Ian and the Cellar

Ian's consciousness sank into the shadows. His form silently dissolved, transforming into a pitch-black Raven that quietly perched atop a ceiling beam high within the temple's main hall.

His eyes were as deep as black jade, piercing through dust and shadow as they remained fixed on the desperate struggle below.

Having been directly seized and lifted by the Ghost Bride, the scepter priest's feet kicked madly in midair. The blood threads around his neck tightened ever further, leaving web-like purple marks across his aged skin. His white robe with gold trim was soaked through with cold sweat, while his scepter had long since fallen beside the altar, its sun disk head split in two.

"Spare... spare me..." the priest squeezed out through clenched teeth. The Ghost Bride's expressionless face was reflected in his bloodshot eyes. "I... I can continue serving you."

The scepter priest was suspended high by the blood threads, his feet dangling above the ground. His neck was tightly constricted, his face turning purple and his eyes bulging.

He struggled violently, producing choking gurgles from his throat. His wand had long slipped from his grasp, and the Star Scepter lay rolling on the floor, its glow dimmed. He looked utterly wretched.

"Heh heh~"

The Ghost Bride's red eyes flickered slightly, and the blood threads around him loosened a little. Just as a trace of hope flashed through the priest's eyes, it became an even deeper terror the next second—the threads split apart, and one slithered into his ear like a venomous snake!

"Ahhh—!" The priest let out an inhuman scream, his limbs spasming convulsively. He could feel that strand of blood thread moving through his brain, searching for a particular memory.

In Raven form, Ian silently landed upon the window frame, his sharp gaze piercing through the concealment