Night descended upon the forest like a gloomy shroud. No stars, no moon — only a deep, viscous darkness crawling between the trees. Far behind lay the temple where it had all begun. But the feeling that something was watching him didn't leave Trey for a second.
He sat by the fire, having torn off his shirt. On his chest was the mark. It no longer looked like just a tattoo or a magical symbol. No. Now it pulsed, barely noticeably, in time with his heart. It felt as if something was moving under his skin. Living.
In his hand, Trey clutched a knife.
— Don't do it, — Kaira's voice came quietly but sharply, like a slap across the cheek.
— I won't let this crap control me, — he hissed. — I'm not a vessel. Not a puppet.
— Trey…
— Go away.
He plunged the knife straight into the center of the mark. Skin split with a crack, and blood spurted… Only it wasn't blood. Black, thick, like oil, it oozed from the wound, emitting a foul smoke.
And then he heard it.
A voice.
But not external. Inside.
— You are part. You are already inside. We see. We hear.
The mark flared, and pain pierced his entire body as if a knife had slashed through his nerves. Trey screamed, throwing the weapon away. Kaira rushed to him, grabbing his shoulders.
— It's… it's okay. You're alive.
— I don't… I don't feel pain.
— That's not good, — she murmured. — It means the mark protected itself.
He looked at the wound. It had closed. Not just closed — it had changed. Now the symbol looked deeper, as if engraved in bone. And it continued to pulse.
— It let me in, — Trey whispered. — Or I let it in…
He didn't sleep that night. Every time he tried to drift off, the mark came alive. Visions flashed before his eyes:
— A city plunged into eternal night.
— Voices singing in a forgotten language.
— A gigantic creature with endless arms reaching through walls.
When he finally dozed off, he dreamed of himself. Only… different. Standing in a circle of blood, with many eyes on his chest. And all of them were looking into his soul.
He woke up in a cold sweat.
The next day, they reached an abandoned watchtower. The stone was covered in moss, the wood rotten. But inside — among the decaying planks and ashes — he found a book. The only one untouched by time.
On the cover — his mark. Only split in half.
— "The Book of the Mark," — Kaira whispered. — I thought it was burned.
— Someone survived, — Trey whispered, flipping through the pages.
Inside were confessions. Of people who had borne the mark before him. Some had tried to burn themselves. Some had torn out their hearts. Some… had submitted.
On the last page was an inscription:
Find the Gullet. There it began. There it will end. Or begin again.
— The Gullet… — Trey whispered.
— It's a dungeon, — Kaira nodded. — Under the dead city. A cursed place.
He stood up, and his eyes burned with determination.
— We're going there.
The journey to the Gullet took two days. And with each step, Trey felt the world changing. Or himself. He began to sense others. People with marks.
They passed by, hooded, silent. But he felt something invisible connecting them.
— One of us… — whispered a passerby with empty eyes.
Kaira pressed closer to him, tense.
— They can feel you.
— I can feel them too. We're like… parts of one body.
— This isn't good, — she said grimly.
At night, Trey tried to cut out the mark again. With a knife heated in the fire. But the skin didn't even burn.
— Your body isn't yours anymore, — Kaira whispered. — It's changing.
— Then I'll kill it while I still can.
The Gullet greeted them with silence. The city was dead. Buildings had collapsed, streets overgrown with moss and ash. But beneath them lay an ancient sewer system, leading into darkness.
They descended.
Stone steps led deeper and deeper. The smell of mold, dampness, and… something else. Something ancient.
— It smells like death here, — Kaira whispered.
— No, — Trey replied. — It smells like waiting.
Below, they emerged into a vast hall. The ceiling was supported by arches carved from red stone. In the center — a stone circle. Around it — figures. People. Without faces. Without eyes. Sitting.
And on the throne — he.
Tall, with ash-colored skin, with eyes that reflected thousands of faces. Some of them were familiar. Trey had seen them… in dreams.
— Welcome, — he said. — We have been waiting for you.
— Who are you? — Trey asked hoarsely.
— I am what you will become. If you accept.
— And if not?
— Then you will die. But not immediately.
— What is this place?
— The Heart of the Mark. The core of the mind. Pilgrims are born here. Here they choose their path.
— I didn't choose. I was marked by force.
— You chose when you survived. The others died.
He stood up, and the faceless ones around him also stood.
— Choose, Pilgrim.
— Or become one of us.
— Or burn yourself out.
Trey stepped forward. The mark burned. But not with pain. With power.
— I will choose a third path.
— Which one?
He raised his sword.
— I will tear myself out from the inside. Even if it means taking this world with me.
A rumble. The light of the mark exploded. The walls shook.
And it began.