Tyler had arrived in Silver Falls a week prior. In that time, he had tortured, kidnapped, and replaced one of the local merchants. Now, he stepped into another establishment, fixing his gaze on a man across the room.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Fredrick,” Tyler said.
Fredrick hesitated. His friend Weathers had been acting strangely lately—something was off. “Weathers, I already told you, I can’t pay you coin I don’t have!” he pleaded, fear creeping into his voice.
Weathers—no, the man wearing his face—gave a disappointed sigh. His two newly acquired bodyguards seized Fredrick, slamming his head against the table. Tyler reached into his pocket and, with a swift motion, drove a knife through Fredrick’s hand, pinning it in place.
“I swear, I don’t have it!” Fredrick cried out.
Tyler shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. “Do you know how many times I’ve been lied to in the last thousand years?”
Fredrick’s breath hitched. A thousand years?
Tyler caught himself. He had let something slip. His lips curled into a smirk as he did a quick calculation in his head.
“Hm. That makes it… one more.”
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Tyler drove another knife into Fredrick’s other hand, pinning it to the table with a sickening thud. "Sixteen thousand four hundred and sixty-two," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "Is there nobody honest these days?" he asked, his voice cold and dangerous.
Fredrick sobbed, trapped and unable to move. "Okay... okay... I have it," he gasped, his voice strained and desperate. "It's in..."
Before Fredrick could finish, Tyler moved swiftly, slicing off Fredrick’s tongue. Blood poured from Fredrick’s mouth, and he let out a garbled scream—his voice reduced to nothing more than a grotesque, guttural noise.
"I swear by the Creator’s backside," Tyler growled, "If I hear one more lie..."
He grabbed Fredrick by the back of his head and slammed his face into the table with brutal force. "Come on, Fredrick!" Tyler’s voice rang out, loud and mocking. "Let’s count to sixteen thousand four hundred and sixty-three together!"
His patience had worn thin. Each time he slammed Fredrick’s head into the wood, he counted aloud, his anger building with each sickening thud.
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A knock at the door made Tyler lose count. "Damn it!" he growled under his breath. He took a moment to steady himself, his frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Don't go anywhere, Fredrick," he sneered. "I lost count. You’ve got until I get back to tell me what number we’re at."
With a final glare at his captive, Tyler turned and opened the door, his cold eyes locking on the visitor.
"What do you want?" he demanded, his tone clipped and impatient.
Standing before him was a priest from the local church.
"Forgive me, Weathers," the priest began, his voice respectful yet hurried. "I was hoping to find Fredrick. I’m collecting funds to support the Church’s troops. A message came in yesterday that the Usher is walking the world of man once again."
The news struck Tyler like a wave of cold satisfaction. A smirk spread across his face.
"Finally... an honest man," he muttered under his breath, his satisfaction evident in his words.
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Tyler, his excitement rising at the prospect of an honest person, yanked the priest inside and slammed the door shut behind them. One of the attendants from the church noticed the exchange and rushed to the door, attempting to force it open. Though it was locked, he could hear the muffled voices from inside.
Once inside, Tyler tossed the priest into the room where Fredrick was still pinned to the table. The priest staggered to his feet, eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice shaking.
"I need an honest man," Tyler replied coldly, stepping toward the priest and striking him in the stomach with a swift punch. The priest gasped for breath, stumbling back. Weathers, silent in the corner, watched, hoping Tyler would forget he was there.
"You see," Tyler continued, his voice growing darker, "I need to corrupt the soul of an honest man." He casually tucked his handkerchief into his pocket as he spoke. "I’ve been traveling the countryside for weeks, seeking one. It’s all part of a prophecy—one that says I will walk this earth until the Honest Man bears the fruit of Annihilation."
Tyler paused, a cruel smile curling his lips. With a chilling shift in posture, he shed his disguise and returned to his true form. The priest’s eyes widened in horror.
"Creator, protect me!" he cried, clutching his religious symbol tightly in his hands. "You are the Harbinger!"
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Tyler rolled his eyes, faking a look of flattery. "Yes, such a glorious job," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He walked toward the priest, unaffected by the holy man's chanting.
"If you knew the truth about your sacred Creator, you'd commit every sin imaginable... and probably invent a few new ones," Tyler mused, nodding as if what he said were an undeniable fact.
With a swift motion, Tyler ripped the rosary from the priest’s hands, tossing it aside. "Since you mentioned that one of the seeds I planted has begun to nourish, I suppose I don't have to harm you," he said, glancing over at Fredrick with a hint of disdain. "But seeing as my fun for the evening has passed out..."
The priest held his breath, trembling as Tyler turned his cold gaze back to him.
"Tell me more about these troops."
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Melissa woke to the scent of food cooking. She had barely eaten since arriving in River Hallow—how could she, when every night was filled with nightmares? Sleep only brought visions of Marcus and the horrors he had unleashed, replaying in an endless loop.
“Come get some food, dear,” Katherine called from the kitchen. The old woman had been up early, as always. She had often told her children, "Sleep past dawn, you slept too long."
When Melissa entered the kitchen, she was met with a plate of freshly cooked eggs and meat. The warmth of the meal filled the small space with comfort.
“I heard you thrashing about last night,” Katherine said, setting a cup of tea beside Melissa’s plate. “You had what we call night terrors. Most people grow out of them, but given what Brother Orion told me, you’ve been through more than most.”
Melissa’s sleep had been anything but restful—the dark circles under her eyes made that clear. She managed a small smile as she picked up her fork.
“Thank you, Katherine. It smells wonderful.”
She took a bite, chewing slowly. Maybe it was the simple pleasure of eating after going so long without, or maybe it was the warmth of a home-cooked meal. Whatever the reason, that first bite tasted amazing.
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Melissa continued eating, savoring every bite, when a knock at the door interrupted the quiet morning.
“Excuse me, dear,” Katherine said, rising from her chair. She made her way to the door, her voice warm as she greeted the visitor. “Hello, Father Rowland. Please, come in.”
Moments later, Katherine returned to the kitchen with Father Rowland in tow.
“I’ve come to check on our guest,” he said, offering Melissa a kind smile. “How are you faring, Miss Melissa?”
Melissa wanted to answer, but her hands kept moving, lifting more food to her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and took another bite—again and again, as if she had no control.
“Now, dear, there’s no need to be rude,” Katherine chided. “Father Rowland asked you a question.”
Melissa tried to speak, but her hands refused to stop. She struggled, her eyes widening in alarm. Her jaw worked faster, stuffing food in until she choked. Panicked, she tried to shout, but the only thing that came out was half-chewed food, spraying across the table, the floor—splattering onto Father Rowland’s robes.
The room fell silent.
Rowland’s face darkened, his voice thundering, “Where are your manners? The Church should burn you for such disrespect!”
Before she could react, he stepped forward and struck her across the face.
Melissa’s breath hitched. Pain flared across her cheek. She tried to explain, to plead, but her mouth was no longer hers—words twisted into something vile, pouring out in guttural, blasphemous curses against the Church.
She clamped her hands over her lips, but the words kept spilling, crawling from her throat like something alive.
Something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
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Katherine scowled at Melissa, her eyes burning with sudden hatred. “You ungrateful witch! The Usher should have skinned you alive!”
Before Melissa could react, the old woman swung a wooden spoon, striking her hard. Another blow followed, then another. Melissa raised her arms, shielding her face, cowering under the unexpected assault.
Then—silence.
The room was still.
Melissa lowered her hands, heart pounding. The kitchen was empty. Katherine was gone.
A shiver ran down her spine. She crept through the house, each step hesitant, the floor creaking beneath her weight. Something was wrong.
Then came the knock at the door.
Knock. Knock.
Melissa froze.
“Don’t worry, witch, I’ll get it,” Katherine’s voice called out—smooth, unnatural, slithering through the walls.
Fear gripped Melissa. She bolted for the door, desperate to stop her, shoving the old woman aside as she yanked it open.
No.
Her breath hitched. Her stomach twisted.
Marcus stood on the threshold.
Before she could scream, his blade flashed. Katherine crumpled, her blood painting the doorway.
A shriek tore from Melissa’s throat as she stumbled back, sprinting to her room. She slammed the door shut, throwing every piece of furniture she could against it. Hands trembling, she pressed her forehead to the wood, whispering a frantic prayer.
"Please, Divine Mother, save me—"
A hiss filled the air.
A sickly green vapor seeped through the cracks in the door, curling like living tendrils. Wherever it touched, the wood blackened, rotting away.
Melissa stumbled back, watching in horror as her barricade crumbled to dust.
She was not alone.
Melissa raised her hands in a desperate attempt to shield herself from Marcus’s attack.
"No!"
She screamed, thrashing—until hands gripped her shoulders and shook her.
"Wake up, dear!" Katherine’s voice cut through the terror.
Melissa was still trapped in the nightmare. Panicked, she flailed, shoving Katherine and knocking the old woman to the floor.
Gasping, Melissa bolted from the house. The crisp night air hit her like a shock of ice, jolting her back to reality. She stood trembling in the middle of the road before her knees buckled, and she broke into sobs.
A moment later, Katherine emerged. Tough as ever, she dusted herself off and approached. Without a word, she draped a blanket over Melissa’s shoulders and sat beside her in the dirt.
She stayed there, as long as Melissa needed her to.
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