Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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The shadows
She was in a grand dining room, seated before a long, dark wooden table. Across from her, two women sat: one young, the other older, both clad in burgundy nightgowns. Liz felt a flicker of recognition, though she couldn't immediately place them. Then, another figure caught her eye—Friedrich Holzmann. His unmistakably peculiar expression made it impossible to ignore him.
The older woman was the duchess. This time, she wasn't adorned in one of her extravagant gowns, nor was her face painted with its usual ostentatious makeup. Without artifice, her pale features revealed the wrinkles betraying her age. Beside her sat Ulrike, also without makeup, her beauty strikingly eerie—radiant yet marred by the unmistakable imprint of depravity that shaped her countenance.
"The time is near, my family. I can feel it," Mr. Holzmann declared, rubbing his hands with a handkerchief.
"And how can you be so certain, Friedrich?" his wife interjected in a stern tone, placing both hands on the table. "We don't have the child yet."
"We will, Beatrix," he replied smoothly. "As soon as Ludwig arrives, I'm sure he will bring news. I feel it... in my heart, in Anneliese's heart."
The duchess said nothing more, but her furrowed brow made it clear that something unsettled her.
A terrible shriek suddenly echoed from the other end of the table—a grotesque blend of an infernal roar and a man's tortured wail. Liz turned and saw him: Max. What little remained of his humanity was barely discernible. His upper body was bare, covered in coarse hair like that of a wild beast; his arms were nailed to the table with thick iron stakes piercing his wrists. Liz understood—what she witnessed was but a shadow of something that had already transpired.
The duchess's expression twisted with discomfort at the sound of his groaning.
"Ugh! This damn vulture has been whining all afternoon. I've had enough!" she snapped, her face and arms tensing with irritation.
At her words, Ulrike sprang up, crossing the room in swift, purposeful strides. She struck Max hard across the face, silencing him at once.
"You should be grateful that Mother doesn't want to hear any more of your pathetic whimpering," she purred, tracing her sharp nails over his chest. Yet instead of clawing into him, she caressed his skin with a touch disturbingly tender. "Though, now that I think about it... I rather like your new look. If you behave, you and I could have some fun together."
Without warning, she seized his face and kissed him. Her lips smeared with the blood dripping from his wounds. Then, she leaned back, her crimson pupils boring into whatever fragments of humanity remained in his eyes.
"And now," she murmured, "I will give you a small gift, a token of our eternal love."
She reached for a knife resting on the table, gripping it firmly as she pressed the tip against his arm. The beastly man howled in agony, his body writhing grotesquely against the table until another vicious slap reduced him to quivering silence. Ulrike's macabre smile deepened as she stepped back, revealing her handiwork—a crude carving of a heart pierced by a Cupid's arrow.
