Eni pressed onward, guided only by a sharpened intuition and the cold, calculated remains of her experience. The forest around her thickened into a suffocating wall of timber, the air growing heavy and stagnant until she stumbled upon a semi-ruined structure of grey stone, nearly swallowed by creeping ivy. The building looked less like it had been constructed and more like it had erupted from the earth itself, saturated with an ancient, malevolent power.
The moment she crossed the threshold, Eni froze. The walls of the corridor were lined with bas-reliefs—stony tablets narrating the chronicle of a creature both hideous and magnificent.
The first tablet depicted a woman of extraordinary beauty kneeling before an altar. Yet, instead of tears, thin trickles of serpents wept from her eyes, and hissing appendages sprouted from her back, clawing toward the heavens.
The second tablet displayed an entire army of warriors frozen in eternal terror. Their swords were raised for strikes that would never land, their bodies transformed into coarse rock. Looming over them was the shadow of the woman, her hair entwined with their shields and helms, turning tempered steel into crumbling limestone.
The third tablet showed the woman holding her own torn-out heart, which pulsed with an inky blackness. Around her danced shadows that bore a sickening resemblance to the Krampus creatures Eni had already slaughtered.
The silence of the ruins was punctured by a faint, feminine laugh. It was dry, like the rustle of snakeskin over parched sand. Following the sound came a rhythmic hissing and the heavy, confident footfalls echoing from the depths of the structure. The voice beckoned, promising a hollow peace in exchange for a single, final glance.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
In the center of the grand hall, Eni spotted a sealed hatch leading downward. Near it sat a rusted iron lever, half-hidden by debris. She knew the creature was down there, lurking in the dark. She didn't waste time hunting for keys or solving esoteric riddles; she moved to the lever and yanked it back with a violent metallic screech. The gears groaned, and the hatch slowly swung open, inviting the monster to the surface.
But Eni didn't play by the rules. Instead of waiting at the opening, she moved like a shadow. Gripping her sword, she brought the blade down with devastating force upon the floorboards several paces away, shattering the stone to reveal the hollow crawlspace beneath. Immediately after, she smashed a breach into the adjacent wall, creating a perfect, obscured vantage point for an ambush.
She dropped into the crawlspace and lay in wait, listening to the hissing grow louder as the beast—the Medusa of this world—ascended the stairs, drawn by the clamor of the mechanism. The moment the creature emerged, searching for her intruder, Eni gave her no quarter. Darting through the breach in the wall, she lunged with lightning speed. The blade sank deep into the creature’s flank. A shriek of agony and pure hatred tore through the hall, only to fade into a wet rattle ten minutes later as the body went limp. Even in death, the serpentine hair continued to writhe and snap its fangs. Coldly, Eni decapitated the trophy, wrapped it in a thick cloth, and tucked it beneath her uniform.
Descending into the cellar, Eni hoped for treasure but found only a satellite office of hell. Four massive mounds of gnawed bones towered in the corners; the floor was slick with congealed blood, and the stench of rot was so thick it felt like a physical weight against her lungs. Eni, though no stranger to violence, reached her breaking point—her stomach buckled, and she retched right there on the threshold. Without looking back, she bolted outside, desperate to put leagues between herself and that cursed place.
After several hours of travel, as the setting sun stained the sky the color of a fresh wound, Eni came upon a lonely, stoutly built house. Beside the porch stood an iron cage containing an emaciated bandit, wheezing from hunger and thirst. Deathly tired, Eni approached the oak door and gave a muted knock.
"Um... excuse me? Is anyone home?" she asked, adjusting the stockings that were sliding beneath her uniform.
The door creaked open, and Bartolomeo appeared on the threshold. He looked as if he had never left his mine—the same apron, the same calloused hands, and that piercing, discerning gaze.
"You again, child?" he rumbled, eyeing her tattered appearance and the dried gore caked on her collar. "I see you’ve brought the scent of death with you... and something very heavy tucked under your harness. Come in, don't be shy."
