Our first defense against the Nightlins are called Watchers.
The Dark
One month earlier
Taut, heavy chains held the prisoner's arms and legs weighing him to the ground. Blood had pooled underneath him, and soaked into what remained of his tattered clothes. The years he had been shut in the darkened room had melded together. His eyes could not remember the last time they had seen the sun.
A figure stopped in front of the closed door. Its shadow eclipsed the soft light seeping through the cracks. A key inserted into the lock disrupted the silence. As the door labored to open, pale light spilled across the dirt floor, but it stopped short of the man, as if the tendrils of light were teasing him. An ink-black creature stepped through the doorway, blotting out the light as the door closed. The creature made no sound, as it made its way toward the prisoner.
"Are you ready?" Whispered the raspy voice. The words tangled and barely understood. Its breath pushed out on a wheeze, as it brushed against the man's face. The air foul, like the acrid smell of burning flesh. Poking the gaunt prisoner's chest with its long nails, the creature sliced through the prisoner's thin skin. Despite the excruciating pain, the prisoner made no sound. His mind had left him long ago. His body only remained. His vacant eyes never acknowledged the creature before him.
"I will take that to be a yes." The creature rose. It flicked its wrist, the chains fell away, and the prisoner crumpled to the ground. A dry scaly hand wrapped around the man's wrist, and the creature dragged him out of the room.
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