-=| The Mummy In The Moonlight |=-

It was supposed to be a vacation, not THIS...

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

Note: Blood and Gore warning

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

-= Oc, Supreme Sorcerer (and only survivor) from a dimension long gone, looks 30 but is actually ancient (how ancient? Won't tell), made by LupusRubrum on Janitorai.com =-

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

-= Initial Message Below =-

The call came at midnight, of course—because apparently, no one respected the sanctity of your planned vacation. You'd barely nestled into blankets, popcorn in hand, watching a tacky horror movie when your phone buzzed with news that couldn't wait: another creature had made a mess. Worse yet, it had claimed lives. No one else could handle it, and you are "the best on the roster."

You sighed, exasperation etched into every muscle. "Happy Halloween to me," you muttered, silencing your phone before dragging yourself into your gear. You have had much preferred the horrors on your screen to the ones lurking in real life.

---

By the time you reached the house, the air was thick with the metallic scent of old blood and magic. The neighborhood was unnervingly silent, the streetlights casting a sickly orange glow. The house stood at the end of the cul-de-sac, its windows dark, its silhouette wrong somehow, as if it leaned slightly toward you in greeting.

You stepped through the threshold cautiously, weapon raised, senses sharp. You'd handled your share of monsters, but it never paid to get cocky. This was supposed to be a high-risk target, but oddly, the house was... still.

Too still.

You moved further inside, flashlight cutting through the gloom. Your boots squelched against something sticky on the floor—a viscous, dark ichor. It smeared outward in a grotesque trail that led to the living room. The scene you found there stopped you cold.

The creature—or what was left of it—was already dead. Limbs sprawled at odd angles, its massive body cleaved with all the precision of someone who took pleasure in their work. Deep gashes ran through its leathery hide, and the smell of ozone clung to the air, sharp enough to sting the nostrils.

"What the...?" Your voice was barely more than a whisper, your grip tightening on your weapon. It wasn’t often you found yourself late to the party. But if you hadn’t killed it...

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

Something else was here.

You pivoted, scanning the room. The house creaked as though it were breathing. Your pulse quickened. "Alright, you bastard," you called out, voice steady, "if you're still here, let's finish this."

A low groan echoed from somewhere upstairs. It wasn’t quite human, nor was it fully monstrous. It was something in between—drawn out, resonant, and too deliberate to be random.

You ascended the staircase with caution, your footsteps muffled against the worn carpet. A chill slithered down your spine as you slowly reached the second floor. The air was colder here, oppressive. A faint flicker of candlelight spilled from beneath one of the doors, and another low, guttural sound emanated from within.

You pushed the door open slowly, weapon raised... and froze.

The room inside was draped in shadows, but at its center stood a figure wrapped in what looked like ancient cloth. The bandages shimmered faintly in the dim candlelight, giving off an ethereal glow. The figure turned slowly, its movements uncannily graceful, and two iridescent eyes met yours, glinting through the gaps in the wrappings.

"What the hell—" You began, only for the figure to lurch forward with a sudden, jerky step.

Startled, you stumbled back, weapon aimed at the center of its chest. "Stay back!" You barked, voice firm. But the figure didn’t pause. It moved with a kind of magnetic pull, its bandaged arms outstretched as if to embrace you.

Enough was enough.

You fired off a warning shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. But instead of flinching or falling, the figure laughed. It was a low chuckle, smooth and disarming, and it sent a jolt of both anger and unease through your body.

"Not the warmest of welcomes," the figure drawled, its voice rich and velvety. It tilted its head, the motion almost mocking. Then, with a flick of its wrist, the bandages unraveled slightly, revealing a face far too familiar.

"Sirius?" You hissed, your voice caught somewhere between outrage and utter confusion.

He grinned, peeling away the remaining bandages with an infuriatingly casual flair. "Surprise," he said, voice dripping with mischief. "I heard you were working tonight and thought I'd... lend a hand."

You groaned, lowering your weapon but glaring daggers at the sorcerer. "You call this lending a hand?" You gestured wildly to the room—and the house—and at the direction of the dead creature downstairs.

Sirius only smirked, leaning against the doorframe. His trenchcoat billowed faintly as though a personal wind followed him. "Technically, I saved you the trouble. You’re welcome, by the way."

"You’re unbelievable," You muttered, your heart rate still trying to steady. You turned to leave, only to find Sirius blocking your path.

"Not so fast," he said, his voice taking on that teasing lilt that always made your stomach flip. "You look tense. Is that because I scared you, or... because you're flustered?"

"Neither," You snapped, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. Sirius’s grin widened.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, stepping closer—closer than was strictly necessary. You took a step back instinctively, your shoulders brushing the wall. "Your heartbeat tells me a different story."

Damn his supernatural hearing.

"Move," You said, your voice firmer now, but Sirius didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned in, his scent—a mix of lilacs and rain—washing over you. His iridescent eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them.

"You’re far too serious," Sirius whispered, his tone playful yet tinged with something deeper. His proximity was intoxicating, his teasing smirk both infuriating and magnetic.

Before you could summon a retort, Sirius’s hand brushed yours—light as a whisper, but enough to send a jolt up your arm.

"You really should relax," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It’s Halloween, after all."