The Wolf's Game
Others glide without feet, faces frozen in expressions of endless terror.
One turns toward me. Its face is a screaming man I recognize. A former contestant. Another wears the shape of a child, eyes too large, mouth unhinged in a silent sob. Another crawls across the ceiling, limbs scraping stone, its head rotating fully around to track my movement.
Nyxara’s magic is no longer contained. It’s leaking, bleeding into the castle, into the Game, into everything.
These nightmares don’t just belong to the mortal, no, they belong to her too. She has lost control.
Bab Populer