Darkness didn't fall.
It swallowed.
One heartbeat, the burning village still raged around them—
flames, screams, collapsing ruins—
and the next heartbeat, everything dissolved like ash washed off stone.
Inara felt the ground split beneath her feet.
Irvine yanked her into his arms just as the world dropped away.
Her scream was silent—
the void ate the sound.
Then—
THUD.
They landed hard on cold stone.
Not dirt.
Not mud.
Not forest.
Stone carved into a circle.
A ritual circle.
The darkness peeled back slowly,
revealing a cavernous chamber spiraling upward with no end in sight—
walls carved with thousands of wedding veils,
coffins stacked like pews,
and bones arranged in neat rows as if preparing for a ceremony.
Everywhere she looked,
faces of brides etched in stone stared back at her.
Mouths open.
Eyes hollow.
Frozen in the moment of their final scream.
Inara felt her breath tighten.
"Irvine… this is—"
"Yeah." His grip tightened.
"The core. The very heart of it."
Above them, far above,
veils fluttered like dying moths—
the whispers of dead brides brushing the air in frantic, broken prayers.
And in the center of the chamber
stood the **altar**.
Black.
Monolithic.
Veined with old gold and dried blood.
Atop it—
A wedding dress.
Not Inara's.
Someone else's.
Someone who died here.
And—
the remains still inside it.
Inara covered her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
"They kept them here," she whispered.
"All of them. Every bride that was taken."
Irvine stepped in front of her, blocking the sight.
"You're not joining them. Not today."
But the chamber shifted—
a ripple of cold sweeping through the air.
*He's here.*
---
### **THE GROOM DESCENDS**
A veil drifted down from above—
slow, elegant, ceremonial—
until it hovered just above the altar.
The Groom emerged beneath it,
materializing from smoke and shadow.
His face was clearer now.
Less of a blur.
More human.
Too human.
His jawline sharp.
Cheekbones carved and hollow.
Eyes dark as a sealed tomb.
His ceremonial uniform was no longer pristine—
it was cracked, torn, leaking embers and ash
as if Irvine's slash had burned a curse inside him.
He looked at Inara.
He didn't blink.
He simply watched the way a man watches a woman walking down the aisle.
Inara felt her legs weaken.
Irvine stepped between them—
shoulders squared, chest rising with a breath that shook the ground beneath him.
"You're not touching her," he said.
The Groom tilted his head slightly.
Then—
Without moving a muscle,
**the entire chamber responded.**
Veils unfurled.
Coffins snapped open.
Brides—hundreds—rose from the stone walls,
their skeletal bodies wrapped in rotted lace.
Inara grabbed Irvine's arm.
"Oh god—"
They weren't alive.
They weren't dead.
They were waiting.
Waiting for a bride.
Waiting for her.
The Groom lifted one hand.
The brides all mimicked the gesture.
And Inara felt something wrench her backward.
"Irvine—!"
He caught her immediately, arms locking around her waist.
But something stronger pulled in the opposite direction—
a force like iron hooks dragging her veil and hair backward toward the altar.
The Groom's whisper echoed through the chamber:
*Come home, bride.*
Inara screamed.
Irvine dug his heels into the stone.
"NO! She's NOT yours!"
But the force escalated—
a tidal pull.
The stone beneath Inara cracked.
Her shoes skidded across it.
The shadow brides reached for her—
hundreds of cold skeletal hands.
Irvine roared and pulled harder.
And then—
The shadow beside him moved.
Not predictable.
Not slow.
Not a reflection.
**It attacked him.**
It lunged from the ground like a creature freed from a leash,
grabbing Irvine's own shoulder
and wrenching him away from Inara.
He gasped.
"Inara—run—!"
"No!" she cried, grabbing his wrist as the shadow yanked him backward.
"I'm not leaving you!"
The shadow Irvine hissed—
a sound like metal fracturing underwater.
It wasn't just a shadow.
It was **a version of him** shaped by the Groom's influence.
Inara stared at it in horror.
"Irvine… that's you."
"No," he gritted, struggling against it.
"That's what he wants me to be."
The shadow tightened its grip around his throat.
Inara screamed, clawing at the darkness holding him,
but her fingers passed through it—
cold, burning, numbing.
The Groom took one graceful step forward.
And the shadow Irvine straightened,
like a soldier saluting his commander.
Inara's heartbeat exploded in her ears.
"Let him go! Let him GO!"
The Groom didn't speak.
He extended his hand.
The shadow Irvine obeyed immediately,
lifting real Irvine off the ground
as if presenting him for judgment.
Irvine choked for breath—
legs kicking,
veins bulging,
his hands clawing desperately at something he couldn't grip.
The shadow tightened like a leash.
Inara rushed toward him.
But the Groom lifted one finger—
and the brides surged to block her path.
Their veils billowed like wings,
their skeletal hands reaching for her face.
"Inara!" Irvine gasped out, voice cracking.
"Don't—touch—them—!"
She staggered back, tears burning her eyes.
"Irvine—I can't reach you—"
His head jerked violently as the shadow's grip tightened.
But his eyes—
even through the pain—
locked onto hers.
"Inara… listen to me…"
"I'm listening—just tell me what to do—!"
"Don't let him separate us," he rasped.
"That's how the ritual completes."
The Groom turned his veiled head toward them.
And whispered, almost tenderly:
*Separate.*
The brides shrieked as one,
lunging toward Inara.
She cried out and stumbled backward.
Irvine roared,
fighting the shadow strangling him,
but every movement only tightened the noose.
"Inara—RUN!"
"I'm NOT leaving you!"
"You HAVE to—!"
"No!"
Their shouts collided with the chamber's echo.
The Groom lifted both hands—
and the altar cracked open.
ANOTHER bride rose from inside it.
Not skeletal.
Not rotted.
Fresh.
Preserved.
Her face was serene.
Her veil perfect.
Her dress unstained.
Inara's skin crawled.
It was her.
Not literally—
But the dress.
The build.
The veil.
The posture.
The **next** bride.
The mold of the ritual.
The template they wanted Inara to fill.
And behind her—
hovering like a dark twin—
was the **shadow bride**,
a silhouette of Inara made from smoke.
Inara staggered.
Her voice cracked.
"They want to replace me."
Irvine's hands tore at the shadow choking him.
"Not—while—I'M—ALIVE—"
The shadow squeezed harder.
Irvine's body jerked.
His knees folded.
His breath vanished.
Inara screamed.
"IRVINE!"
She lunged toward him—
breaking through two brides,
ripping lace and bone aside in a burst of desperate strength.
But the Groom snapped his fingers.
And the entire chamber shifted.
The floor split.
A chasm opened between them.
Irvine fell to one side—
Inara to the other.
She slid backward, scrambling to grip the stone.
Irvine tried to reach her,
his fingers outstretched.
"Inara—TAKE MY HAND!"
"I'm trying—!"
Their fingertips brushed—
And the Groom appeared between them.
Instantly.
Effortlessly.
A veil of smoke separating their hands.
"No—NO!" Inara sobbed, pounding her fists against the darkness.
The Groom turned toward her,
his face finally visible in full torchlight.
A handsome corpse.
A perfect groom preserved by grief and madness.
And in his voice—
every dead bride echoed:
*You will walk the aisle.*
Inara shook violently.
"No… I don't want—"
*You will.*
She screamed as something invisible clamped around her ankles,
dragging her toward the altar.
The shadow bride extended her arms.
Welcoming her.
Inviting her.
Preparing to merge with her.
Irvine heaved himself up,
blood pouring from his mouth
as he ripped the shadow hand from his neck.
He roared—
a sound torn from the deepest part of his soul.
"GET. AWAY. FROM. HER!"
He slammed his fist into the stone—
And his own shadow obeyed him.
For the first time.
It shot across the chasm like a spear—
piercing through the brides blocking his way—
slamming into the shadow bride.
The force cracked the chamber walls.
The shadow bride shrieked and flickered violently.
The Groom whipped around, furious.
Irvine staggered toward the edge.
He looked half-dead—
but his voice was iron.
"She's MY bride."
The Groom stepped forward to strike.
Irvine bared his teeth.
"And you're NOT her groom."
The chamber trembled.
The brides wailed.
The veils curled inward,
the fire licking the altar like a beast awakening.
Midnight was almost upon them.
And the ritual wasn't finished.
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