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Though it is hard to see in a forest under midnight, the soils Tywin had stomped a week ago remains on the damp ground. Being stomped again as Zera and Gordon follows behind. Shadows on the thick creaking barks raises their alert. They asked Gordon whether it is Dramescula’s children but the boy says otherwise, “cultists”.
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“No surprise there.” Zera says knowingly, “Cultists are common during festival. And they’re usually the once causing trouble.”
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“Better than blood and flesh-eating monsters.” Gordon places a hand in his pocket, “Should I set runes? Just in case”
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“No,” Tywin grunts as his sides ache, doing terrible to hide it from his mates
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“Does it still hurt?” Zera asks,
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“I’m fine. We have to hurry and find that monster.”
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Traversing through the familiar foliage and rocks. Making their way closer, and closer to the dome of mist that intrigues Gordon, “I know that Princess Thean is our friend but why did we believe her again?”
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“She is in an elf” Zera answers before Tywin could, “They are bound to be honest just like they are cursed to be Heshapes. You could say they are among the forsaken whose curses stack along with their punishment.”
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“So, they were punished and became Heshapes as well as cursed for being honest?”
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“Yes,” nodding at the thought which she words out, “They can see the future and the Gods hated them for how they used it. Do you remember the 1,000 slaves war? When Dramescula was still running around Xzyklly. A group of elves wanted to help the slaves win the war but when they saw the imminent future, they led the slaves to their end even though there was a slim chance of overturning that fate.”
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“But it is still strange that the elves have that ability though.”
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“Fa’Yoreans think it is because of their pointy ears which gives them the intuition to see the future.”
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“And Princess Thean is an elf…how? There are no elves recorded other than in Xzyklly,”
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“Heshapes still have their elven genes too you know, so maybe the late king is a Heshape?”
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“We’re here” Tywin stops and his mates as well. A rustic pipe that is extended out from the earth and stream out into the foggy marsh. Rats scurry out its gape which is large enough to fit a gargoyle and the three did not hesitate stepping in as they notice fresh drops of blood leading deeper inside. “Get yourselves ready”
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As they step into the damp, musty depths of the pipe, Gordon utters a series of silent incantations, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Suddenly, a soft glow emanates from above each of their shoulders, casting an eerie light on the rusted metal walls. The floating orbs bob and sway with each step, illuminating the path ahead.
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The sound of skittering claws and guttural growls echoes through the pipe, growing louder with each passing moment. Tywin tenses, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he motions for the others to stay alert. From the shadows, a horde of volkins emerges, their twisted, orcish features distorted by the vampiric curse that flows through their veins.
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The Whiteblood Knights spring into action, their blades flashing in the ghostly light of Gordon's orbs. Zera and Dori move with fluid grace, their movements perfectly synchronized as they cut through the oncoming horde. Tywin charges forward, his sword cleaving through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The battle is fierce but brief, and soon the pipe is littered with the broken bodies of Dramescula's minions.
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As they catch their breath, a piercing cry echoes through the pipe, the sound of a baby wailing in distress. Gordon's eyes widen, his hand instinctively reaching out towards the source of the noise, but Tywin's voice cuts through the air like a whip. "Ignore it," he growls, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "We have a task to complete. Focus on that and nothing else."
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The others nod, their faces grim with determination as they follow Tywin deeper into the pipe. The stench of decay and rot grows stronger with each step, mingling with the coppery tang of fresh blood. They emerge into a cavernous chamber, a massive underground camp filled with the writhing bodies of slaves and criminals.
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In the center of the chaos stands a young girl, her face streaked with blood and grime as she fights off the monsters with a rusted blade. Behind her, a smaller child cowers in fear, her wide eyes filled with terror. Tywin opens his mouth to shout a warning, but before he can utter a word, a monstrous figure leaps from the shadows behind them.
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It is a baby, but not like any they have ever seen before. Its flesh is twisted and deformed, its eyes glowing with an unholy red light. It ignores the Whiteblood Knights entirely, its gaze fixed on the girl in the center of the camp. With a sickening squelch, it latches onto her womb, its tiny claws digging into her flesh as it begins to feed.
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Tywin whirls around, his voice booming through the chamber. "Zera, Gordon, Dori! Deal with the monsters. I'll handle Sol and Dramescula."
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His gaze locks onto the figure at the far end of the camp, a woman whose left half is pale and twisted, her eyes glowing with the same crimson light as the monstrous baby. Tywin charges forward, his sword raised to strike, but suddenly, his body freezes in place, held immobile by an unseen force.
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Sol steps forward, her eyes glowing with an eerie red light as she regards Tywin with a mixture of sadness and anger. "I can't let you do this, Tywin," she says, her voice echoing with a power that sends shivers down his spine. "I won't let you hurt me again."
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Tywin strains against the invisible bonds, his voice desperate as he pleads with her. "Sol, please. I can help you. We can get Dramescula out of you, but you have to trust me."
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Sol shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. "I did trust you, Tywin. The first time, when we had the chance to end this. But you failed me. I woke up with her still inside me, and I felt your blows, your anger. I can't go through that again."
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Dramescula's voice slithers through the air, a sickening purr that sets Tywin's teeth on edge. "Listen to your mother, Sol. I can give you the love and attention you crave. Together, we can merge our powers and become something greater, the new mother of the Hemor Moon."
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Sol hesitates, her gaze flickering between Tywin and Dramescula. "Will this path bring me closer to Thean?" she asks, her voice small and uncertain.
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Dramescula's split grins, her teeth stained with blood. "Of course, my child. I promise you that and so much more."
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Tywin roars in frustration, his body straining against Sol's magic. "No, Sol! Don't listen to her! She's a monster, a murderer. If you follow her, the blood of innocents will be on your hands!"
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But Sol's eyes harden, her resolve strengthening as she turns to face Dramescula. "I want to try something new," she says, her voice filled with a terrible certainty. "I choose you, mother."
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Dramescula's split screams in a twisted mixture of pain and pleasure, her body writhing as Sol's power flows through her. "Yes, my child!" she cries, her voice rising to a fevered pitch. "I can feel your power, your potential. Together, we will be unstoppable!"
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Tywin's body begins to change, his skin rippling and darkening as a single line of white fur sprouts from his scalp and runs down his spine. His bones crack and reshape themselves, his face elongating into a wolf-like muzzle filled with razor-sharp teeth. With a howl of rage and despair, he breaks free from Sol's control, his form twisting and warping until he stands before them as a massive werewolf, his eyes glowing with a feral, animalistic light.
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