"Ross! You need me!" he shouted, kicking feebly with his remaining foot. "They'll never obey you without me! Not fully!"
He clawed at the floor, leaving behind smears of red as he was pulled further away.
"Ross! Give me a chance! I'll do anything! Anything! Please—!"
Thud!
The heavy door slammed shut, silencing his cries. Only the fading echo remained, swallowed by the dark hallways of the manor.
Ross stood still, eyes on the door.
He didn't move for a few seconds, simply inhaling the quiet that followed.
Then he whispered, "I have no need for dumb fucks like you."
With a flick of his fingers, the shadows behind him shifted.
From the empty space beside the bed, a figure began to take shape—an identical copy of Thomas.
Every detail was perfect: the weary eyes, the scars, the scent, the voice. But this wasn't Thomas.
It was a puppet—an undead construct Ross had cultivated using dark sorcery.
