GRIMM AND HOLLOW

The stillness of the church was deceptive. The air thrummed with an invisible tension, a prelude to something vast and dangerous. Isaac stood near the altar, his bloodied hands resting on the cold wood. Sister Amara’s words echoed in his mind: Find the heart of the pact. Destroy it.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. “What are these creatures, Amara? What’s binding them to me?”

Sister Amara moved with a solemn grace, retrieving an ancient, leather-bound tome from a hidden compartment beneath the altar. She placed it before Isaac, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened it to a page marked with a red ribbon.

“The pact is bound to seven creatures,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “Entities older than time itself, each representing a fragment of the pact’s power. To sever the chain, you must face them. Destroy them.”

Isaac stared at the pages. Inked illustrations depicted grotesque, monstrous forms, each more horrifying than the last. Beneath each was a name: Avara, Mordeth, Vexis, Drakkal, Zyne, Coria, Tirathos.

“Seven?” Isaac’s voice wavered. “You’re telling me there are seven of those things out there?”

Amara nodded. “They are scattered, hiding in the shadows. Each one guards a piece of the pact. Together, they ensure the chain remains unbroken. If even one survives, the pact will endure.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, the enormity of the task pressing down on him like a weight. “Where do I start?”

Amara flipped another page, revealing a map of Hollow and its surrounding areas. Symbols were scrawled across it, each marking a location tied to one of the creatures. “The first one. Avara. It resides in the forest beyond the southern edge of town. It feeds on despair, drawing its victims to it with whispers of their greatest regrets.”

Isaac’s jaw tightened. He looked at the map, then back at Amara. “And the others?”

“They will come to you, Isaac,” she said gravely. “Once you destroy the first, the others will sense it. They will not wait for you to find them.”

The forest loomed before Isaac like a living entity, its trees twisting into grotesque shapes under the pale light of the moon. The air was thick, suffocating, as if the forest itself wanted to choke the life out of him.

Isaac gripped the hilt of the dagger Amara had given him—a blade she claimed had been blessed in blood and fire, capable of severing the tether between the creatures and the pact. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but it was all he had.

The forest was unnaturally silent. No rustling leaves, no chirping crickets. Just the sound of his own footsteps crunching against the dead leaves underfoot. He could feel it—the presence of something watching him, following him.

And then he heard it.

A whisper.

At first, it was faint, indistinct. But as he moved deeper into the forest, the voice grew clearer.

“Isaac…”

He froze. The voice wasn’t just calling his name—it was familiar.

“Isaac… why did you let me die?”

His breath caught in his throat. It was James, his former partner, the man he had failed to save two years ago.

The whisper became a chorus, overlapping voices of those he had lost, those he had failed. Each word was a dagger, reopening wounds he thought had long since healed.

“You could have saved me.”

“You let me die.”

“You abandoned me.”

Isaac shook his head, his grip tightening on the dagger. “No. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

A figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of him. It was James, or at least it looked like him. The same sharp features, the same piercing eyes. But there was something off—his skin was too pale, his smile too wide, his eyes too dark.

“Isaac,” the figure said, spreading its arms. “You’ve come to find me. But you don’t have to fight. You can join us. We can end this together.”

Isaac’s heart pounded, but he stood his ground. “You’re not James.”

The figure tilted its head, its smile fading. “No. I am Avara. And I know your pain, Isaac. I can take it away. All of it.”

Isaac stepped forward, raising the dagger. “The only thing you’re taking is this blade through your heart.”

Avara laughed, a sound that sent shivers down Isaac’s spine. “Brave words, Guardian. But let’s see if your resolve is as strong as your conviction.”

The shadows around the figure writhed, coalescing into dark, serpentine shapes that lashed out at Isaac. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the tendrils as they struck the ground where he had stood.

He rolled to his feet, his eyes locked on Avara. The creature moved with an unnatural grace, its body shifting and distorting as if it were made of smoke.

Isaac lunged, slashing at the creature with the dagger. The blade connected, slicing through its form. Avara screamed, the sound reverberating through the forest like a thunderclap.

But the fight was far from over.

The shadows surged, surrounding Isaac in a whirlwind of darkness. He swung the dagger wildly, cutting through the tendrils as they came at him from every direction. But they were relentless, and for every one he severed, two more took its place.

Avara’s voice echoed around him, taunting and cruel. “You cannot defeat me, Isaac. Your guilt, your pain—they are mine to command.”

Isaac fell to one knee, the weight of the shadows pressing down on him. The whispers returned, louder this time, drowning out his thoughts.

You’re weak. You’re a failure. You can’t save anyone.

Isaac clenched his teeth, his grip on the dagger tightening. The hunger stirred within him, a dark, primal force that demanded release.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the darkness inside him—not the shadows around him, but the bloodlust that had become a part of him. He let it rise, let it consume him.

When he opened his eyes, they glowed with an unnatural light. The shadows recoiled, and Avara took a step back, its form flickering.

Isaac rose to his feet, his movements fluid and deliberate. The shadows lashed out again, but this time, he didn’t dodge. He caught them in his hands, tearing through them with his bare fingers.

Avara screamed again, its form destabilizing as Isaac advanced. The creature’s hollow eyes widened in fear.

“What… are you?” it hissed.

Isaac didn’t answer. He drove the dagger into Avara’s chest, twisting it as the blade pierced the creature’s core.

Avara let out a final, ear-piercing scream before its body disintegrated, the shadows dissipating into the night.

Isaac stood in the silence that followed, his chest heaving. He looked down at the dagger in his hand, its blade stained with an inky, black ichor.

One down. Six to go.

He turned and began the long walk back to the church, his steps heavy but resolute. The fight was far from over, but for the first time, he felt a spark of hope.

Back in the church, Sister Amara waited, her expression unreadable as Isaac entered.

“It’s done,” he said simply, placing the dagger on the altar.

Amara nodded, her gaze flickering to the blade. “And the others will know. They will come for you, Isaac. Be ready.”

Isaac looked at her, his jaw set. “Let them come.”

The weight of Avara's death lingered in Isaac's chest like an ember, burning with a mixture of triumph and dread. The black ichor that stained the dagger on the altar shimmered faintly under the dim light of the church. Sister Amara’s words echoed in his ears: The others will know.

Isaac’s hands trembled slightly as he sat in one of the pews, staring at the altar. The silence of the church was no longer comforting. It felt oppressive, alive, as though the walls themselves whispered secrets he wasn’t meant to hear.

Amara approached, her footsteps deliberate. She carried a small vial in her hands, its contents swirling with a faint golden glow. “You’ve severed one link, but the chain remains strong. Each creature will grow more desperate to protect the pact as you hunt them.”

“What is that?” Isaac asked, gesturing to the vial.

“Your blood has been touched by the pact,” she replied, placing the vial on the altar. “And now, by Avara’s essence. This mixture will help you locate the next creature. But it comes at a cost.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “What kind of cost?”

Amara met his gaze, her expression grave. “Each time you sever a link, the pact will fight back. You will feel its anger, its hunger. The blood in your veins is no longer just your own. It binds you to these creatures.”

Isaac nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “So, it gets harder every time.”

“Yes,” Amara said. “And the next one, Mordeth, thrives on rage. It will test the limits of your control.”

Isaac leaned back in the pew, his eyes closing for a moment. He felt the weariness creeping in, the mental toll of facing these horrors. But there was no turning back. The shadows wouldn’t stop until they consumed everything.

“Where do I find Mordeth?” he asked, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

Amara opened the tome again, flipping to a page marked with a black ribbon. The illustration depicted a hulking, grotesque figure, its body wreathed in flames, its eyes burning with malice. Beneath the image was a single word: Ruin.

“Mordeth resides in the ruins of the old foundry, west of the town,” Amara explained. “It draws power from anger and violence. It will provoke you, Isaac. It will use your past against you.”

Isaac nodded, his jaw tightening. “Let it try.”

The foundry was a scar on the land, a sprawling expanse of rusted metal and crumbling brick. The air was thick with the smell of ash and decay, the remnants of a fire that had long since burned out. Isaac stepped carefully through the ruins, his senses on high alert.

The first sign of Mordeth’s presence was the heat. It wasn’t the gentle warmth of a summer day—it was searing, suffocating, as though the air itself was burning. Sweat beaded on Isaac’s forehead as he moved deeper into the foundry.

And then he heard it.

A low, guttural growl that reverberated through the walls. It wasn’t human—it was something primal, something furious. Isaac tightened his grip on the dagger, his pulse quickening.

The growl grew louder, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. The ground beneath him trembled as Mordeth emerged from the shadows.

The creature was massive, its body a twisted mass of muscle and molten rock. Flames licked at its skin, its eyes glowing like embers. It stood at least ten feet tall, towering over Isaac with a presence that radiated pure rage.

Isaac steadied his breathing, his mind racing. The dagger felt small in his hand, almost laughable against a creature of this size.

Mordeth roared, a sound that shook the very foundations of the foundry. The force of it sent Isaac stumbling backward, his ears ringing.

“You dare challenge me, Guardian?” Mordeth’s voice was like the grinding of metal, each word dripping with contempt. “You are nothing but a man—a broken man clinging to false hope.”

Isaac didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to let the creature’s words get under his skin. He focused on its movements, watching for an opening.

Mordeth lunged, its massive fist crashing down where Isaac had stood moments before. The impact sent shards of metal flying, the ground splintering under the force.

Isaac rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another strike. He slashed at Mordeth’s leg with the dagger, the blessed blade cutting through the creature’s molten flesh. Mordeth roared in pain, flames erupting from the wound.

But the attack only seemed to enrage it further. Mordeth swung its arm, catching Isaac with a backhanded blow that sent him flying into a rusted beam. The impact knocked the wind out of him, pain shooting through his ribs.

“Your anger is weak,” Mordeth growled, advancing on him. “You don’t know what it means to burn with true rage.”

Isaac struggled to his feet, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. He could feel the darkness stirring within him, the hunger rising. Mordeth was right—his anger was weak. But the bloodlust wasn’t.

He let it in.

The change was immediate. His vision sharpened, his movements became faster, more precise. He dodged Mordeth’s next attack with ease, driving the dagger into the creature’s side.

Mordeth howled, flames erupting from its body. “What are you?” it hissed, its voice laced with both fury and fear.

Isaac didn’t answer. He climbed onto the creature’s back, driving the dagger into its neck. Mordeth thrashed, trying to shake him off, but Isaac held on, his grip unrelenting.

With a final, furious roar, Mordeth collapsed, its body disintegrating into ash. The foundry grew silent, the oppressive heat dissipating.

Isaac stood over the remains, his chest heaving. The ichor on the dagger seemed to pulse, as if absorbing the essence of the fallen creature.

Two down.

Back at the church, Sister Amara waited once again, her eyes scanning Isaac’s face as he entered.

“You’re changing,” she said, her voice tinged with both concern and admiration.

“I’m surviving,” Isaac replied, placing the dagger on the altar.

Amara frowned. “Be careful, Isaac. The more you tap into the bloodlust, the harder it will be to pull yourself back.”

Isaac met her gaze, his expression hard. “If it means stopping this, I’ll take that risk.”

Amara nodded, though the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. She opened the tome to the next page, revealing the image of a shadowy, winged creature.

“Vexis,” she said. “The next creature awaits. It will test not your anger, but your resolve.”

Isaac took the map from her hands, his eyes narrowing as he studied the marked location. “Then let it test me.”

He turned and walked toward the door, the shadows of the church stretching long and dark behind him. The battle was far from over, but Isaac was ready.