An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

As soon as the voice faded, something changed within the chasm. A shape began to emerge from the depths of the chains of flesh, viscous liquid raining down upon its forming figure.

It was not a creature. It was no beast. Nor was it man. Its form was unrecognizable, horrid… but she knew—this was nothing more than the faintest whisper of intent.

Formed from the curiosity and thoughts of the rot festering below, it stirred with an eerie curiosity about the changes in the home they had called their own for countless years.

They wanted to know what had changed—and why something so appetizing now lingered just beyond their reach.

The scent had awakened them. And now they were interested in knowing whether it would taste as delicious as it smelled.

Greenish-yellow mist bled from the flesh-forged chains, gathering at the edges of the chasm, slowly crawling up the ledge that separated the barren land from the rot within.

And when it met a barrier, the thing within stilled—stunned, it seemed. There was something childlike in its curiosity. It prodded at the barrier that prevented it from reaching its food, and soon, it felt as though it had forgotten about her altogether.

To Istrabell, it was as though she were reliving her nightmare all over again. Watching as that shape reached out for her, it felt like an abyss of rot was stretching toward her very soul. The more it rose, the more her heart tried to leap from its cage.

Her mind screamed. But this time, she refused to run. She would no longer allow that terror to have sway over her mind. She didn't notice the flames at her back grow taller and quieter—they blazed in silence, towering over her.

But her mind was occupied by the abomination in the chasm.

Still, she dared not look away. Nor did she dare relax. Just because she had steeled her mind didn't mean the threat had become any less real.

It remained a threat to her existence—and she would not take her eyes off it.

Reaching out, Istrabell placed her hand into the flames, half-expecting them to chew through her flesh and burn her to cinders. But that didn't happen.

They flared wide—but they didn't burn her. In this strange moment, they felt almost comforting…

Between the two evils, if given a choice, like she wa bieng given—she would choose this one, though this felt less like a choice than it was a path for her survival.

And just when she thought the screams had faded—they returned in full force. She felt her skull rattle, her mental scape quake even more fiercely than it had before.

The dead called her name—and they demanded blood as payment.

She answered with a whisper, all while keeping her eyes locked on the shape held at bay.

"I know my price. And I will pay it tenfold. Now give me power—or die with your hatred for all eternity."

Istrabell roared—her scream drowning out the resentment. But as if provoked, the flames howled a banshee-like screech that clawed at the hearts of those it targeted.

They grew so tall that Istrabell could no longer deny them. She felt light being devoured. And when she saw how massive they had become, she shivered.

A tide like might swallowed the silver skies above and everywhere she looked there were only inky black crimson flames

But the flames gave her no time to think. With fury, they surged into her so forcefully that she was swept off her feet.

Blackness surged through what remained of her veins in the waking world—streaks of burning memories, failed hopes, fulfilled dreams, shattered happiness, grief, pain, sorrow, and misery threaded through her limbs. Like a cancer, they latched onto the chains and devoured what remained of her flesh.

A battle, one beyond scale or perception, had begun. The corruption and perverse aura that had plagued her were restrained by the resentment of many. Her flesh was tethered to various intents until she barely remained alive.

If she were to survive only time would tell just how much of herself had she lost to the pursuit of power.

Her skin glowed faintly with black, crimson, and silver, as etchings—fleeting, flickering scripts of the lives she had taken—sank into her skin. They wer so many that thye had to cluster together lest they devoured the young woman whole.

But the largest was an etching carved into her spine, written in a language so ancient it predated most things.

It was the price she would pay. Judgment had been passed. And with more resentment earned, the price would change accordingly. It was an ephemeral weight she would bear for as long as she drew breath.

But something else stirred within her.

A presence.

Silent.

Slumbering.

Bound.

Unreachable.

It didn't speak—but she could feel it now.

Deeper than the voice. Deeper than the chasm. Buried in her soul, behind locked gates and sealed doors—it watched and waited.

Her Dominion had stirred.

Her Oathkeeper had stirred.

But even that was lost on her...

As her world blacked out, her final thought was of the massive, tide-like flames…

Before, they had only been a bundle of fire.

When had they grown so large?

Where had she gathered so much resentment?

---

Istrabell's body jolted as though struck by lightning. Gasping violently, she clutched for breath as warm water filled her lungs. Struggling, she thrashed until her feet touched the floor of the pool—and she realized it wasn't that deep...

Freezing slightly, a hint of blush rose to her eyes, as the embarrassment of the moment struck her.

Calming her heart, she swam a little and regained her bearings.

Calmly swaying in the water she took a breath.

The air felt heavy—thick with the scent of pungent blood and the dreadful rot of flesh.

Reality crashed into her. Her mind recalled everything that had happened.

But at the center of it all was the scent of flesh—and the knowledge that she didn't want to remain in a place that reminded her so much of that thing.

Her mental scape was eerily silent, almost as though it hadn't been real. But her feelings were real. And while she would've appreciated the peace…

She couldn't enjoy it—not with the burning weight on her back reminding her of what had happened and the dire consequences.

…But those were things to watch out for in the future.

She breathed slowly, even as the scent of blood and flesh invaded every breath. She had to leave—but panicking would do her no good.

She began to clean herself, washing away blood and grime that had baked into her skin. She wanted to scrub away the scent of blood, but it wouldn't go. It had become part of her now.

And as she washed, she noticed the changes…

Small, imperceptible dots of black and crimson now speckled her previously unmarked skin. They didn't take away from her beauty—instead, they added an aura of quiet mystery. Not that many would ever get close enough to see them.

She knew there were likely more changes within her—but these were the ones she could see for now.

When she washed her hair, she noticed her silver locs had gained inky black-crimson roots and black-tinged tips.

She knew these changes most likely came from the flames.

But the most significant change was in her eyes.

To most, the difference would go unnoticed—unless they'd studied her eyes deeply before.

She, who had seen those eyes every day, recognized the shift instantly.

What was once a clear, mineral-like silver—almost like solid mercury—now held something else.

Beads of inky black were embedded into her irises. So small, she might have missed them—especially with the distortion of water.

But overall… she didn't hate the changes. The montone silver was becoming too much for comfort.