Chapter 299
They were coming. They were coming for him.
He fell to his knees, clutching his head as the whispers grew louder, more insistent. He could almost make out the words now, though they were distorted, twisted, like something speaking through water.
The dreams had shown him glimpses of them—figures with too many eyes, too many mouths, limbs bending in impossible angles, their voices a chorus of suffering and madness. And now they were here, standing just beyond the veil, watching him, whispering to him, waiting for the right moment to break through.
Suddenly, the whispers stopped. The silence was deafening.
Mahlon looked up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room was still again, but different—darker, the corners filled with shadows that moved on their own.
And then he saw it. Standing in the center of the room again, a figure, tall and grotesque. Its body was an amalgamation of flesh and shadow, constantly shifting, its features warping and distorting as if trying to take on form but never quite succeeding. Where its face should have been, there was only a void, a deep, hollow blackness that seemed to pull at the edges of reality.
Mahlon couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He felt the weight of its presence, pressing down on him, suffocating him. The void where its face should have been seemed to reach out to him, pulling him in, and for a moment, he felt himself slipping, his mind unraveling.
The whispers returned, louder than ever. This time, he could understand them.
"You are ours."