The darkness moved.
Not like a beast stepping into the light.
Not like something charging with raw aggression.
No—
This thing *slid* through the shadows.
Soundless.
Heavy.
Watching.
John's pupils narrowed into thin slits.
"…It's aware of us."
Lythriel shifted her stance, spear angled forward.
"Good."
Her grin didn't quite reach her eyes this time.
"I hate fighting things that *aren't*."
Sylvara raised her staff, soft green light gathering at its tip.
"Stay close."
Aerion drew his blade slowly.
The faint glow of mana ran along its edge like liquid silver.
"Form up."
The rangers behind them tightened their positions, bows raised, arrows already drawn.
The tunnel was wide—but not wide enough for comfort.
Stone walls pressed in from both sides, rough and ancient.
Above them, the ceiling disappeared into shadow.
John exhaled slowly.
Dark mist curled from his nostrils.
"Come out."
For a moment—
Nothing.
Then—
*SCRAAAAAAAAAPE.*
