The forest fell silent again.
Panting, I lowered the crossbow. Above me, the crimson moon seemed to bleed even deeper red.
With every faint hoofstep, the deep night forest trembled, as if reacting to my presence. I straightened my back and tightened my grip on the reins.
Darkness stretched endlessly around me, thick fog drifting like a living thing. From somewhere far away came a sound like a broken bell—ting… ting… ting—carried by the wind, weaving a cold, creeping dread into my chest.
The trees here were unnaturally tall, as if they could touch the stars themselves. Their skeletal branches shuddered, the ground damp and heavy with the stench of rotting leaves. Even my horse's breath vanished into the fog, swallowed whole.
As I rode deeper into the forest, an unnatural pressure descended. It felt as though everything—wind, sound, life—had abruptly stopped.
Then, something moved within the mist.
Slowly. Painfully slowly.
Then more.
And in the next instant—they revealed themselves.
Half-shrouded in darkness, half-drowned in fog, they were dead—emaciated forms made of bone and shadow. Their clothes hung in tatters, fluttering weakly in the air. They had no eyes, yet from those hollow voids, it felt as though they were staring straight into me.
The most horrifying part was their faces—frozen in screams, twisted in agony, as if the final pain before death had been carved into them forever.
Their arms were unnaturally long, fingers ending in claw-like nails sharp as hooks. Their hair was matted, wet, obscuring half their faces.
They began to move closer—not walking, but gliding, floating just above the ground, slowly encircling me.
There was no light. No wind. Only the stench of death and a whispering rustle that crawled along my spine.
I suddenly yanked the reins, forcing my horse to stop. My heart slammed against my ribs, threatening to burst free.
Then—Clink.
I raised the crossbow.
One aim.
One breath.
Thud.
The bolt flew straight into the chest of the one in front.…But it did not stop.
The bolt vanished into its body as if swallowed by mist. There was no reaction. No tremor. And the others surged toward me faster.
I fired again....
And again....
And again.
The result was the same—nothing.
I tried to flee, but elongated hands reached from every direction, closing in around me like grasping fingers. My horse recoiled in terror. My throat dry, I looked back—
Their faces were right in front of me now. Mouths stretched wide, black hollow eyes, and sounds of suffering pouring out from within—"Aa… aaah…"
A wave of fog wrapped around me from all sides.
—This was the moment of my death.
As twisted undead hands slipped through the trees, reaching for my throat, a violent jolt shattered the air.
My horse suddenly screamed in panic, baring its teeth—then bolted blindly, fleeing without direction.
I was completely helpless.Ten—twelve specters lunged at me at once—
And then—"Reinoth… Mel'dora…"
A woman's voice echoed through the fog. Soft—yet cold as ice.
In the very next moment, the undead recoiled as if their hands had touched fire. Their bodies were yanked backward, dragged away by an unseen force, as piercing screams tore through the forest—
"Aaaa—AAAAAA—"