The blizzard ripped across Raven's face like icy claws, his lungs burning from the bitter cold. The wound on his ribs—a parting gift from the Outsider's jagged blade—throbbed with each step. The amulet's magic, which had torn him from the Wraithwood, crackled faintly in his veins, a dying ember that urged him forward. He didn't know where he was; he only knew the Outsiders' laughter echoed in his mind like a curse.
Then, in the sea of white, he saw it.
The cathedral erupted from the snow like a blackened fang, its spires clawing at the stormy sky. Gargoyles leered from its eaves, icicles dangling like fangs from their stone jaws. The blizzard itself recoiled around the structure, snowflakes swirling in unnatural arcs as if repelled by the malice emanating from within. No footprints marred the pristine snow around it. No smoke rose from its chimneys. It pulsed with a low, rhythmic thrum, like a heartbeat buried deep beneath the earth.
Raven stumbled inside, seeking refuge from the tempest. The door creaked shut behind him, enveloping him in tomb-dry air thick with the scent of iron and burnt sage. Moonlight speared through shattered stained glass, casting eerie blood-red and bruise-purple hues across the nave. Thirteen statues loomed there, each taller than a siege tower, their armor twisted into grotesque parodies of battleplate. One clutched a flail woven from human spines; another gripped a sword fused with screaming faces. At the base of each statue, a plaque bore a name: Kaelthar the Unbroken, Morgrim the Soulrender, Valthorn the Hollow.
Raven's gaze snagged on the smallest statue—Valthorn. Its armor was pitted and scarred, one pauldron split by a jagged crack. The whip of serrated bone in its gauntlet seemed brittle compared to the others.
"Welcome, little king," a voice hissed, slick as oil on water.
Raven spun, his daggers at the ready. The cathedral doors vanished, replaced by a wall of shifting black stone. The statues' eye sockets flickered with green light.
Time bent. The cathedral reset.
Raven lunged at a stained-glass window. The glass melted into jagged ice, and he barely escaped the statue's flail shattering the floor where he'd stood moments before.
He tried fire. Flames birthed shadow-wolves that chased him deeper into the cathedral. Chains dragged him into a pit filled with snapping darkness. He shattered a statue's arm. It reassembled midair, stone fingers crushing his throat.
"Death cannot die," it laughed.
Raven slumped against the altar, blood dripping from his brow. His eyes locked onto Valthorn's cracked pauldron, leaking black smoke.
"You," he growled. "You're the flaw."
---
The cathedral trembled. Valthorn's helm creaked as it turned, green fire igniting in its sockets.
"Flaw?" The Baron's voice rasped like mud sucking at a corpse. "I am the crucible of your despair."
Valthorn stepped down, snowflakes dissolving into steam. His whip uncoiled with a sound like snapping bones.
Valthorn struck first. The whip snapped toward Raven's throat. He ducked, rolling behind a pew carved with screaming faces. The Baron lashed again, tearing stone from the floor.
Raven lunged, daggers aimed for the crack in Valthorn's armor.
"You bleed like all the others," Valthorn sneered, yanking him close.
Raven headbutted the Baron's helm. "And you *talk* too much."
Ichor oozed from Valthorn's visor. Raven drove a dagger into the cracked pauldron. Black smoke hissed.
"ENOUGH!"
The cathedral shifted again. Walls closed in, statues' weapons becoming ice spears. Raven sprinted, cornering Valthorn beneath fractured moonlight.
Raven's veins ignited. Shadows erupted from his skin. Talons shredded his gloves, horns tore free from his temples, and steam rose like ghosts as the snow inside melted instantly.
Valthorn froze, his voice full of horror. "Abomination… you dare—"
Raven seized the Baron's whip, snapped it, and drove a taloned fist into Valthorn's chest. The armor buckled. Ichor sprayed.
"The Void… reclaims you," Valthorn whispered.
Raven's talons closed around the Baron's heart. "Not today."
He crushed it.
The cathedral screamed. Walls cracked. Statues exploded into ash.
Raven's demon form faded. The world blurred—a vortex of shadow and snow. He felt the amulet's last spark twist and—
—he materialized in a burst of black smoke, collapsing into snow.
"Captain!"
Marcus' voice cut through the chaos.
Raven blinked, his vision clearing. He was back in the Wraithwood, miles from the cathedral. His squad—Garrett, Marcus, Lydia, Finn, and Roland—stood frozen, weapons raised against a cluster of Outsiders who recoiled from Raven like specters.
"You're… alive?" Lydia breathed, her voice trembling.
The Outsiders hesitated, their hollow eyes fixed on Raven. Their leader, a gaunt figure with a crown of thorns, hissed, "The Void sees you, little king." Then they dissolved into mist.
Garrett hauled Raven up, grinning through a split lip. "Cutting it close, eh?"
Raven stared at his hands. The talons were gone, but shadows still clung to his fingertips. "The cathedral… Valthorn…"
Finn eyed the fading smoke. "Later. We need to move."
That night, camped in a crumbling watchtower, Raven studied his reflection in a dagger. His eyes glinted faintly black at the edges. The amulet was gone, its magic spent, but something darker lingered.
Marcus tossed him a wineskin. "How'd you get back?"
Raven drank deeply. "I... tore a hole."
Garrett barked a laugh. "Dramatic bastard."
Roland, huddled by the fire, whispered, "What were they? The Outsiders… what do they want?"
Raven stared into the flames. "Me."
Outside, the wind carried the faint crack of a whip.
Raven's gaze met Marcus'. "We have a problem. I think I just marked myself as a bigger target."
Marcus nodded, his expression grim. "Then we need a plan."
Lydia spoke up, her voice steady. "We've got each other. We'll figure this out."
Raven nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Alright. Let's move. We've got a long night ahead of us."