Nyxeria allowed a faint, cold smile to curl her lips. It had been too long since she'd relished a fight. With a flick of her wrist, the swirling black mist of Nightmare began pooling around her feet, revealing her lithe form beneath as the living shadows coiled and danced around her skin. She noticed the glint of lust in Lord Garet’s eyes and felt only disgust. ‘Mortals,’ she thought, ‘so tragically tethered to the flesh.’

Without a moment’s hesitation, the inky pool at her feet expanded, birthing a toothy maw with jagged edges, unfurling like the dark wings of a raven. Occasional black feathers surfaced amidst the shadows before sinking and fading into the inky black pool. Though Nightmare had no visible eyes, it moved as though it saw everything. In a heartbeat, it lunged toward Lord Garet, who instinctively raised his blade.

Lord Garet’s expression twisted as he slashed through the creature, cutting through the undulating mass with a bright, searing line of golden light. A look of satisfaction crossed his face as Nightmare’s form split. A smile grew on his lips only to fade as quickly as it came. The entity reformed instantly, pooling back together, tendrils writhing. So, he mused, she was a mage of sorts, one who consorted with vile creatures. It seems the entity was temporarily out of commission. His faith in Orria, the goddess of light, emboldened him. He readied his weapon again, golden light dancing along its edge. Surely, he reasoned, the goddess’s radiance would be enough to vanquish such darkness.

With a confident smirk, he moved to close the distance. Mages, he knew, were most vulnerable after casting. This would be no different—he would overpower her, maybe even spare her life if she submitted. But as he took another step, his triumphant smile froze. A cold, agonizing warmth blossomed in his chest. Looking down, he saw a sharp, ink-drenched claw piercing him from behind, black feathers still clinging to its grotesque surface. He gasped, feeling his strength falter.

“What…? Orria’s… light…” he managed to rasp, shock choking his voice.

Nyxeria tilted her head with a slight smirk, her tone dripping with disdain. “Did you truly believe a flicker of low-level holy magic would harm Nightmare?” She took a step closer, her voice a low, mocking hum. “If this is the strength of your kingdom’s so-called warriors, then I am gravely disappointed.”

Lord Garet’s sword clattered to the ground as he grasped desperately at the claw jutting from his chest. Nyxeria’s gaze shifted briefly to Lady Garet, who sat frozen, horror etched into every line of her face. Turning back to her prey, Nyxeria lifted Garet’s chin with a delicate hand, inspecting him with a predatory gleam. Two feathers materialized in her other hand, and with a graceful pull, she extended one to the length of a short blade. Her voice softened, but her words carried an icy finality.

“Perhaps you are ignorant of the Lord of Ravens’ power, mortal,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing. “He was one of the architects of this realm. Even without followers, his power surpasses your comprehension. Mocking his legacy is a sin most worthy of death.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with malice. “Pray your goddess grants you mercy—if you’ve lived worthy of her name.”

With a swift motion, Nyxeria dragged the feather-blade across his neck, leaving a thin, precise line. Blood trickled before his head dropped, lifeless, with a sickening thud. Nyxeria turned to Lady Garet, who, paralyzed by terror, remained rooted to her seat.

From the shadows, Vern and Garen cowered behind a marble pillar, their eyes wide with fear, caught between fleeing and the unspeakable fate that awaited them if they stayed. Nyxeria’s gaze flicked to them but dismissed them for the moment. She knew they would be dealt with soon enough.

Lady Garet finally found her voice, a strangled, trembling scream tearing from her lips. “Gu-guards! Help! An assassin!” She tried to scramble backward, only to trip over the hem of her dress.

The doors flew open, and several guards rushed into the hall. Without sparing them a glance, Nyxeria snapped her fingers. “Nightmare, deal with them.” The shadowy maw, busy devouring the remains of Lord Garet, twisted toward the newcomers, surging forward with a primal hunger. Though featureless, Nightmare’s form radiated an unnervingly playful malice, as if it relished the fear it inspired.

Ignoring the guards' shouts and the chaotic scuffle that ensued, Nyxeria closed the distance to Lady Garet, seizing her chin in a cool, unyielding grip. The noblewoman shuddered, forced to meet Nyxeria’s eyes—pits of endless black, reflective of the void itself.

“Look at me,” Nyxeria commanded softly. “It is written in your eyes; you are no true follower of Orria. Empty faith… such a common plague among mortals.” She brushed a stray hair from Lady Garet’s face with eerie tenderness, her smile unsettlingly calm.

Lady Garet’s voice quivered, her pleas spilling out like broken glass. “P-please… spare me. I’ll serve you… and the Lord of Ravens.” Her eyes remained fixated on the ground, refusing to look at the nightmarish creature standing over her.

Nyxeria slowly reclined onto Lord Garet’s vacated seat, crossing one leg over the other, settling comfortably on the plush, still-warm cushion. Her senses, more in tune with her mortal guise than she cared to admit, registered the faint warmth, a fleeting pleasure.

“Good.” Her voice was a soft purr, almost approving. “Then, your first duty is a simple one. Bring me something suitable to wear.” Her eyes glinted with cold amusement as Lady Garet stumbled to her feet, rigid with terror. Nyxeria’s tone darkened. “Oh, and Lady Garet—don’t keep me waiting. Nightmare is less patient than I.”

Lady Garet’s spine stiffened, and she nodded shakily, fleeing through the manor’s inner doors without a second glance.

Once the guards’ cries had faded into silence, Nyxeria’s gaze shifted to the two men huddled against the wall, watching with barely contained terror. She met their eyes, her voice sharp and unyielding. “You both have one task. Gather the town leaders and bring them here within three hours. No excuses.” Her tone softened, yet held a deadly edge. “Do not force me to send Nightmare after you.”

The men flinched, then scrambled to bow before bolting from the hall, terrified glances cast over their shoulders as they disappeared.

Nyxeria watched them go, then looked up through the grand stained-glass window. The sky had deepened, the last glow of twilight giving way to the dark of night.