The Beninging

Chapter 11

As the man's body crumpled against the cold stone wall, his hood slipped back, revealing his face to the dim light of the chamber. She froze, her heart lurching in her chest as her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't seen that face in months—not since the night she committed the sin that had sent her to the church, desperate for absolution.

But this... this was not the man she remembered. Not entirely.

Half of his face was a grotesque skeleton, the other side warped but still vaguely human. The exposed bone gleamed under the light of the stones, the hollow eye socket a dark void, while the other eye—sharp, burning with malice—locked onto hers. His body, twisted and uneven, looked as though it had been pieced back together by something unnatural. His hands, long and crooked, appeared to have grown from some warped source, the fingers stretching grotesquely as though pulled by invisible strings.

Her mind raced, memories she had buried suddenly rushing to the surface. The dark alley, the rain-soaked night, her trembling hands. He had been there, standing before her, pleading—no, accusing her—and then... a sudden power came over her, she had killed him. His blood had stained the cobblestone streets red.

She had fled, horrified by what she had done, seeking refuge in the church, but it was all too late. And now, here he was, back from the dead, his broken body twisted into something both familiar and monstrous.

He groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, his uneven form shuffling as he stood, towering over her. He winced, his breath ragged, before his gaze met hers once again.

"Ally," he rasped, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Did you think I'd stay dead?"

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Ally—only one person had ever called her that. Only Dexter.

She stepped back, her hands trembling as she clutched the amulet tightly. "Dex..." she whispered, disbelief and horror mingling in her voice. "But... I thought I killed you."

His broken lips twisted into a dark smile. "You did," he said, his voice crackling with an eerie calm. "But you didn't destroy me. Not completely."

The realization struck her like a thunderbolt, the weight of it almost too much to bear. She had thought the stones were something distant, a part of a larger mystery she was only now beginning to understand. But they had been with her from the start. Her first encounter with them had been in the storm—and afterwards strange things started happening to her. And that night was the night she had killed Dexter.

They had done this. The stones had revived him, twisting his body, pulling him back from death. And it was all her fault.

She stared at him, the horror growing in her chest. "The stone... the night I killed you... I touched the stone beforehand." The memory became clearer now. After her hands had been soaked with his blood, she had gained consciousness.

Dexter let out a low, humorless laugh. "You didn't know what you were holding, did you?" His voice echoed with something dark, something not entirely human. "You thought you could just walk away. But the stone doesn't let go, Ally."

His words chilled her, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Why are you here? What do you want?" Her voice was thin, shaken.

Dexter's smile widened, though it was more a grimace, as though his deformed face could barely manage it. "I want what was taken from me. You took my life, and the stone brought me back, but not like this. Not halfway between death and whatever this is." He gestured to his broken form, his hand trembling as if struggling to control it. "I need the full power of the stones, Ally. I need them to make me whole again. And you're going to give them to me."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head as she took another step back. "I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Dexter snapped, his voice suddenly vicious. "You owe me that much, Alyssa."

Her chest tightened as guilt and fear surged through her. She had killed him. She had unleashed this horror. But handing over the stones? She couldn't even begin to imagine what he would become with that kind of power.

"I didn't mean to—" she started, but Dexter cut her off, taking a step forward.

"Don't lie to yourself, Ally. You wanted me gone. You made your choice." His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Now it's time for you to make another one."

Her hand instinctively tightened around the amulet. The stones still hummed within her, their power barely contained, but she didn't know how much longer she could control it. If she gave the stones to Dexter, there was no telling what he would become—or what he would do. But if she kept them...

The room seemed to grow colder, the tension thickening in the air as the two stood locked in a silent standoff. Dexter's ruined eye bore into her, the burning hunger in his gaze unmistakable. He was waiting. Waiting for her to make a decision.

But she wouldn't give him what he wanted. Not like this.

"No," Alyssa said finally, her voice steady, even as her hands shook. "I won't give them to you."

Dexter's smile faded, his expression hardening into something cruel and dangerous. "Then you'll die."

Before she could react, he lunged at her, his grotesque form moving faster than she expected. She stumbled back, raising her hands to defend herself, but the stones' energy surged within her, reacting to her fear, her desperation.

Light flared from the amulet, and the stones pulsed violently as she released their power in a blinding wave.

Dexter was thrown back again, crashing into the stone wall with a bone-cracking impact. He groaned, his body slumping to the ground, but this time he didn't move.

Alyssa stood there, her chest heaving, her hands still trembling with the residual power of the stones. She had barely survived the encounter, but she knew it wasn't over. Dexter wasn't dead—not yet. And as long as the stones existed, he would keep coming for them. For her.

She had to form the ritual. To send the stones back before Dexter could take them. Before he could take everything