The air in the dungeon was thick with the smell of damp stone and iron. The flickering torchlight cast shadows on the cold walls, elongating the figures of the guards pacing at the far end of the corridor. Each step Ryder took within his cell felt heavier, as if his own body was betraying him.
He had always known the curse was growing stronger, but never had it felt like this. It wasn’t just pain. It was a constant, gnawing pressure inside him, one that twisted and contorted his body against his will. His muscles burned as though they were being pulled apart, and his skin felt like it was crawling, alive with something darker, something uncontrollable.
With a guttural roar, Ryder slammed his fist into the stone wall. The impact reverberated through the dungeon, echoing through the empty
