With one final push, Marcus broke through the topsoil, his hands clawing desperately at the earth. He dragged himself free, only to collapse onto the ground, his body trembling with exertion. His thoughts were a chaotic storm of confusion and anger. The last thing he remembered was Tyler. His family. The shipping crate filled with mutilated remains. What happened after that was a void.
Gasping, Marcus pushed himself up, his fingers sinking into the dirt. A headstone stood before him.
"Marcus Obsidian, Beloved Father, Husband, and Mayor."
His breath hitched. His own grave. Marcus looked down at his hands. Once warm, now pale and lifeless. His fingers were caked with soil, the dirt embedded deep in the creases of his cold, cracked skin. His wedding band was gone.
Before he could process the horror of it all, pain—unimaginable, searing pain—ripped through his insides. A cry tore from his throat as his muscles contracted violently, forcing him to the ground. He curled up, unable to stop himself from vomiting a torrent of blood onto the earth before him. The thick, crimson liquid pooled at his hands, soaking into the grass—until it began to move.
The moonlight caught its surface, revealing a grotesque transformation. The blood swirled, boiled, darkened, becoming slick, black, and unnatural. The acrid stench of sulfur filled the air.
Marcus tried to crawl away, but he was powerless. The blackened liquid crept toward him with unnatural purpose. It was alive. It was his. And now, it was returning.
Before he could scream, the corrupted blood surged forward, forcing itself back into his body. Back to where it belonged.
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Fear is replaced with a new sensation, Hunger. His muscles stirred with a renewed vigor. Confused, Marcus looked back to the grave. The memories of what happened to his family flooded back in. His inability to protect his family, Tyler's betrayal, His death. Everything came back, Deep within a savagery he never experienced before took hold. Instinctively, without thinking, Marcus strikes the Tombstone, instead of his bones breaking, the stone cracked from the force. The following strikes broke the stone free. Now the hunger called to be satiated.
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***
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The light of the moon cascaded down upon them. A group of women, each holding a candle, formed a circle beneath its glow. This was the Daughters of the Evening Grace, gathered for their sacred Autumn Blessing Ritual.
Among them stood Melissa Shadelyn, a young woman with deep brown skin and piercing dark eyes. She stepped into the center of the circle, holding her tarot deck close to her chest.
"Evening Goddess, may no force be able to break our sacred circle. We call upon the Guardians of the Watchtowers. May they hold steadfast, let no force shatter our bond. Please, Goddess, bring bountiful tidings to your daughters. We live to give glory to your name."
The wind stirred as she raised the deck to the sky.
"Please use these cards to guide us. Show us the path we must take for you, Goddess," Melissa prayed, lifting the deck into the moonlight.
A powerful gust surged through the clearing, spiraling the leaves and bending the branches. The tarot cards lifted from her hands, caught in an unseen force, spreading apart and swirling in the air.
"Share your wisdom," the circle chanted in unison.
The cards spun faster, encircling Melissa like a cosmic dance. One suddenly broke away from the whirlwind and lowered itself into her open palm.
She turned it over.
"Paradise."
A sigh of relief swept through the group.
"The Spirit says we will enjoy great rewards for our service," Melissa announced.
"Bless the Goddess," the coven chanted in reverence.
Melissa took a steady breath before continuing. "How shall we attain your boon, Goddess? What is it you ask of us?"
Another card drifted into her hand.
"Sacrifice."
A murmur rippled through the circle. Melissa could feel the Goddess’s presence thick in the air—the energy wrapping around them like a second skin.
"Bless the Goddess," the women whispered, their voices a mix of awe and apprehension.
Melissa swallowed hard. "What is it that you require of us to sacrifice in the coming days?"
The wind roared, no longer a gentle caress but a howling force. The floating cards reversed direction, spinning violently. A chill slashed through the air, piercing their cloaks and flesh as though their skin had lost the ability to keep them warm.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the wind stopped.
The cards dropped to the earth in eerie unison.
Each card faced up, bearing the same image.
Melissa’s hands trembled as she knelt to pick one up. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Cemetery," she whispered.
The depiction was clear: graves upon graves, stretching endlessly into darkness.
Her voice wavered. "The end of all life… We are to give our lives, Goddess?"
A snap of breaking branches shattered the silence.
The women whipped around, their candles flickering wildly as the underbrush rustled with unseen movement.
Melissa’s pulse pounded in her ears. "Careful, sisters… we are not alone."**
Her fingers tightened around the dagger hidden within her cloak. With a swift motion, she drew it, the moonlight catching the cold steel.
One by one, the other members followed suit.
And then, the forest went silent.
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The Hunger was unbearable—an overwhelming force clawing at Marcus’s mind, demanding release. It was unlike anything he had ever known, something deeper, darker… primal.
In the woods, he felt an invisible pull, a force guiding him toward a destination he did not choose, but could not resist.
He stumbled into a clearing, where a circle of women stood, each holding a candle. Their voices carried through the night in a sacred chant.
But Marcus did not see them as women. His veins pulsed, the blackness of his blood surging beneath his skin like a living thing. They had no time to react.
Before the first scream could fully escape her lips, her insides were spilling onto the ground.
The others turned—only to see another sister fall, her neck snapped before she could utter a word. Another woman staggered back, clutching her chest where a fist-sized hole had been driven through her body.
One by one, they fell.
Melissa could do nothing but watch, frozen in horror, as her sisters were slaughtered before her eyes.
But Marcus did not crave blood. He did not crave flesh. His Hunger was for something much worse—pain, death, suffering.
And now, he stood before her.
She barely saw him move—a mere blur before his hand was around her throat. Her dagger was gone. She hadn’t even felt him disarm her.
Melissa gripped his wrist, struggling, but his strength was unnatural.
"I don’t fear you, Devil," she hissed. "You may kill me, but I will not give you the pleasure of begging for my life."
Marcus stared at her. Something in her words, or perhaps her defiance, shook him.
The Hunger loosened its grip.
His mind, once lost in the frenzy, snapped back into clarity.
Melissa felt it—the hesitation. And she acted.
With a desperate gasp, she tore free, stumbling backward. She seized her fallen dagger and, without thinking, drove it into his chest.
Marcus caught the blade—with his bare hand.
The steel pierced straight through his palm, lodging deep. Pain surged through him. He let out a sharp exhale, his other hand gripping the wound.
Melissa’s breath hitched. What she saw next shook her to her core.
The black liquid inside him pushed the dagger out, the wound closing instantly as if it had never existed.
"What… are you?" she whispered, horror and awe clashing in her voice.
Marcus slowly raised his gaze to meet hers.
"I am Marcus Obsidian, the Mayor of Dren."
Melissa staggered back at the name.
"Lies, demon," she spat. "The Mayor died last year—with his family, in their home. The townsfolk buried them.
She gripped her dagger tighter.
"There is no way you are him, creature."
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Marcus nodded, his expression unreadable.
"You are correct. My family and I did die."
His voice was calm—too calm, given the horrors that had just unfolded. He looked past Melissa, his mind pulling him back to that final moment.
"I remember it now. The last moments of my life. I let hate and rage reach the deepest parts of my soul—past reason, past salvation. I bargained… made a deal. A foolish one, really."
Melissa’s breath caught in her throat.
Her instincts screamed at her—run.
She didn’t hesitate. She bolted into the woods, branches whipping against her skin as she fled into the night.
Marcus didn’t chase her.
She didn’t matter. Not anymore.
The Hunger had been sated. The coven had fed him.
There was only one thing left that mattered.
Tyler.
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