Gillian sat motionless behind the heavy oak desk in the private library of Mourning Manor. The dim candlelight danced on the walls, creating long shadows that looked like the fingers of a monster ready to pounce. Outside, the Prague night wind howled behind the large glass windows, carrying the scent of snow and wet earth. Gillian stared at his own palms, which still felt numb. His mind drifted far back to the two women now under the same roof as him, who were slowly losing the ability to protect him from spiritual destruction.
He remembered the night he brought Klara into his life as his first wife. Klara, with her background from a lineage of ancient ritual keepers, was initially an unshakable pillar. Gillian closed his eyes and could almost smell the strong incense in their ritual chamber years ago. Back then, his Eye of Death curse was still a mere whisper, not a hysterical scream like it was now.
"Klara, are you sure you can bear this burden?" Gillian had asked then, his voice much younger and full of doubt.
Klara looked at him with deep eyes, her cold fingers touching Gillian's forehead gently. "This is the destiny of my bloodline, Gillian. I was created to be your antidote. Give me a portion of that darkness, and let me keep it within my womb."
However, time proved that Klara’s strength had limits. Gillian remembered how Klara's face gradually grew paler year after year. Every time Gillian returned carrying the residual death energy from his missions, Klara would fall ill for days. Her black hair began to grey prematurely, and her eyes that once shone now appeared dull, like a mirror covered in thick dust. Klara had failed to dampen the escalation of the new curse that emerged after the major executions in Eastern Europe. Her strength was completely drained, leaving her as an empty shell who could only offer prayers without real power.
"I can’t do it anymore, Gillian," Klara whispered one night in the middle of a failed ritual, her breath gasping amidst the plumes of frankincense smoke.
Gillian could only stare at her with an overwhelming sense of guilt. "I know, Klara. Forgive me for destroying you."
Then came Elena, the second pillar chosen with the hope of plugging the holes left by Klara. Elena was the daughter of an important business associate in the gangster world, a woman possessing extraordinary physical endurance and a hidden spark of mystic talent. The marriage to Elena initially brought stability. Elena was far more aggressive in absorbing Gillian’s negative energy. She did not fall ill like Klara; instead, she became increasingly cold and heartless.
"Give it all to me, Gillian. I am not afraid of the ghosts that follow you," Elena said defiantly when they first slept under the same covers.
Gillian remembered the pungent scent of Elena’s rose perfume, which seemed to try and mask the metallic smell of blood that always followed his steps. Elena was highly confident that she could conquer the curse. However, the death threads Gillian saw at the Estates Theatre last night were clear proof that Elena, too, had reached her limit. Gillian remembered Elena’s face this morning when he returned from the meeting with the syndicate. That beautiful face was now adorned with bluish veins around her neck, a sign that her body could no longer process the spiritual poison Gillian funneled into it.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Elena asked curtly when they crossed paths in the corridor this morning.
"I am only checking on your condition, Elena. You look tired," Gillian answered shortly, trying to hide his concern.
Elena laughed coldly, a sound that resembled breaking glass. "Tired? I feel as if I am swallowing hot pebbles every time you touch me. Your curse has changed, Gillian. It is no longer looking for an antidote; it is looking for prey."
Gillian took a long breath, opening his eyes and looking back into the darkness of the library. Klara failed because her soul was too soft for the ever-increasing cruelty, while Elena failed because although her body was strong, she lacked the spiritual depth to bind the death energy that was now massive in scale. Both could now only survive by maintaining physical distance from him. They were no longer supporting pillars, but witnesses to his nearing collapse.
"They are no longer enough," Gillian muttered, his voice echoing among the silent, old bookshelves.
He remembered how last night’s ritual in the secret room nearly claimed the lives of both his wives. When the energy from the Estates Theatre overflowed, Klara collapsed, foaming at the mouth, while Elena screamed in agony as the skin on her arm blistered spontaneously. Both of them were no longer able to hold the burden of just one man, let alone the burden of hundreds of lives whose threads coiled around that theatre building. This failure was the reason why the syndicate gave him such a stern warning.
"Am I the one destroying them, or is this curse using them as fuel?" Gillian asked himself.
He rose from his chair, walked toward the window, and stared at the dark pine forest. He felt his wrist, sensing the heat from the tattoo that was now beginning to turn black. The failure of Klara and Elena was not just a domestic issue for Gillian, but a matter of life and death. Without functioning pillars, the Eye of Death would begin to consume his own body, turning him into a monster that lost its sanity before finally crumbling into black dust.
"Klara can no longer help me with her weak prayers," Gillian said bitterly. "And Elena is too busy protecting herself from the pain I give her."
He remembered the expression of hatred that had begun to appear in Elena’s eyes lately. Elena was starting to feel betrayed by her own father, who had handed her over to the cursed executioner. As for Klara, she only looked at Gillian with a painful pity, a gaze that made Gillian feel like a dying monster in front of an angel whose wings he had broken. Both were evidence of the failure of his strategy to remain human in the midst of his bloody work.
"Who is the third pillar?" Gillian whispered, his mind turning to the syndicate shaman's instructions.
He knew that the next candidate must possess something far beyond what Klara and Elena had. Someone who not only had an ancient lineage but also the mental strength to remain conscious in the middle of a storm of negative energy that could destroy sanity. Gillian felt incredibly tired. Images of the past concerning the failure of his two wives kept spinning in his head like a broken old film.
"If she fails too, then there will be nothing left of me," Gillian thought with resignation.
The library door opened slightly, revealing the silhouette of Klara standing in her white nightgown. She looked like a ghost haunting her own home.
"Gillian, you haven't slept?" Klara asked in an extremely soft voice, nearly drowned by the sound of the wind outside.
Gillian turned, looking at the pale face of his first wife. "I am thinking, Klara. Go back to your room. The air here is too heavy for you."
Klara did not move. She looked at Gillian with weary eyes. "I feel it, Gillian. There is a new scent of death on your body. Something very large and very thirsty. Elena won't be able to handle it, and I... I am spent."
"I know, Klara. I know everything," Gillian replied while walking toward Klara, but he stopped within a distance of two metres, fearing his energy would hurt the woman again.
"You are going to bring another woman, aren't you?" Klara asked without a tone of accusation, only a profound resignation.
Gillian went silent for a moment before answering in a heavy voice. "If I want to stay alive to protect you and Elena, I have no other choice. The syndicate has given the order."
Klara bowed her head, a single tear falling to the wooden floor. "I hope she is stronger than both of us. I hope she doesn't end up like me who lost her light, or Elena who lost her conscience."
"Go back to sleep, Klara," Gillian commanded gently but firmly.
After Klara left, Gillian returned to his desk. He felt as if the walls of Mourning Manor were starting to close in on him. The memories of Klara and Elena's failures filled every corner of this room. He had to find the third pillar immediately. The past was already ruined, and his future depended on a woman whose name he did not even know yet. With a trembling hand, he reached for a bottle of liquor, poured it into a glass, and downed it in one gulp, trying to banish the shadows of failure that continued to haunt him under the fading candlelight.
"Seven days," he muttered, remembering the time limit from the syndicate. "Seven days to find the final pillar or I will become history in this city."
Gillian extinguished the candle with his fingertip, letting the darkness of the library swallow him whole, just like his curse was slowly swallowing the remnants of his humanity. In the midst of that darkness, he could only hear his own heartbeat, which sounded like the footsteps of death approaching his door. The failure of Klara and Elena had brought him to his lowest point, and now he had to prepare to perform the third covenant, a covenant that would determine whether he would remain the executioner or simply a sacrifice to his own power.
Aksara