Legacy of Death

Arthur's breath came in ragged gasps as he sat upright, his body trembling. The basement was silent, but his mind roared with the echoes of the voice. His skin still tingled where the red lightning had surged through him. The cold air clung to him like an unseen presence, wrapping around his limbs with an unnatural chill. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, bending and twisting as if whispering secrets beyond mortal comprehension.

"Who… who are you?" Arthur whispered, his throat dry as if he had been screaming for hours. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, small and frail against the vast silence that surrounded him.

The voice chuckled, low and guttural, reverberating in the depths of his mind. It was neither near nor far, neither male nor female—an entity beyond human understanding.

"You already know me, Master," it purred. "You've known me for far longer than you realize."

Arthur's gaze fell to the book still clutched in his shaking hands. The grotesque face on the cover seemed… alive. Its sewn-shut mouth twitched as if it longed to speak. The leather binding pulsed faintly beneath his fingertips, warm and disturbingly organic, as though it were breathing in tandem with his own rapid breaths.

"This book…" Arthur hesitated, his fingers tracing the ancient, leathered surface. "What is this?"

"A gift," the voice whispered. "A tool. A key to unlocking what has always been yours."

Arthur clenched his jaw. He should have been afraid—hell, he was afraid—but beneath the fear, something else churned. A dark, forbidden curiosity. His life had been nothing but suffering, betrayal, and unanswered questions. If this book held the truth…

He flipped it open.

The pages were yellowed, filled with symbols and words he didn't recognize. Yet, somehow, he understood them. The letters twisted and shifted, arranging themselves into something his mind could grasp, as though the book was alive, molding itself to his comprehension.

"Read," the voice urged. "Learn. Power is but a whisper away, Master."

Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes scanning the first passage. The words slithered into his thoughts like tendrils of smoke, cold and insidious.

Through the veil of darkness, beyond the reach of light, the forsaken shall rise anew.

The moment he finished reading, the air around him thickened. A cold gust swept through the basement, and the shadows along the walls twisted unnaturally. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. The very foundation of reality around him seemed to quiver, as if some unseen force had acknowledged his presence.

Then, the candle beside him flickered—once, twice—before the flame turned an unnatural black. A void of light, absorbing rather than illuminating. The darkness reached outward, stretching toward him. Arthur instinctively recoiled, but something inside him—some deep, ancient part—recognized it. Welcomed it.

Arthur's breath hitched. This was real.

The book was real.

The power was real.

And deep inside, beneath the fear, beneath the uncertainty…

A part of him wanted more.

The shadows danced along the walls, whispering in languages long forgotten. Arthur reached toward the flickering black flame, his fingers hovering just above its surface. He expected heat, but instead, it was cold. A biting, bone-deep chill that seeped into his skin. And yet, it did not hurt.

"What are you?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

The voice in his head let out a slow, satisfied sigh. "I am the silence in the void. The breath between death and rebirth. I am the truth that has been kept from you, Arthur Winner. But soon, you will remember."

Arthur's stomach twisted. It wasn't just speaking to him—it knew him. Knew things he himself did not. The shadows coiled tighter, the book pulsing beneath his grip. His instincts screamed at him to stop, to shut the book, to leave this place and never look back.

But another part of him, something raw and restless, whispered a different truth.

You have already stepped onto this path. There is no turning back.