"Complete the rituals," a voice slithered into their minds. Not the Shadow Man. Another. Older. The one in the Summoning Key. "Purge the corruption. Or become it."

"You've done wonderfully," he said, his voice like oiled glass. "Four souls. Broken, desperate, violent. The perfect key to unlock the final seal. I thank you for your service."

Vincent finally snapped. He charged, not at the Shadow Man, but at the Summoning Key. He grabbed it.

He just whispered, "I'm sorry."

He didn't die. The Key healed him instantly, restoring the bullet hole. The scream he let out wasn't human.

Only one of them was silent. The detective, Jack Vincent. He wasn't looking at the zombies. He was staring at the giant, cyclopean eye that had replaced the moon. The Shadow Man had promised them truth. He had given them a world of lies.

When the beast collapsed, its body dissolved into a pool of shimmering, purple wine. They drank. The liquid burned—not with alcohol, but with revelation. For a single, terrible second, they saw the truth.