Single Part
The night was heavy, the air dense and laden with the scent of blood and fear. The full moon illuminated the scattered ruins around the building where the marquesa resided, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to follow the man as he dragged himself along the worn stone path. His body was covered in wounds, his face dirty and marked from the recent struggle. Each step was a struggle, a battle against the pain radiating from his side, where Pallas and his guards' blade had done its damage. The building, imposing and cold, loomed before him like a monolith of stone.
He knew he didn't have much time. With each breath, he felt his life slipping away, but he needed to see the marquesa. She had to know. With one last effort, he crossed the ruined room and stopped in front of a large doorway without a door. Two men stood there, watching him with suspicion.
"Who are you?" one of the men asked, his hand clenching into a fist.
"The… last survivor." the man managed to murmur, his voice hoarse and weak.
"I need… to speak with the marquesa…"
The men exchanged glances, hesitant. "Let me through!" he insisted, this time with more force, despite the pain that pierced his body like a hot blade.
"It's about the Raven Guard… and the wall…"
This seemed to catch their attention. One of the men gave a brief nod, stepping aside and revealing the dark and opulent interior of the room.
"Take me to her… please…"
He was led to the end of the room, the walls adorned with something he could barely discern in his exhausted state. The silence was unsettling, broken only by the sound of his blood-stained boots echoing on the cold marble. Finally, they reached the end of the room, where the marquesa awaited, seated in her high-backed chair.
She was an imposing woman, even in her apparent fragility. Her eyes opened, cold and calculating, and fixed immediately on the man. She wore a black silk dress, contrasting with her pale skin, and a single jewel sparkled around her neck: a ruby, deep as freshly spilled blood.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" The marquesa's voice was soft but laden with authority.
The man fell to his knees, gasping, his body trembling from exhaustion. Water trickled from his soaked clothes, forming small puddles around his boots. He could barely catch his breath, each word coming out as a broken whisper. "Marquesa… they betrayed us… The Raven Guard… attacked without warning…"
The already dimly lit room seemed to darken further. Those present exchanged tense glances, and a murmur of distrust swept through the room. Some of the marquesa's men moved back toward the entrance, almost as if fearing that the very account might bring destruction inside.
The marquesa remained motionless in her high-backed chair, her eyes half-closed as she fixed on the man who had just arrived. The weak light from the lanterns barely touched her face, but it was clear that she did not seem surprised, only more tired. The heavy silence that followed was only broken by the man's labored breathing and the constant dripping of rain from outside.
After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, the marchioness finally spoke, her voice sounding low but firm, as if bearing the weight of centuries. "I was expecting this."
The man lifted his gaze, still panting, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "Expecting this…? How…? They… they massacred everyone, marquesa. We found the opening in the wall, we did what the Raven asked… but… but as soon as we arrived, they attacked us."
The marquesa leaned slightly forward, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, though her voice remained calm. "The Ravens never intended to honor our agreement. They used us to find out how the monster got to the other side, and now, feeling threatened, they decided to eliminate us."
The man, still gasping, looked up, his expression filled with confusion and fear. "But why, marquesa? We just want to survive… and find a cure."
She let out a tired sigh. "They fear because they do not understand what they cannot control. The Pansélinos disease… they do not have the cure, and worse, they do not know how to control it. That scares them. They think that by isolating us, they can contain the threat."
The man's eyes widened, trying to grasp her words. "So, they keep us on this side of the wall out of fear? Fear of what they cannot cure?"
The marquesa nodded, her eyes fixed on his as if she wanted every word to be deeply imprinted in the man's mind. "Yes. To them, we are a threat. Not just because we are sick, but because the disease has changed us. Because, despite everything, we are stronger. And that is something they cannot bear."
She paused, her eyes narrowing as she thought about the Ravens on the other side of the wall. "They see us as a living reminder of their failure, of their inability to find a solution. Instead of admitting that they have failed, they prefer to keep us separated, isolated, hoping that we will eventually disappear."
"But the cure… doesn't exist, then?" The man's voice faltered, filled with a mix of hopelessness and disbelief.
"Everything we've heard from them about a possible solution..."
"Lies." the marquesa interrupted without hesitation.
"They spread these rumors to keep hope on this side controlled, to prevent despair from turning into revolt. But the truth is that they do not know how to cure the Pansélinos disease. None of us do."
The silence that followed the marquesa's words was oppressive. The man's heavy breathing, the constant dripping of rain from outside, and the distant murmur of the wind seemed to amplify the gravity of the revelation.
The marquesa leaned in even closer, her eyes seeming to pierce the soul of the man before her. "And that is why they fear us. Because, even without a cure, we remain here. Because they know that if we ever break through that wall completely, their perfect world will be destroyed."
One of the men, his voice hesitant and filled with uncertainty, dared to ask, "What do you intend to do now, marquesa?"
She turned slowly to him, her gaze cold and evaluating. The answer did not come immediately, but when she spoke, her voice was a blend of serenity and calculated intensity. "I have not decided yet. There is much to consider. What we do next must be well thought out, not impulsive."
The people in the room exchanged nervous glances. The tension was palpable, as if each of them were waiting for a definitive answer that would seal everyone's fate. But the marquesa did not seem willing to offer an immediate solution.
"Now, leave me alone." she ordered with a wave of her hand.
"All of you. I need time to think."
The men hesitated for a moment, but the weight of her authority left no room for discussion. One by one, they began to leave the room, casting furtive glances at the man still kneeling at the marquesa's feet. He, however, did not move, his labored breathing as he watched the scene.
When the last person had left the room, the marquesa waited until she heard the distant sound of boots hitting the ground. The ensuing silence was almost suffocating, broken only by the distant echo of the rain outside.
The marquesa approached the still-kneeling man slowly, her footsteps echoing through the empty room. When she was only a few steps away from him, a soft laugh escaped her lips, resonating disturbingly in the heavy silence of the room.
The man looked up at her, his face a mix of confusion and fear. The marquesa leaned over him, her expression softening, but with an unmistakable coldness. She reached out, gripping his chin with a firmness that contradicted her fragile appearance.
"I have said too much." she whispered, the cold smile still playing on her lips.
"That's a problem."
The man tried to speak, but her hand, now tightening on his chin, silenced him. The look in her eyes was icy, piercing, as if evaluating every thought passing through his mind.
"You understand what this means, don't you?" The marquesa's voice was almost sweet, but there was a veiled threat in every syllable.
"You've heard things you shouldn't have. This puts you in a… delicate position."
The man swallowed hard, his body trembling under her touch. "Marquesa… I… I won't say anything. I swear on my life."
She tilted her head, as if considering his words. "Oh, I know you won't say anything." she murmured, her fingers still holding his chin firmly.
"But that doesn't change the fact that you now know too much. And that, my dear, is not something I can simply ignore."
The marquesa moved even closer, her lips almost touching the man's ear. "Besides, unfortunately, today has been a bad day." she whispered, her voice laden with a perverse sweetness.
***
The darkness in the room was nearly complete, as if the shadows had thickened even further, swallowing any trace of light. The silence was so profound that even the sound of rain beating outside seemed distant and muffled. The marquesa, who had been sitting on the floor, finally stood up, moving with a strange and slow elegance.
As she rose, she felt the thick, warm liquid dripping from the corners of her lips. The sensation was familiar, yet still uncomfortable. Using the back of her hand, she wiped the blood away, spreading it across her bandaged face. The red contrasted sharply with her translucent skin, creating a disturbing yet majestic image.
She tilted her head slightly to the side, as if listening to something distant. Her eyes, now devoid of their usual sparkle, scanned the room, but there was nothing there except shadows. Taking a deep breath, the marquesa inhaled the dense air of the room, saturated with the metallic smell of blood and the mildew of the old ruins. It was an acrid and suffocating odor, but she seemed to absorb it with a mixture of resignation and pleasure. Each breath she took felt heavy, laden with immense melancholy.
After a few seconds, she moved toward the corner of the room, where a black velvet cloak lay draped over an old chair. The piece, though worn by time, still held an aura of nobility. The Marquesa wrapped herself in the cloak, allowing it to fall over her shoulders and cover her slender body. The dark, heavy folds trailed behind her, whispering secrets that only the night could hear.
With slow steps, the marquesa approached the door, the echo of her footsteps reverberating through the empty room. When she passed through the door, a cold wind invaded her body, as if the night had been released from its temporary prison. Outside, the storm raged with full force, thunder rumbling in the sky and lightning illuminating the ruins in brief flashes.
She paused for a moment at the entrance, observing the curtain of rain that fell incessantly. The heavy droplets pounded the ground, creating puddles that reflected the distorted shadows of the night. The world beyond the wall was shrouded in an even denser darkness, as if nature itself were conspiring to keep the chaos a secret.
The marquesa stepped forward, walking into the storm without hesitation. The cold rain immediately enveloped her, soaking her cloak and clinging her few strands of hair to her skin. She seemed indifferent. The night's chill and the storm's intensity did not bother her. On the contrary, it seemed as though she was part of that chaos, feeding off the wild energy of nature.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, deeply inhaling the damp, cold air. There was something in the purity of that breeze, a freshness that seemed to purge all impurities around her, washing away the dark thoughts that insisted on haunting her.
"It's pure..." she thought, letting the moment of peace fill her being. It was a purity she hadn't felt in a long time, a fleeting relief that almost made her forget the rot that permeated her existence. But reality, as always, was relentless, and the night's freshness was not enough to erase the darkness that dwelled in her heart.
When she opened her eyes, the Marquesa looked up at the sky, expecting to see the heavy clouds continuing to pour their fury. Instead, she found a surreal scene. The rain clouds had suddenly dissipated, as if swept away by an invisible force. The storm had ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and the sky was now clear, a vast dark tapestry dotted with stars that shone brightly, like diamonds embedded in black velvet.
At the center of this nocturnal spectacle, the full moon reigned supreme. It seemed larger than ever, occupying almost the entire sky, as if about to devour the stars around it. Its silver light, usually soft and serene, now bathed the land with an oppressive intensity, illuminating every detail of the ruins and the soaked ground.
The marquesa kept her gaze fixed on the moon, hypnotized by its presence. The silver glow reflected in her eyes, and for a moment, she felt like a child again, lost in memories of simpler times. But this nostalgia lasted only a moment, as the moon began to change before her eyes.
The silver glow gave way to a dark red hue that slowly spread across the lunar surface, like blood staining a white stone. The color intensified until the entire moon became a blood-red orb, its light casting a sinister aura over the world below. It was as if the moon were bleeding, an open wound in the sky, pouring its agony onto the earth.
The marquesa watched the transformation with a mix of fascination and dread. The air, once so pure, now seemed dense, laden with an unsettling omen. The night's chill intensified, but she remained still, absorbing every detail of the scene before her. There was something profoundly wrong with that vision, yet at the same time, she felt strangely drawn to it.
As she observed the blood-red moon, thoughts began to invade her mind, mingling with the feelings she usually kept buried. The change in the sky seemed to reflect the transformation she felt within herself. It was as if the moon were aligning with her own corrupted heart, revealing the shadows she had always tried to hide.
"So beautiful... and so terrible." she thought, as the red moon shone brightly above her. It was a cruel beauty that reflected her own nature and the destiny that seemed increasingly inevitable.
"Perhaps, like the moon, I too am destined to transform. To become something the world fears... and at the same time, something they cannot ignore."
In the midst of that oppressive silence, a distant sound, like a cry, cut through the air. At first, it was just an indistinct noise, muffled by the weight of the darkness around her. But gradually, the sound became clearer, more urgent, until she finally recognized what it was.
"Mother!"
The voice echoed in the darkness, laden with desperation and urgency. The marquesa, still bathed in the blood-red light, turned slowly toward the call, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. At the edge of the clearing, where the moonlight barely touched, a figure emerged running from the forest.
He advanced with heavy steps, his silhouette distorted by the surrounding darkness. The moon's light reflected in his eyes, which seemed to shine with an unusual intensity. He approached rapidly, but something was wrong. There was something in the way he moved, as if his body were struggling against something internal.
"Mother!" he shouted again, but his voice sounded different, more hoarse, more animalistic.
The marquesa watched, intrigued and cautious, as the moon, once imposing and red, began to lose its intense glow. The deep red began to dissipate, gradually being replaced by the usual silver sheen. The sky, which had recently been clear and starry, was covered once more with dark clouds, and the rain that had ceased returned in a sudden torrent. The transformation in the environment was as abrupt as its entry into the storm.
The creature finally reached the clearing, but its body seemed unable to endure what was happening. Its form began to contort, as if opposing forces were struggling for control within it. The flesh stretched and retracted, while its limbs oscillated between human and bestial.
The marquesa stepped forward, her previously calm and contemplative expression now one of surprise. She watched the scene, her gaze fixed on the young man desperately trying to maintain some control over himself. He fell to his knees, gasping, as his skin seemed to vibrate, alternating between different shades and textures.
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting the marquesa's, and for a moment, she saw a glimmer of his humanity struggling to remain firm against the transformation overtaking him. His expression was one of pure suffering, and he seemed on the verge of losing the internal battle.
"M-Mother..." he whispered, his voice interrupted by pain.
"I... I couldn't..."
He staggered, his form wavering between that of a young man and something else, something monstrous. The marquesa, aware of the danger that the young man's transformation could pose, acted swiftly. She approached him with firm steps, her eyes assessing every movement he made.
"Liam." she said, her voice firm and authoritative.
"You need to calm down. Focus, maintain your form."
But it was too late. Liam's internal struggle was reaching its climax. He let out an agonized scream as his body fully succumbed to the transformation. His hands elongated into claws, his teeth grew, sharp as blades, and his body took on a bestial form, covered in dark fur, though the transformation was still incomplete.
The marquesa watched. Despite the situation, she showed no reaction. There was something primitive and raw in the form Liam was taking, yet she still saw in him the same young man she knew.
The moon, now completely silver, seemed to have lost control over Liam. His form wavered once more, the muscles relaxing, the tension dissipating, and he began to return to normal. The fur receded, the claws disappeared, and the fierce face slowly returned to that of an exhausted and vulnerable young man.
Liam looked at his mother, his eyes filled with confusion and exhaustion, before collapsing completely. He staggered forward, but the Marquesa was quick enough to reach him. She caught him before he hit the ground, her hands firm yet gentle, cradling the trembling form of the boy.
"You did well, Liam." she murmured, her voice now softer.
"You came back alive. And that's what matters most."