Chapter 10: The Last Circle
The screech of the spectral train ceased, replaced by a silence soaked in tension.
The first of the creatures dragged itself into the station: a woman whose flesh was fused with thick roots, her hollow eyes weeping black tears.
Behind her, dozens advanced — a grotesque river of bodies that should never have existed.
Caleb, at the center of the circle, raised the bloodied dagger and shouted the words of the ritual, his voice cutting through the air like a rusted blade.
The circle answered.
The runes etched into the platform ignited with bluish flames. An invisible barrier rose around him — fragile, pulsing — repelling the first strikes of the servants with dry cracks and lightning bursts of pure energy.
The rooted creature hurled itself against the barrier. It was thrown back with a roar of pain, leaving behind chunks of flesh that smoldered on the floor.
Others followed, without hesitation.
Each impact fractured the shield of energy, small cracks glowing along the protective lines.
Caleb knew: it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
The barrier wouldn’t hold forever.
Between verses of the ritual, he adjusted the runes with the blood dripping from his own hands, desperately trying to prolong the protection.
And then, the Glawackus entered.
The ground trembled beneath its weight.
The monster advanced slowly, each step sounding like the snapping of broken ribs.
Unlike the servants, it did not attack.
It watched.
And in its putrid, blue-glowing eyes, there was a terrible gleam:
Patience.
Certainty.
It knew Caleb was only delaying the inevitable.
And as the horde surrounded him, howling and gnashing teeth, the last guardian of flesh prepared for his final act of resistance.
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