The world had changed.
Royce awoke in a different place, a different time—or perhaps, a different reality. The cobblestone streets he once knew had crumbled into jagged ruins. The air was thick with ash, swirling like ghostly snow under a blood-red sky. The city lay broken, its skeleton towering over him, crying out in a chorus of endless, silent agony.
He stood slowly, his limbs heavy as iron, his mind clouded with visions he could not erase. Somewhere deep within him, he knew: this was not a dream, nor a hallucination. This was the price unfolding, the deal he had forged in desperation now twisting his fate beyond repair.
The wind howled through the broken streets, carrying voices. Some wept. Some begged. Some cursed. But all were dead.
Royce stumbled forward, clutching the amulet that had appeared around his neck—a black stone carved with a sigil he did not recognize, pulsing like a second heartbeat. It was a brand, a reminder, a collar. He was bound to this nightmare now, a puppet dancing to the whims of a curse far older than memory.
As he wandered deeper into the ruins, he saw them—the Watchers.
Figures cloaked in rags and decay, their faces hidden by twisted masks, standing motionless in the alleys and doorways. They turned their heads as he passed, following him with unseen eyes. They made no sound, but their presence gnawed at his sanity, a living erosion of his will. Every step closer to the heart of the city made the air colder, heavier, as if the atmosphere itself were trying to choke the life from him.
Royce's destination was clear, though he did not know why: the Cathedral of Silent Woe, the oldest structure in the city, long abandoned even before the fall. It stood at the city's core, an obsidian monument to despair, its spires piercing the bruised sky like black knives.
The cathedral doors, once barred and bound, stood wide open, revealing only darkness beyond. Without hesitation, Royce entered.
Inside, the cathedral was a mausoleum. Shadows dripped from the walls like ink, and the pews were filled with the frozen forms of the damned—lifeless figures staring blankly ahead, their mouths open in soundless screams. Royce's footsteps echoed like gunshots against the silence, and with every step, a memory surfaced.
He saw the face of the woman from the alley—smiling now, but her eyes hollow.
He saw the cloaked figure, standing in the center of the cathedral, arms outstretched, as if welcoming him home.
"You have returned," the figure spoke, its voice layered with countless others—men, women, children, all speaking in unison, all speaking through it.
Royce's throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
The figure tilted its head, the hood falling back to reveal a face that was not a face—a swirling void of shifting shadows.
"You already know. You knew the moment you said yes. You are ours now."
From the darkness above, chains clattered, descending like serpents. Royce stumbled back, but there was nowhere to run. They wrapped around him, digging into his flesh, searing him with cold fire. He screamed, a raw, broken sound that seemed to make the cathedral shudder.
"You will walk the lands of the broken," the figure said, approaching. "You will bear their sorrow. Their sins. Their ruin. You will be the vessel."
"No!" Royce shouted, struggling, but the chains tightened until he could barely breathe.
The figure leaned close, whispering into his ear, a voice made of smoke and nails:
> "You chose this. You begged for it."
Memories crashed into Royce's mind—of the night he made the deal. Of the blood. Of the desperation that had driven him to the shadowed well, to the whispers that promised salvation at a price he could not comprehend.
He had wanted to save someone. Someone he loved.
But love had long since rotted into madness.
The figure reached out, touching Royce's chest. The amulet around his neck burned fiercely, sinking into his skin like molten metal. He fell to his knees, agony tearing him apart.
"Rise, Broken One," the figure commanded. "Your journey has only begun."
And with those words, Royce's vision was consumed by darkness once more, but this time, he knew—
When he awoke again, he would no longer be a man.
He would be a harbinger of sorrow, a vessel of ruin, walking a path from which no soul could ever return.
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