The manor loomed ahead like a gaping maw, its cracked facade bathed in the sickly glow of the crescent moon. Overgrown vines clung to its walls like veins, and faint, flickering light spilled out from the grand arched windows. The air hummed faintly, charged with the weight of unholy power. 

Sioux adjusted their jacket, hands hovering near their twin pistols. Every instinct screamed at them to turn back, but the sigil’s pull was relentless now—a steady, throbbing presence just beneath their skin. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but it was close enough. 

"This place gives me the creeps," they muttered, glancing at Caedric. 

"It should," Caedric said, his voice low. He held the journal close, its pages marked with notes and hastily sketched sigils. "If Rhett’s intel is right, the ritual is being held in the grand ballroom. It’s heavily warded, but there’s a weak point near the southern wall. That’s where we’ll breach." 

"And Rhett?" Sioux asked, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of their rogue ally. 

As if summoned, Rhett emerged from the darkness, their movements as silent as a predator’s. Their dark cloak blended seamlessly with the night, and their face was obscured by a mask—one of the many they seemed to collect. This one was painted with the grotesque grin of a jester, its hollow eyes glittering with malice. 

"Miss me?" Rhett asked, their voice laced with amusement. 

"Not particularly," Sioux shot back. 

Rhett chuckled, their gaze darting between the two. "You’re lucky I’m here. The Masquerade doesn’t take kindly to party crashers. But don’t worry—I’ve got the perfect distraction lined up." 

"Distraction?" Caedric asked, frowning. 

Rhett reached into their cloak and pulled out a small, spherical object, no larger than a fist. Runes etched into its surface glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. 

"A little something I borrowed from an old friend," Rhett said, tossing the sphere from hand to hand. "It’ll cause just enough chaos to cover our entrance. After that, we’re on our own." 

Sioux eyed the device warily. "And what happens if it doesn’t work?" 

Rhett grinned behind their mask. "Then we improvise." 

Caedric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Let’s move. We don’t have much time." 

—

The three of them crept through the overgrown gardens, keeping to the shadows as they approached the manor. The air grew heavier with each step, the sigil’s presence intensifying. Sioux clenched their fists, their breath coming in shallow gasps. 

"You alright?" Caedric whispered, his hand brushing their arm. 

Sioux nodded, though their voice betrayed their unease. "Just peachy." 

They reached the southern wall without incident, crouching behind a crumbling stone fountain. Rhett knelt beside them, their fingers dancing over the runed sphere. 

"Alright," Rhett said, their voice low. "When this goes off, the wards will destabilize for about sixty seconds. That’s your window. Don’t waste it." 

"And you?" Caedric asked. 

"I’ll be… around," Rhett said with a shrug. "Trust me, you’ll know if I’m in trouble." 

Sioux rolled their eyes. "Comforting." 

Rhett pressed a small sigil on the sphere, and it began to hum, the runes glowing brighter. With a flick of their wrist, they lobbed it toward the manor. The sphere landed with a soft thud, rolling to a stop near the base of the wall. 

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Then, the night exploded. 

A shockwave of light and sound erupted from the sphere, shattering the silence and sending ripples of energy through the air. The manor’s wards flared to life, their intricate glyphs glowing briefly before flickering out. 

"Go!" Caedric hissed, pulling Sioux to their feet. 

They sprinted toward the wall, climbing through the jagged opening the explosion had created. The sigil burned hot against Sioux’s chest, its pull guiding them like an invisible thread. 

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burnt magic. The grand ballroom stretched before them, its once-opulent decor now faded and eerie. Hooded figures stood in a circle at the room’s center, their chants rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence. 

In the middle of the circle stood an altar, and on it, a fragment of the sigil glowed with an otherworldly light. The fragment pulsed in time with Sioux’s heartbeat, its power a siren’s call. 

"We need to disrupt the circle," Caedric whispered, his eyes locked on the chanting figures. "If they complete the ritual, the sigil’s power will become unstoppable." 

"Leave it to me," Rhett said, appearing at their side like a shadow. 

Before either of them could protest, Rhett darted into the fray, their movements fluid and unpredictable. They threw another sphere into the circle, the explosion scattering the hooded figures and breaking their chant. 

"Move!" Caedric shouted, drawing a knife from his belt. 

Sioux didn’t hesitate. They drew Bonnie and Clyde, their shots ringing out as they covered Caedric’s advance. The hooded figures regrouped quickly, their movements unnervingly synchronized. One of them raised a hand, and a bolt of dark energy shot toward Sioux. 

They dove to the side, rolling to their feet just in time to fire a round into the figure’s chest. The hood collapsed in a spray of blood, revealing a gaunt, pale face twisted in fury. 

Meanwhile, Caedric reached the altar, his knife flashing as he began carving symbols into the air. The fragment’s glow intensified, its power lashing out like a living thing. 

"Sioux!" Caedric shouted, his voice strained. "I need you!" 

Sioux turned, their chest tightening as the sigil’s power surged. They could feel it pulling at them, its whispers growing louder, more insistent. 

"Sioux!" 

Gritting their teeth, they pushed forward, ignoring the burning in their veins. They reached the altar and grabbed the fragment, their fingers curling around its jagged edges. 

The world shifted. 

For a moment, Sioux was everywhere and nowhere, their mind flooded with visions of fire, blood, and endless, screaming voids. The sigil’s voice roared in their head, a thousand voices speaking as one. 

You cannot escape me. 

"Watch me," Sioux growled, their voice trembling. 

With a surge of will, they slammed the fragment onto the altar, shattering it into pieces. 

The explosion of light and sound was deafening, and then—silence.