Chapter 12: Flesh in Ruin
The dagger sank into Caleb’s chest and, with it, pierced the pulsing essence of the Glawackus.
At the moment of impact, an inhuman scream tore through the station — not only from the mouths of the deformed servants, but from the walls, the floor, the very air, as if the entire city howled in despair.
The Glawackus arched its monstrous body backward, its bluish eyes erupting in black flames.
Fissures tore through its skin, spewing a thick, fetid substance — a living sludge that writhed, trying to cling to something — anything — in order to survive.
The horde of creatures staggered, as if struck by an invisible force.
Some of the servants collapsed to the ground, writhing, melting into formless masses of flesh and shattered bones. Others simply dropped, their existences snuffed out like candles drowned by rain.
The entire station trembled.
Pillars cracked, the ceiling gave way with muffled crashes, and a massive fissure opened beneath the ground, swallowing tracks, platforms, living and dead bodies alike.
Caleb, the dagger still buried in his heart, smiled with his final breath.
There was no more pain.
No more fear.
Only release.
The Glawackus let out one final howl — a deep, ancient lament, so full of loss and hatred that even the forest beyond the city limits trembled, as if it too were weeping.
Then, in an explosion of putrid flesh, boiling blood, and blackened bones, the creature disintegrated.
The ground swallowed everything: Caleb, the monster, the servants, the station.
And for a brief moment, Eastbury fell silent.
A silence absolute.
Heavy.
Dead.
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