The creature’s wings spread wide, feathers like jagged blades dripping with some viscous, tar-like fluid that hissed when it touched the floor. Its body seemed stitched together from both human and divine forms, arms too long, fingers tapering into scythe-like claws, its face hidden beneath a warped halo of bone. From its throat came a sound that wasn’t a roar or scream but a low vibration, an unnatural hum that rattled the marrow of those who heard it.
The Harbingers froze. Their breathing faltered. Even seasoned killers, trained to face the Tower’s horrors, found their instincts abandoning them. This thing wasn’t a floor boss, wasn’t even a guardian. It was wrong, an interloper in the Tower’s design.
Seth’s heart clenched in his chest. He felt it—the killing intent, sharper than any he
