Death: The Fall of Endsville

Chapter Five: From Beyond the Grave

Richard, Arthur, and Ramon sprinted down the winding corridors of the castle, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. Cindelle's sobs were ragged, punctuating the silence of the halls. Richard's heart raced, not just from the exertion of running but from the growing dread that twisted in his stomach with every step.

"Norr!" Cindelle's voice cracked with panic as they approached the room, the door barely hanging open, a flickering light spilling out into the hallway.

All three of them rushed into the room, and the sight that greeted them made Richard's blood run cold.

Norr lay on the floor, his body twisted, his face deathly pale. A sword had been thrust into his belly, and dark, glistening blood was pooling beneath him, soaking into the stone. His breaths were shallow and labored, each one coming with a wet, rattling sound that sent a shiver down Richard's spine.

Cindelle let out a heart-wrenching cry as she collapsed beside him, her hands hovering over the wound, desperate to stop the blood. Her tears fell silently onto Norr's chest as she whispered his name, over and over, as if it could bring him back from the brink.

"How could this have happened?" Richard whispered, his voice barely audible as he knelt beside Cindelle, his hands shaking.

Arthur stood to his right, his face twisted with shock and fury. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Ramon. It has to be him."

Cindelle's grief suddenly shifted into rage. She lifted her head, her tear-streaked face contorted with fury. "It was him!" she hissed, her voice trembling. "He did this to Norr! I know it!"

As if summoned by her accusation, Ramon stepped further into the room, his expression as cold and detached as ever. His lips curled into a faint, arrogant smile, but his eyes were devoid of any warmth.

"Cindelle, darling," he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension, "don't be so quick to throw around baseless accusations."

Cindelle shot to her feet, her grief turning into raw fury. "Don't you dare come in here and pretend you had nothing to do with this!" She pointed a shaking finger at him, her voice cracking. "You've wanted power for as long as I can remember! Norr is the only one standing between you and total control!"

Ramon raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking briefly to Norr's prone form. "You give me far too much credit," he said smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I had wanted Norr dead, I wouldn't have been so sloppy. That sword isn't mine."

Cindelle let out a sob of frustration, dropping back to Norr's side, her hands desperately trying to keep pressure on the wound. "Get out! Just get out!" she cried, her voice breaking.

Ramon chuckled softly, his arrogance only growing. "As you wish." He turned to leave, pausing only to give Richard a glance that sent chills down his spine. "Take this as a lesson, Richard. This is the cost of weakness."

Richard's fists tightened at his sides as he watched Ramon disappear into the shadows of the hallway. He hated the way Ramon could make his skin crawl with just a few words, how powerless he felt in the face of such blatant cruelty. But most of all, he hated how right Ramon was—weakness was the cost of survival, and he couldn't afford to be weak any longer.

Only seconds after the whirlwind of events, the castle halls had grown eerily quiet. Richard and Arthur trudged back toward their chambers, their minds still spinning from the encounter with Ramon, the cannibals, and Norr's near-death experience. The weight of the night hung over them like a heavy cloak.

As they reached the door to their room, Arthur let out a long, weary sigh, leaning against the wall for a moment. "You know," he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes, "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."