Paula stood slowly, dripping bile and black blood, but the wrongness of how she looked didn't come from her wounds – it came from the way her empty eyes tracked the room casually. As if she were documenting a crime scene.
Ronan watched.
Maren stayed frozen near Emma's corpse, tears still wet on her face.
Aura shifted into a combat stance, demonic energy flickering around her fingers.
Paula's head tilted, studying them with unnatural patience.
Then her mouth opened.
And a man's voice emerged.
"Foolish, Paula. Truly foolish."
The words carried weight, not because of any actual mana behind them, but because of some hidden authority.
Ronan's mind accelerated.
Clearly some kind of possession. Remote control. This entity strong enough to override a corpse and maintain coherence from distance.
Paula's – no, the entity's – gaze swept the ruined chamber, cataloging everything. Torn bodies, burned offerings, and the shattered basin still leaking cultist blood across stone.
