Roland lifted his right hand slow and deliberate, holding his jagged dagger above his open palm. Without a single trace of hesitation—or even a flinch of human pain—he dragged the cold steel across his skin, slicing deep through muscle and vein.
Hot, dark blood welled instantly from the gaping wound. But instead of falling to the dirt, the liquid froze in mid-air, suspended by an unholy pressure. The writhing shadows pooling around his feet surged upward like a starved, sentient creature, leaping toward the red mist and drinking the crimson offering with greedy, violent snaps.
A sickening, low roar vibrated through the foundation of the subterranean chamber. The shadows ignited, bursting into wavering black flames that licked the icy stone walls and consumed the meager candlelight. The entire sanctuary began to tremble violently; heavy dust and stone fragments rained from the vaulted ceiling as if the earth itself were recoiling in absolute terror from the forbidden sorcery.
