It was the tomb of what remained of his mind.
---
The air outside the Tower was thick with silence, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. The Tower's entrance was not a door, but a dark fissure in the wall, like shadows parting their maw to swallow him whole.
Gabriel stepped forward, his footsteps on the leather earth producing sounds like one walking on the corpse of a giant. The ground pulsed—slowly—as if still alive.
He entered the Tower.
The interior was not what he expected. No spiral staircase, no stone walls... Instead, a vast hall stretched upward without end, its walls black and glossy, reflecting distorted images that did not match his movements. Light came from above, but it was no natural light—rather, a thick ashen glow, as if from a dead moon.
And at the center of the hall... a table.
No ordinary table, but a stone monolith fused with the floor, carved by a hand not human. Upon it lay three leather parchments arranged with care, and before them, a mirror veiled in thick black cloth that stirred despite the absence of wind.
Gabriel stepped forward. Each step took him further from reality, closer to something deeper, something older than time itself.
He stood before the table.
The mirror showed nothing, but Gabriel dared not unveil it yet. The parchments trembled as if breathing. He chose the first.
THE DARK DEMON.
That was what he read—an author's name, as if whispered to him before.
The parchment was heavy, thick, saturated with the stench of mildew and burnt flesh. Its texture felt like it had been flayed from a being that should not exist. Its color was a dark brown verging on black, the edges partially charred as if it had survived some infernal rite.
At the top, in dense, jagged black script, was the title:
THE DARK DEMON: SHAPESHIFTERS AS A SPECIES
Beneath it, a grotesque anatomical sketch merging a human body with a shadowy demonic form—as if crafted from darkness rather than flesh—with multiple elongated limbs, one finger touching what might have been a black hole or perhaps a galaxy. The head bore twin horns, the eyes extinguished like voids in space. The body was encircled by arcane symbols and incantations carved in an alien tongue—not of this world—yet inverted, as if etched from the inside out.
Along the margins were illustrated classifications:
Masters of Adaptability
Twisted beings ranging from alien forms, bestial shapes, to dark demons. Some had glossy black skin, others were covered in spines or dark fur. Their transformation stages were depicted in a horrifying sequence: muscles tearing, bones twisting, eyes multiplying.
Beasts. Humans. Behemoths.
Heads of varying shapes—some with multiple eyes, sideways-splitting jaws, limbs jointed in unnatural ways. Each creature was mid-transformation, as if the image captured the curse in motion.
Transmorphs
A lower section showed four sequential forms of a single entity shifting: from a naked alien to a translucent blue specter, then to a dark-skinned demon-like being, then finally to something so bizarre Gabriel couldn't comprehend it—no longer a recognizable shape. Its face had darkened into featurelessness, as if everything had been stolen away forever.
Energy Aura
A sketch of a four-legged creature with long horns resembling a goat from our world, its body emitting a dark, smoke-like aura, as if its very existence screamed in silent agony. Its skin was black, with a serpentine tail, shark-like teeth—a hybrid between wolf and goat, stranger than words could describe. Beside the aura was written: *"Seen only by the marked. Their breath carries whispers."*
Mysterious Ex-Humans
Distorted alien faces emerging from ash—some grinning ear-to-ear, others with hollow voids where eyes should be. Beneath them: "No longer flesh, no longer spirit."
Hosts of Disguise
Creatures resembling animals but... wrong. A wolf with an alien face, a rabbit-shaped demon in a black cloak, a crow with human hands. The caption read: *"Eyes deceive. Trust is death."*
The symbols surrounding each illustration were twisted sigils, perhaps mapping the transformation—or perhaps incantations to control the form, or to expel the shifting entity.
At the bottom of the page, finely carved into the leather (not inked):
> "True form is chaos. Identity is an illusion. The shapeshifter is not a being—it is a curse wearing flesh."
Gabriel read the words... but his mind did not immediately grasp them. The parchment seemed to vibrate in his hand, or perhaps something within it was watching him. Something that had been asleep... and now stirred—because it had been read.
Gabriel was bewildered, his eyes wide with shock, his hands trembling. His mind threatened to shatter from the horror in his grasp. With a shaking hand, he picked up the second parchment.
Its title bore the name of an author:
Rose
---
The second parchment was thicker than the first, as if made from the hide of something not of this earth. Its texture was dry like decaying bone, its edges eroded as if it had escaped an ancient fire never fully extinguished. The moment the reader—no, not Gabriel—touched it, a faint shiver ran through his fingers, as if the parchment was breathing... or watching.
At its center stood a witch with a dagger-sharp hat and a long black robe that swayed like frozen smoke. Her back held more presence than any face, staring into the unknown as if she saw the unseen. Her left hand held a sun, her right a star—more majestic and vast than the sun itself.
Around her, symbols were scattered, yet not chaotic—each held meaning. Complex magical circles intertwined with astrological signs, sigils, secret alphabets, and inverted triangles. Some symbols were etched in dark ink like dried blood, others burned with unnatural clarity, as if branded onto the reader's skin at first glance.
The owl illustrated on the left stared directly, as if it knew who was reading now—weighing their intent, judging them. Beside it, a cauldron boiled, thick black smoke rising as if the page itself bled magic.
Words scattered throughout—SPELLCASTER, BREWING, POTION, DOMINION—but these were not mere letters. They were awake sigils. There was an enigmatic key, a book tightly bound with a leather strap. Opposite, a raven with wings outstretched, like a messenger from the underworld, ready to carry the curses of this page to any who dared read it.
The pentagram repeated, yet never the same—each iteration contained new circles, different incantations, phrases in extinct tongues. Every part of the page was alive, moving without motion, pulsing with something deeper than magic... something ancient. Impossibly ancient.
This parchment was not merely proof of our smallness in the cosmos... It was a mirror. Whoever read it, was read in turn. Whoever stared too long, lost their sense of time. As if it whispered:
"You are finished."
Gabriel slowly raised his head toward the mirror… He was not ready. Something in that second parchment had shattered the veil between him and the truth… And when his eyes met their reflection, time froze.
What he saw in the mirror defied comprehension… or rather, it was *himself* that had become incomprehensible.
The creature in the mirror was wrought from nightmares… Its head was shrouded in a tattered cowl, fabric frayed as if time had gnawed at it with fangs. Its skin—gray and fissured like parched earth—seemed dead for centuries, yet pulsed with a vile, lingering animation.
Its eyes… Dear God… They were not eyes at all, but two smoldering crimson embers, burning in their sockets like hellfire made manifest. They did not blink. They did not waver. They watched. Measured. Judged. And smiled.
Its smile was the catastrophe… A grin more horrifying than anything this world could conjure. Its lips were permanently split, stretched by something not of human design. Rows of teeth gleamed—some pristine white and needle-sharp, others broken as if someone had tried to shatter them and failed. That smile… It was not joy. It was a curse.
Its beard was thick, a soiled white, as if once pure before being steeped in ash and sin. Threads dangled from it like remnants of unfinished rituals… And upon its chest hung a strange symbol—interlocking metal rings resembling a cross, yet not a cross… closer to an inverted sigil, consecrated for ruin, not protection.
Its skin was creased, serrated, crawling across its face like a web of charred spiders. Its nose jutted forward, cheekbones protruding as if its flesh were trying to flee its own skeleton… and failing.
Its hair was long and white, and around its neck hung a chain bearing a crescent moon, a pentagram, and a cross.
Every part of it bled ancient ugliness… A corrupted beauty. A sickened enchantment. A crushing presence. This was no mere reflection. It was the summoning of what Gabriel had become after touching true darkness.
The mirror did not reflect him…
It transfigured him.
And in that moment, Gabriel beheld what could not be understood. He saw the truth. He saw And awareness the Raven. He saw the Hunter of the Dark—or rather, he saw himself as he truly was.
---
End of Chapter