. “Clementine,” she commanded, “show these two out. Use force if needed.”
The maid, still standing at attention, nodded. “Yes, my lady.” Without hesitation, Clementine’s form blurred as she teleported in front of Blank and Jackpot, her gauntlets raised. She aimed a swift punch, her strikes backed by lethal elegance.
But before her blow landed, a wall of shimmering blue crystal materialized between them. It had a scale-like texture, refracting the dim light into shards of azure. Clementine struck it with a resounding clang, forced to recoil as it denied her advance.
“Please, wait,” Jackpot said, his voice calm and steady, as if addressing a minor inconvenience. His blue chains, hovering around him in a graceful orbit, began to hum softly with energy. “I’m in the middle of contract negotiations with my employer here, as facing you is not a part of my job.”
Blank gave a long-suffering sigh. “Are you serious? Now of all times? Fine, what do you want?”
Jackpot inclined his head slightly, his masked face revealing nothing. “My son’s birthday is in a month. I’d like the entire week off, not just the day.”
From behind his mask, Blank gave a dramatic groan. “Fine. Consider it done. Now handle this, please.”
At the snap of Jackpot’s fingers, the azure wall of crystals surged forward, pressing Clementine back against a cold stone column. She struggled, but the crystals melted and reformed around her, encasing her body in a cocoon of gleaming blue, leaving only her face exposed.
“Now, let us help you, Medusa,” Blank said, turning back to her with renewed confidence.
Medusa pursed her lips, weighing the loss of face against the practicality of having two formidable allies. “Fine,” she said tersely. “Just let her go.”
Another snap from Jackpot, and the crystal cocoon cracked and dissolved into a shower of scales that floated back to him, merging seamlessly with the blue chains around his torso. Clementine slid to her feet, visibly annoyed but unharmed.
Medusa’s voice was heavy with reluctant acceptance. “Clementine, guard the throne room. If the intruders get past you, these two will deal with them.” She sighed, as if exhausted by the arrangement. “Don’t waste too much effort. Just slow them down.”
Clementine bowed her head curtly, her eyes still brimming with quiet anger. “As you wish, my lady.”
Blank and Jackpot exchanged a glance, their body language betraying satisfaction. Medusa remained on her throne, her serpents settling back into a restless calm, and the distant torches sputtering softly as the castle prepared to greet its unwanted guests.
Meanwhile, the party forged ahead through the castle’s twisting corridors. A hush lay over the stone halls, broken only by the distant clatter of armored footsteps and the hiss of shifting shadows. Medusa’s influence was everywhere, manifesting in the unsettling forms of her servants.
The castle’s ranks of maids awaited them—an eerie parody of domestic staff. Each wore a pristine maid uniform, complete with aprons and lace collars. But beneath their skirts and blouses, pitch-black armor gleamed, and instead of human faces, their heads were bare skulls topped with wigs of various vibrant colors and intricate hairstyles. They carried a grotesque assortment of weapons—axes, swords, and bows—held in bony hands. When they moved, their joints creaked softly, like marionettes dancing on invisible strings of dark magic.
Noah and the others stepped into a long, torch-lit hallway, its floor strewn with fragments of broken pottery and discarded weaponry. At the far end, a squad of these maid-warriors waited, their hollow eye sockets fixed on the intruders. As the party advanced, more maids emerged from side passages, forming a loose phalanx of undead servitude.
“There’s more of them,” Noah said, his voice steady despite the tension. “Everyone, get ready.”
He positioned himself slightly behind the vanguard. Though he had strength to fight, the battles had worn him down, and he knew strategy mattered now more than ever. For the moment, Noah focused on healing—channeling his ability to mend wounds, absorbing the party’s suffering and keeping them fighting at full capacity.
Cyrus also stayed at the back, a calm observer, wielding ice as both spear and shield. Each time one of the skeletal maids lunged or loosed an arrow, Cyrus answered with a conjured spear of ice. His aim was precise, he struck at the glowing cores nestled deep within their armor—dark orbs of black mist that animated their skeletal forms. Every time an icy spear shattered a core, the maid collapsed into a puddle of inky fluid, melting back into nothingness.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Ava moved fluidly through the hall, stooping to pick up a sword from a fallen maid. She took a poised martial stance, her eyes sharp, her aura focused. “Sword technique: Wind Blade,” she murmured, blending the edges of martial arts with her own ability. “Combined with Paralysis!”
With a graceful slash, Ava sent a visible gust of wind slicing through the ranks of maid-warriors. The razor-thin current of air carved into their forms, not destroying them outright but leaving their limbs trembling and locked with paralysis. The hollow-eyed maids became statues, caught mid-attack, their weapons half-lifted and useless.
Adam and Lucy seized this opening. Lucy, her greatsword flashing in the torchlight, darted in among the immobilized foes. Each swing was decisive, splitting the black-mist cores with lethal efficiency. Fragments of the dark orbs scattered, and the maids they powered crumpled into puddles of tar-like fluid that seeped into the cracked stones of the floor.
At the same time, Adam hurled Cú Chulainn with practiced force, the legendary spear seeming to have a mind of its own. After piercing one core and extinguishing its eerie glow, it pivoted mid-air, guided by Adam’s will, and homed in on another target. One by one, the monstrosities fell like dominoes in a grim and silent procession. Each time the spear struck true, it ricocheted toward another enemy, scything through black mist and bone until the corridor was littered with dissolving remains.
Noah watched as the last few maid-warriors faltered, disoriented by the onslaught. Ava’s strategy and Lucy’s brute force meshed perfectly with Adam’s lethal precision, and Cyrus’s silent support kept the enemy at bay. He felt a surge of pride and relief—this was teamwork at its finest.
Within moments, the hallway was cleared, the ghostly maids reduced to dark stains. The party took a moment to catch their breath, the air still tinged with the smell of ancient dust and lingering malice.
“Good work,” Noah said quietly, releasing a final pulse to erase any minor injuries they had suffered. They knew that deeper within the castle awaited far greater challenges—and somewhere, Medusa watched and waited, her nightmares lurking around every corner.
They pressed on through the castle’s twisting corridors, each hallway more oppressively silent than the last. It felt as though a hundred unseen eyes hovered in the gloom, studying their every move. The air was thick with dread, and even the distant torches provided little comfort—each flickering flame only deepened the shadows that danced along the ancient walls.
Then, without warning, a chorus of inky black hands burst from a nearby doorway, their dripping fingers snatching Ava before anyone could react. She let out a startled cry as the hands pulled her into the darkened room beyond. Noah whirled around, shouting her name—“Ava!”—but the heavy door slammed shut with a resounding thud before he could intervene.
“No!” Noah shouted, his voice echoing down the corridor. He rushed to the door, slamming his shoulder against it, trying to break it down. But the wood creaked and groaned, refusing to give way. Black liquid seeped from underneath the threshold, pooling and contorting into shape. In moments, towering Black Knights formed from that fluid darkness, their eyeless visages staring blankly as they interposed themselves between the party and the door.
The rest of the group joined Noah at his side, weapons drawn, but no matter how swiftly they destroyed one Knight, another emerged from the ooze to take its place. An endless cycle of rebirth, trapping them in a stalemate.
Inside that sealed room, Ava found herself in a space far grander than the modest exterior suggested. She stood in a sprawling library, its soaring shelves jammed with ancient tomes and grimoires bound in leather and bone. A haze of faint, star-like motes drifted in the air, illuminating floating ladders and hidden alcoves. Black hands crawled along the shelves, their palms adorned with unblinking eyes that observed Ava hungrily.
At the center of this bizarre archive, perched on a sturdy desk, was an elegant figure with long cyan hair that shimmered as though woven from starlight. Her hair seemed to contain tiny constellations that shifted and twinkled with each subtle movement. She wore a pair of yellow-framed glasses that glinted when she turned her head, and her skin was tanned, contrasting with a long navy-blue robe embroidered with a pattern of glowing stars.
Cradled in her arms was a sleek black cat, its emerald eyes mirroring the strange magic in the room. With each idle stroke of the cat’s fur, a quiet tension grew.
“Hello there,” said the woman, her voice surprisingly soft, yet layered with a predatory undertone. “Welcome to my library. My name is Celeste.” She parted her lips in a grin that showed just a hint of teeth. “I’m pleased to have such a lovely guest.”
Ava steadied herself, a chill running down her spine. This wasn’t just another minion—this woman radiated power and cunning. “I assume you’re another enemy,” Ava said, lifting her dagger, determined not to appear intimidated.
“Of course I am,” Celeste replied with a languid sigh, as though inconvenienced by the obviousness of her role. She tilted her head, cyan locks cascading over her shoulder, the star-like glimmers intensifying. “You’re my lovely prey, and I’m so glad I get to play with you.”
Ava’s heart pounded, but her gaze was resolute. “I’m not interested in your games.” She took a step back, raising her free hand. “Let’s get this over with. Awaken, Robin Hood!”
At her command, a vibrant emerald-green hoodie materialized over her shoulders, its fabric humming with latent magic. It bore intricate patterns of leaves and vines, and Ava felt the familiar surge of power that came with her Regalia. The blade in her hand glowed faintly, charged with potential.
Celeste adjusted her glasses, eyes dancing with amusement behind their yellow frames. “Ooh, a Regalia. How exciting.” She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Of course, it won’t do you much good against me.” The black cat in her arms purred softly, as if in agreement, while the hands along the shelves stirred restlessly, as if eager to close in.
Celeste stood poised in the library’s eerie twilight, her cyan hair reflecting starlit hues as she observed Ava with predatory calm, the black cat purred softly in her arms. The quiet rustle of parchment and distant shifting of countless black hands filling the shelves set a tense, unsettling backdrop. The dim lanterns on the walls cast long shadows that stretched and twisted with each subtle movement.
Her smile was gentle but chilling. “Ability: Collapse,” Celeste said, her voice smooth and unhurried. As if obeying her soft command, the very fabric of reality around Ava seemed to buckle.
Ava gasped as an invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders. The once-stable floor grew heavy beneath her feet. She tried to resist, to keep standing, but her knees buckled almost instantly. Her dagger dipped, and her emerald hood, Robin Hood, felt like a leaden cloak dragging her down. “W-what…?” she managed, each syllable strained.
Celeste’s face was serene, her eyes glowing with a faint celestial shimmer. “Gravity manipulation,” she said softly, her tone almost apologetic. “I can make you feel as if the entire world rests on you. Isn’t it marvelous?”
Ava’s heart hammered in her chest. Every breath felt labored, as if she were inhaling hot tar. She tried to lift her dagger, but her arm felt impossibly heavy, pinned to the ground by this oppressive force. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let terror show too openly. “Da… damn you,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
Celeste chuckled, stepping closer with deliberate slowness. Each quiet footstep increased the gravity’s intensity. Every soft tap of her shoes on the library’s stone floor sent a new wave of crushing weight over Ava’s body. Soon, Ava’s knees hit the floor with a dull thud. She fought to stay upright, but the pressure mounted further. Within moments, she lay fully prone, pinned face-first against the cold stone, her limbs trembling and useless.
“Such defiance in your eyes a moment ago,” Celeste mused, stopping just beside her. The black cat jumped down, gliding away into the shadows, “Now look at you,” she continued. “Helpless.”
Ava forced her head up a fraction, breathing ragged and shallow. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, more from the strain than fear, though fear was surely there too. “I… I don’t want to die,” she managed, her voice small and pained. The gravity pressed her chest so hard it felt like her ribs might crack.
Celeste’s lips curved into a compassionate smile that contradicted her merciless actions. “Oh, you poor dear. It’s so sweet when you cry,” she cooed. The starlight in her hair seemed to shimmer more brightly, as if feeding off Ava’s despair. “Don’t worry, I can give you a painless death. The black mist will devour your blood from within. You’ll slip into sleep, feel nothing at all, and fade into oblivion. Isn’t that kinder than struggling?”
Ava’s vision blurred with tears. She tried to speak, to protest, but her lungs were compressed, her words suffocated. “N…no…” she rasped weakly, struggling to find any leverage against this arcane weight. Her head spun, the edges of her awareness growing fuzzy.
“Shh,” Celeste whispered, kneeling gracefully beside Ava. Her presence radiated a calm malice, as if this were a soothing bedtime story. “Just sleep,” she murmured, producing a small black serpent from the darkness surrounding them. It slithered in her hands, sleek and silent, its tiny eyes gleaming with hunger.
With delicate care, Celeste guided the snake closer. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air around Ava. Then, with a swift motion, it coiled around Ava’s limp body. The weight of gravity did not relent. Ava tried to struggle, but her body refused, pinned and drained. The snake opened its jaws and bit into Ava’s flesh—just a quick sting. Ava gasped softly, eyes widening in terror as she realized what was happening.
Almost immediately, the snake’s body liquefied into a slick black fluid, flowing into the small wound. Ava whimpered, her tears now spilling freely, as she felt the cold presence of the black mist inside her veins. It spread with chilling efficiency, numbing and consuming, a silent invader.
Celeste watched with detached interest, tilting her head. “There now,” she said softly. “It won’t be long. And you won’t feel a thing.” She placed a finger under Ava’s chin, lifting it gently as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Just let go.”
Ava’s heart hammered against her chest, struggling to pump what remained of her blood as the black mist devoured it from within. She felt her limbs growing heavy, her vision tunneling into darkness. Every breath became a monumental effort—she could taste metal and ash on her tongue, and her body felt chilled from the inside out.
“Noah,” she whimpered, her voice a frail echo in the quiet library. Tears welled in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. The sound of her own plea rang hollow, as though lost among the towering shelves and the watchful eyes embedded in the black hands that lined the walls. “Please… save me.”
Celeste observed with detached interest, stepping back a pace to admire her work. The starlit strands of her cyan hair shimmered as she tilted her head, half-smiling. Her yellow-framed glasses caught the faint glow of the room’s lanterns, reflecting back at Ava like two suns in a dying sky. “That’s right,” Celeste cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “go to sleep. Soon enough, you’ll be nothing but a lovely puddle of black mist.”
Ava’s eyes fluttered. She tried to fight it, tried to summon an ounce of strength, but the mist was merciless. It replaced her blood, stole her warmth, and dulled her mind. She wanted to scream, to struggle, to break free of this crushing gravity and vile corruption, but her body refused to answer. Her thoughts drifted, wavering between panic and faith—faith that Noah, somehow, would burst through that door and save her. Or perhaps a miracle would happen, something beyond understanding. She could almost see him in her mind, his determined eyes, his unwavering resolve.
But hope flickered like a dying candle. Her senses dimmed to a distant hum. Celeste’s mocking smile blurred, the starry motes in her hair becoming faint pinpricks in an infinite night. The distant whisper of turning pages, of shifting shadows, all faded to a soft static.
Ava tried once more to call out. The name formed on her lips, a silent prayer, Noah…
Her eyelids drooped, too heavy to hold open, and a profound drowsiness wrapped around her heart. Her last coherent thought was a desperate wish—that somehow, against all odds, she would survive this nightmare. That Noah, or anyone, would save her before it was too late. The world grew quiet, and Ava slipped into unconsciousness, enveloped by the black mist and the haunting silence of the library.
Beyond the sealed door, the party continued to fight, unaware of Ava’s plight. And inside, Celeste watched her new victim succumb, wearing a satisfied smile, as if enjoying the final hush before the storm yet to come.