Darkwood: Circus Inferno

Dont Fear, Reaper

'''

Greyson sat alone in his study, the flickering light of a single candle casting long, wavering shadows across the room. Ancient tomes and scrolls lay scattered across the desk before him, their pages filled with archaic symbols, intricate curses, and ominous notes on demons. His brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the information, searching for anything that could explain the strange events plaguing Darkwood—the circus, the twisted figures, and the haunting visions of the group.

But something felt off.

The air had changed. The mortuary, once filled with a familiar quiet, now felt stifling, as though the walls themselves were pressing in on him. Greyson straightened in his chair, gripping the handle of his scythe as a cold, unshakable feeling of dread crept into his chest.

He stood and made his way out of the study, his boots echoing faintly against the cold tile floor. He stepped into the hallway, now eerily quiet. The warmth of the lights had dimmed, and the air grew heavy as he moved deeper into the mortuary. It felt different, like he had entered another world—a twisted reflection of the one he knew.

Room after room lay empty, devoid of the comforting presence of his friends. No sign of Viola or Ren, no Tixo, Riggs, or Wei. The silence was oppressive, swallowing the sound of his footsteps as he called out, “Tixo? Ren? Anyone?”

Nothing.

As he approached the mortuary’s main hall, a wave of nausea hit him, and his breath hitched. Before him, sprawled out across the cold floor, were the decaying corpses of his friends.

Onyx’s body lay nearest, his skin pale and sunken, his eyes wide and staring, locked in a gaze that saw nothing. Tixo’s fur was matted with blood, his body twisted in an unnatural pose, a look of pure terror etched into his lifeless face. Wei’s wings, once so majestic, were now skeletal and broken, his body contorted in agony. Ren’s skin was grey and mottled, his mouth frozen in a silent scream. Xul’s form was barely recognizable, his horns cracked, his magic gone, and Riggs, who had always been so full of life, lay motionless, his once-bright eyes now dull.

The overwhelming stench of death filled the room, thick and choking, wrapping around Greyson as he struggled to breathe. His hands shook as he fell to his knees, his scythe clattering to the floor beside him.

“No…” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “This… this can’t be real.”

He reached out, fingers brushing against Onyx’s cold skin, recoiling from the icy touch. It was too real. The weight of it pressed down on him, threatening to crush him under its suffocating presence.

Greyson’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of the horrifying scene. Had the circus done this? Had he failed to protect them? His grief was interrupted by a slow, deliberate sound behind him—soft, mocking footsteps echoing through the still air.

He turned, his heart pounding in his chest as he met the eyes of Sage.

The former friend stood in the shadowed doorway, a twisted smirk playing across his lips. Sage's eyes gleamed with a cold, unsettling amusement, the air around him thick with malice. His presence radiated power, an aura that made Greyson’s skin crawl.

“Sage…” Greyson’s voice was low, filled with disbelief and anger. “What have you done?”

Sage chuckled softly, the sound dripping with mockery as he sauntered forward, his steps slow and deliberate. “Done?” he repeated, tilting his head, as if considering the question. “I’ve done nothing, dear Grim Reaper. This… this is all you. Your failure. Your weakness.”