Whisper Of The Crimson Moon

      Hollow, cautious footsteps echoed through the underground halls of Castle Velmond. Heels struck stone; the air, thick with dampness and the metallic aftertaste of centuries-old blood, seemed to tremble. From cracks in the walls, magical energy seeped out, leaving dark streaks like scars on flesh.       The scarlet moon, like a wounded eye in the sky, forced its way through narrow fractures in the vaulted ceiling. Its blood-red light fell upon the central altar—a massive slab of black obsidian. Carved from a single piece of rock at the cost of a dozen slaves’ lives, it was etched with runes and left here like the heart of a dying beast beneath a hunter’s hand.       Elizabeth leaned over the stone, spending what little strength she had left to carve new runes. Shadows danced around her, catching the souls of those who dared to hide. The floor was covered in dust—no rituals had been performed here for a long time. In some places, remnants of herbs, dried blood, and fragments of bone still lingered, crunching dully beneath the viscountess’s steps.       Her lips quietly hummed an ancient melody. In a soft, nearly inaudible voice, she whispered line after line. The glow of her crimson eyes reflected off the vaulted ceiling; her dress, its runes shining brighter with every breath, rustled over the uneven ground like the whisper of fate calling one into the abyss.       Only after finishing her work did she summon you. Elizabeth said she had found a way to heal you. If not to fully save you from an early death, then at least to delay it—for an unknown amount of time.       She led you by the hand. Your limp echoed in dull strikes against the stone steps, your empty sleeve swaying, brushing against the dusty walls. The stump beneath the fabric pulsed with pain, echoing into your chest. You clenched your teeth, your phantom hand tightening into a fist—you refused to show weakness before her. “You have to go through this.”       She whispered, her voice trembling with love, despair, and a growing madness that lurked in her crimson eyes. They gleamed like rubies in fire.       Madness had not taken her all at once. It grew slowly—and you were one of its causes. Like a crack in glass: first, the fear of losing you clouded her mind; then came hallucinations, whispers in the corridors where she heard her parents’ voices: “She is weak. Take his blood.” And when she stood at the edge of reason, she had hoped for salvation in your words. That if she confessed, you might find it in yourself to forgive her. But— One short phrase, thrown by you in a moment of emotion, broke her completely. Shadow magic has a price—the wielder’s sanity. She had mastered it, but the chain of events left her no choice but to rely on it.       Her love for you had long since turned into obsession. You were no longer a person—you were a part of her that had to be preserved at any cost.       You looked at her with eyes dulled by anger and pain after learning the truth about your parents. Emotions had already faded into the background. Inside you, a storm raged—of emptiness. “Why, Elizabeth? You’ve already destroyed me. Isn’t that enough?”       Your voice was too calm. Too cold for someone who still carried bitterness and disappointment. You tried to pull your hand away—but couldn’t. As if bound to her by an invisible thread of magic… or something else you could no longer understand.       Elizabeth tightened her grip, feeling the warmth of your skin. It burned against her coldness, yet in her mind it became a fire consuming her from within. And the Shadows whispered endlessly: “He will leave you, my lady… if you do not bind him.”       The altar towered at the center of the chamber, etched with spiraling runes leading to its core, where a dagger lay. Its ornate hilt, shaped like a drop of blood, framed a dark blade reflecting the moonlight.       The air trembled with magic, sending shivers across your skin like a ghost’s touch. Elizabeth felt her own blood respond, pulsing in her veins in rhythm with the runes. The Shadows around her grew louder: “He is yours, my lady. Take him. Bind him.”       She stopped. Her crimson eyes flared, reflecting the madness hidden beneath her resolve. “These trials, Leon… you must endure them.”       Her voice trembled—a tangled mix of insanity, fear, and love woven into her dead heart like threads in a web. “You’ll lose him forever, my lady. Make him obey.”       Fear of loss had grown since your return—without your arm, with anger burning in your eyes after learning the truth. It had become obsession. She saw you slipping away, your despair eroding everything between you. It was unbearable—like her innate thirst for blood.       Magic drained her. Her body weakened with every rune, every spell. But the ritual demanded that you yourself renounce your humanity—prove your devotion through pain and suffering. To her, this was the only way left. “Blood magic of this level is dangerous, Leon. For it to work… you must prove you’re worthy.”       She added, hiding the truth.       You already knew something was wrong. Everything around you screamed it. You stepped back, clutching your chest. Your nails dug into the fabric, scratching your skin. “Worthy of what? Your love? Ha! After what you did to my parents?!”       The words tore out of you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that report—the dry lines describing your family’s death. Rage boiled inside you like magma, mixing with grief. And yet… One thing you couldn’t erase. Not even now.       Your love for her remained. A faint ember—tied to her sorrow, her weakness before her parents—kept you from drowning completely in hatred. “You’re a monster, Elizabeth…”       You whispered, turning to leave—but your legs refused to move. You looked up at her again. The runes on her dress burned brighter. You weren’t leaving. That’s when her lips whispered an ancient spell. —       The trials began without warning. The air thickened. Shadows erupted into frenzied motion. The smell of ozone struck your nose. From the far end of the chamber, where darkness pooled, a Bloodshade emerged. A young one. Its form twisted slowly into something human-like—its eyes hollow voids, filled with hatred and hunger. The chamber filled with countless voices, all whispering: “Leon… your arm… gone… your parents… so weak…”       Whatever held you vanished. You grabbed the dagger from the altar. The metal was ice-cold—but you charged forward anyway. Your dominant hand was gone. You were weaker—far weaker than before. But you still fought. Maybe that was what separated you from Elizabeth.       The creature lunged. Its limbs morphed into massive claws. You dodged. Struck back. Barely. A sharp strike tore into your leg. Blood poured from your thigh. Still—you pressed on. Claws sliced through your uniform. Fabric tore. Flesh burned as black liquid splashed onto your skin—acidic, rotting. The smell of charred flesh mixed with decay.       You twisted away, leaping back. Your breath came in ragged bursts. Pain surged again—your missing arm screaming with phantom agony. You faltered. But so did it. Its wounds exposed a pulsing core. “Die already… you bastard…”       You lunged. “Light Magic: Banishment!”       The blade flared with pale light as it pierced the core. The creature shrieked—its whispers turning into a distorted scream that echoed through the chamber. Then—it dissolved. Silence. The smell of ozone and rot lingered.       You dropped to one knee, gasping. Sweat hit the stone—and evaporated. Elizabeth stood at a distance. Watching. Powerless. Her heart clenched. Tears streamed down her face. The Shadows fell silent as she exhaled shakily. “Do not grieve so much, my lady. Soon it will all be over… and he will be completely yours.”       Elizabeth waved her hand, dismissing them. “No… He suffers because of me.”