The black seal that encased Mourning Manor did not merely block the exit; it felt as though the very atmosphere had solidified into something cold, heavy, and suffocating. Gillian stood at the main entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven movements. The energy radiating from the barrier was necrotic, a manifestation of the shaman’s ancient and malevolent craft. He could hear the low, rhythmic humming of the seal vibrating against the stone walls of the manor, a sound that grated against his nerves and fueled the already burning presence of the curse in his own blood.
He turned back to find his men huddled in the grand hallway, their faces pale and their weapons trembling in their grips. They were capable soldiers, men who had faced down rival syndicates and survived ass
