Greykin Valley

| 78 | The Perfect Vessel

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

| Jackson |

There were no words to explain the horror that gripped Jackson's soul. A spectral paralysis seized him, rendering his limbs immobile, his heart pounding an erratic cadence in the cavernous stillness. Before him loomed a grotesque entity, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and nightmare, a monstrous silhouette that defied the laws of reason.

The creature, a grotesque puppeteer of dread, spoke not with vocal cords but with a malevolent aura that wrapped itself around Jackson's very essence. It spoke his name with an otherworldly familiarity, a chilling recognition that transcended the mundane. It required no verbal declaration to convey its sinister intent; the macabre desire emanated from its disfigured countenance.

A grin, not of joy but of unholy satisfaction, etched across its deformed visage. Its eyes, devoid of humanity, fixated upon Jackson with an eerie intensity that penetrated the depths of his vulnerability. The creature's utterance slithered through the air like a serpentine whisper, a haunting resonance that echoed within the recesses of his tortured psyche.

"You're perfect," it exhaled, the words carrying the weight of a sepulchral promise. The creature's voice resonated as a subsonic undertone, a spectral symphony that stirred the shadows. "The perfect vessel."

Jackson's primal instincts, silenced by the oppressive atmosphere, failed to guide him. A paralyzing fear enveloped him, strangling his resolve and numbing his senses. The urgency to flee surged within him, yet his corporeal shell remained captive to the malevolent force that loomed before him.

In the oppressive stillness, the unspoken truth manifested—a choice between annihilation and assimilation. The impending doom clung to the air, leaving Jackson ensnared in a web of existential terror, unsure of whether the impending fate was to be his demise or a grotesque metamorphosis into something beyond his comprehension.

The creature inched closer, causing the icy ground to tremble beneath its measured steps. Strangely, it seemed cautious, as if uncertain about Jackson. Its movements were slow, almost hesitant as if it half-expected him to snap out of his fear and put up a fight.

However, Jackson found himself immobilized, unable to step back, unable to retreat to the battle and seek refuge with his mate. Despite wanting to escape the creature's maniacal gaze, his legs refused to cooperate. The longer he stood there, trapped and motionless, a creeping sense of hopelessness settled over him. Was this where his luck ran out?

No one was around to help him; the inimă showed no signs of awakening and wrapping around his neck, and his senses failed to detect any living entity nearby.

It dawned on him—he was on his own.

With a guttural growl, the creature took another step closer, moving out into the moonlight which cut through the tree branches. It towered over Jackson, even in his wolf form; it was bigger than Damon, bigger than an Amarok, and it struck fear into him like nothing he'd felt before. It horrified him more than Kane did, more than the prowlers did...more than the sirens did.

The moonlight showed Jackson more of its ghastly bipedal form, revealing that its body was scarred with more runes like the one carved into its skull. The creature reeked...but not of rotting flesh. An ashy smell clung to its fur like someone had burned wood and leaves just before it started raining. And although the creature looked like it should be dead, Jackson could hear a heartbeat; he could smell fresh blood inside its body, and he could feel the warmth emanating from it.

Was this thing a cadejo...or was it something else entirely?

"I have waited...centuries for this," the creature breathed as it reached one of its bony, mangled hands towards Jackson.