It was a peaceful evening in Iskar City.
The night sky stretched overhead, unbroken and deep, dotted with soft stars. The streets shimmered under the glow of floating magic lamps that hung like quiet sentinels above cobbled walkways. Merchants were closing their stalls, lovers whispered on benches, and children laughed as they chased the last minutes of freedom before home called.
Everything was calm.
Until the screaming started.
From within a modest two-story building near the city's central square—a structure that once held a quaint inn—a low rumble erupted, deep and unnatural, like the growl of a creature trying to escape the earth itself.
Then, without warning, the walls of the building split open as if carved apart by unseen blades.
Something black and liquid—but alive—surged outward, like blood spilled from a god's wound. It crawled over the rubble in thick, viscous waves, stretching, growing. It shimmered with faint traces of violet light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
