Shivers went down Meilyr's spine as he glanced back for a mere second, discovering the frames of bark-laden figures looming over him.
Men, women, and elders looked down on him with a petrifying smile—a long, crooked one, not unlike that of Father Agathon's moving corpse. That was the etched mark of vicious madness, a spawn from the Vile Ichor's corruption.
Meilyr's Mana flared in panic, but he remembered Alwina's warnings, giving him pause. That brief opening alone was enough for them to drag him down, sprawling him on the dirt with the huffing and puffing of perverted elation.
Power glimmered from beneath his grayish skin, strengthening his limbs as he struggled against their hold.
In that fleeting moment, he seemed to hear:
"Hush now, O child of beyond. Thee shall be birthed anew, in mine cradle and womb. Doth thou not remember the soil?"
Tick.
