Page 82 of Mortis

Yet it wasn’t the book’s appearance that froze us. It was its presence.

The thing pulsed. Not with light, but with malice. Each beat of its existence bore against our body like unseen hands. Heavy, smothering, and wrong. We had never encountered such an object. Yet every instinct screamed the same command.

Run.

The leader accepted the tome with something approaching reverence and slowly opened it. Each page scraped against the next, and the sound made our muscles tense. When he found the passage he sought, his smile returned. It was colder now. Hungrier.

He cleared his throat, and began to read.

“Per sanguinem foederis, bestiam alligamus.”

By the blood of the covenant, we bind the beast.

“Vinculis aeternis serviat Domino Avaritiae.”

Let it serve the Lord of Greed in eternal chains.

As the words left his lips, thick iron chains erupted from the carved sigil beneath us. They burst from the stone like striking serpents, coiling around our wrists and ankles before snapping tight.

“Carnem ferat. Animas colligat.”

Let it bear flesh. Let it gather souls.

Our body was strong. Fierce. Yet every desperate tug only drew the chains tighter.

“Voluntas eius nostra sit, donec pactum solvatur.”

Let its will be ours until the covenant is broken.

One final chain slithered around our throat. It tightened until the iron dug painfully into the tendons of our neck. Had breathing been necessary for our survival, unconsciousness would have claimed us within seconds.

The book slammed shut. Our eyes snapped towards the sound. The man in white watched us with quiet amusement as we strained against our bindings. As we fought a battle already lost.

Handing the tome back to his lackey, he began a slow walk towards us.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

He crossed the boundary of the circle and stopped directly before us. Close enough that we could smell him. The scent of mortality. Sweat and arrogance. His hand rose and seized our chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing our gaze upward.

Up close, we realised our first assessment had been wrong. His eyes were not both brown. One was dull and lifeless, the colour of river sludge. The other shimmered like a drop of honey in the sun.

“You are a precious gift from Our Lord,” he murmured, his voice meant for us alone. “And here you shall remain, locked beneath the earth until your purpose is fulfilled.”

We lunged with a snarl, jaws wide, aiming straight for his throat. But the chains reacted instantly. Iron bit into flesh as they yanked us backwards, wrenching our arms behind us and forcing our chest forward. Our neck bent painfully beneath the collar of cold steel, every muscle protesting against the restraint.

The mortal never so much as flinched.

He just smiled.

“Behave, beast,” he said, his odd eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Your first meal will come soon enough.”