《Captured Sky》


 Chapter 1: Of My Demise

    The listless light of the pale night-sun streamed down through the dome encasing the heavens. It bathed the ground in its eerie luminescence. Stood atop a wooden platform, Havoc Gray basked in the phantom glow of the night.


    Dressed in rags and bound by chains, Havoc looked up to the sky. He breathed deeply, and smiled.


    Today is a good day.


    By all accounts, this day was to be his last. Yet despite his present state and unfortunate prospects, the boy could not find it within himself to feel anything other than gratitude.


    He was grateful to see and inhale the frosty air of the domed expanse above. He was grateful to feel the wind caress his face and run through his dirt and blood-stained hair. He was grateful to look through his throng of accusers to see his sister¡¯s tear-filled eyes, but most of all, he was grateful that bastard was finally dead.


    Chained to a cold, rusted post, locked away underground, he had not heard much concerning the victim of his crime. He had heard bits and pieces. Gossip from the lips of his otherwise diligent interrogators. He had done his part to ensure a favourable outcome, but he could not be sure he had been effective in his deed until news of his own execution arrived at dawn.


    Following the announcement of his untimely demise, his day marched at an unforgiving pace. His brutal caretakers, soon to be deprived of their favourite guest, had been relentless in their exacting of the toll for his upkeep.


    Day after day, week after week, and month after month, his guards bruised, broke and burned his skin for their sport. The sadistic devils would compete over which one of them would be the first to make him scream.


    By the second week of his incarceration, they had abandoned all pretence of interrogation and would wordlessly savage the boy upon entry to his cell. By the end of the first month, they had put aside their competition, deciding in favour of a collaborative approach to his pain. On the third month, they had called in help. Jailers from far and wide gathered to assist in the task of breaking the iron will of the bloodied boy. On the eighth month, only his original tormentors, and the few true believers in their task, had remained to tend to their captured ward.


    They were innovative in their cruelty, soaking each laceration with vinegar and salt. Yet, Havoc bore the pain without a word of complaint. Awash in the afterglow of his vengeance, there was nothing to be done which could diminish his satisfaction at having hunted down and ultimately murdered the man who would dare harm his sister.


    ¡®¡­ and so you stand condemned for the murder of¡­¡¯ Havoc did not care. Let them say their piece and be done with it.


    He tuned out the drones of his executioner and locked eyes with the last of his bloodline. Tears ran freely down his sister¡¯s face and soundlessly fell onto the stone-paved ground.


    If Havoc had two regrets, it would be that he would no longer be there to protect his sister. Sentimentality aside, Hurricane would be fine. For the first few years of their exile to Stone Garden, it was she, as his elder, who had taken charge of their survival. From the day they had lost everything, all they had was each other. Though suppressed beneath the weight of his deep inhalation, he could appreciate the soul-wrenching melancholy at leaving his sister to face the world alone, but in his heart, there was room enough for only one regret¡­


    His nails tunnelled into his palm and his steady breath faltered.


    ¡®No¡­ Not yet¡­¡¯


    ¡®The condemned will remain silent.¡¯ Havoc¡¯s executioner replied as if automatically before continuing his pronunciations. Havoc turned his head to inspect the man who would take his life. Dressed in a knee-length, ivory frock coat, the man stood no shorter than six-feet in height. Beneath his coat, he wore a simple, black, buttoned shirt, and beneath the shirt, he wore matching black trousers. Despite a lean physique, strength radiated from the man¡¯s body. Tightly stitched muscles outlined his form, but the power Havoc¡¯s reaper exuded was of a stranger kind.


    As Havoc studied the man, recognition dawned. This was an inheritor. A rare being chosen by the very essence of the dungeon-world. These inheritors were granted powers most couldn''t even fathom. There was no possibility of escape, and yet¡­


    ¡®I¡¯m not ready!¡¯ At Havoc¡¯s words, the tail end of the executioner¡¯s spotless, snow-white coat billowed in the air as the man turned to face the impudent child. As if flattened on the ground, weighed down by stones, pressure barred down on Havoc, rattling his fractured bones and forcing him to his knees.


    ¡®The condemned will remain silent!¡¯ Although the man¡¯s voice remained dispassionate, each syllable which fell from his lips carried the weight of the heavens. They crashed down on Havoc, deepening his supplication.


    Though shackled, bloodied and fallen, he strained to lift his head and meet the gaze of the inheritor. Blood streamed from his nose, ears and eyes, streaking down his face to further dye his rags in its familiar crimson stain.


    ¡®I¡­ I he-ar the...call!¡¯ Those were the final words to escape Havoc¡¯s mouth before all light fled from the world, plunging him into the dark.


    ***


    ¡®The boy is a murderer, a thief and a liar! He is no more an inheritor than a toad is a king! With respect, my lord, he is trying to deceive you. His words were nothing more than the desperate lies of fiend, justly condemned.¡¯


    Light filtered through the narrow openings of Havoc''s flickering eyelids. It was not the harrowing amber glow of candlelight, nor the ethereal luminescence of the night. Instead, it was a brilliant radiance. The pure illumination of the day-sun. He had not expected to see such a light again.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Razored anguish cut though his body as the temporarily reprieved sat up. The linen bandages wrapped beneath his shirt scraped his tender flesh as he shifted himself upon the headboard. Settled in place, the sharp pain began to subside. Hardly could it be called ideal, his state; but new clothes and fresh bandages were not a privilege he had reasonably foreseen. Even the reek of blood, grime, and bodily excretions which had clung like his shadow was blissfully absent. His body was still pained, raw to the touch, but he could not feel the wet stick of blood, nor the threads of medical intervention. He would need to remove his wrappings to be certain, but he believed his treatment to be of a more wonderful kind.


    Who could be so wasteful on a street rat like me? He thought.


    ¡®What could they want in return?¡¯ He said, unable to fully blunt the spikes of apprehension spreading from his stomach to penetrate his heart.


    Havoc had always believed when his time came he would accept it with dignity, his head held high even as the blade fell.


    He believed wrong.


    It was not the fear of death which had burned when him facing the end, it was the bitterness of defeat. Death was final. It meant whatever he could have been would be cut off. Death would solidify his station. He would have lived and died as nothing. He would have confirmed every venomous word ejected from the forked tongues of the ones he could never accept as his betters.


    He could never accept that.


    Not quietly.


    Not without a fight.


    ¡®So you¡¯re awake.¡¯ The door creaked open, granting Havoc¡¯s executioner entry to his bedchamber. Following behind the imposing man, a man of much lesser stature wobbled into the room. The short man was dressed finely; rich colours adorned his attire. Nevertheless, Havoc could see where the power lay between his new interrogators. Without question, his executioner''s companion was an affluent man. To grow fat in the dungeon was a strictly reserved privilege. Despite his wealth, it was not he who has taken the lead in entering or speaking.


    Havoc strained to lift himself from the bed, but his efforts were nullified by the raised palm of his executioner.


    ¡®Rest.¡¯ The man commanded. ¡®Take the opportunity while you have it.¡¯


    ¡®Where am I?¡¯


    ¡®Somewhere safe, for the time being.¡¯ The man replied. ¡®As for introductions, the name is Edgar Grace, but most just call me Graceless. I prefer it, so feel free to make that selection.¡¯


    ¡®And your friend?¡¯ Havoc shifted his head in the direction of the portly man, receiving a grimace in exchange.


    ¡®You will refer to me as Lord-Mayor. No other title will be necessary.¡¯


    ¡®I can¡¯t imagine you don¡¯t know why you¡¯re here.¡¯ Graceless said, re-capturing Havoc¡¯s focus.


    The boy paused before meeting the silent accusation. ¡®Wouldn¡¯t you know why I''m here? I did kill a man, after all.¡¯ With clenched fists, Havoc met Graceless'' gaze. ¡®But perhaps my life has value to you now. More than his ever did.¡¯


    ¡®How dare you!¡¯ The Lord-mayor¡¯s saliva sprayed the room, accompanying the man¡¯s exclamation. ''Do you know where you are or to whom you speak!¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m somewhere safe talking to a man without grace and another with no name.¡¯ He had not noticed it at first, or perhaps in his state it was an irrelevant detail, but as the Lord-mayor¡¯s hand jerked to his side, Havoc finally took note of the sword buckled to the man¡¯s bulging waist.


    The blade could not clear the leather of its sheath before Graceless¡¯ rugged hand tapped the sword back in place.


    ¡®As the boy so tactfully reminded us, I guaranteed his safety in this place. I¡¯ve been called many names, but ¡°liar¡± is not one of them.¡¯


    The well-fed man¡¯s face tinted red, and all blood drained from the hand gripping his sword. Although his efforts were clear, the Lord-mayor could not lift the blade from the oppressive weight of Graceless¡¯ palm. With a puff, the rotund gentleman relinquished his grip before stabbing a finger toward Havoc.


    ¡®Your little game might have bought you some time, but you¡¯re a liar, boy! I see your type every day. Clinging to life like a cockroach. You¡¯re not special or important. You are exactly what your life has amounted to, nothing! Your head might have escaped the pike, but there are worse things in this world than death, and by your lying tongue, you¡¯ll come to learn that first hand.¡¯ Without another word, the Lord-mayor turned and left the room, slamming the door upon his exit.


    Graceless¡¯ eyes settled on Havoc. For a moment there was silence, but that moment was banished by the low chuckles emanating from the executioner¡¯s throat.


    ¡®You have quite the mouth on you.¡¯ Graceless began as he took the seat beside Havoc¡¯s bed. ¡®Word of advice, be very careful in the enemies you make.¡¯ Groaning, Havoc straightened his back, pushing down the chills running the length of his spine. ¡®You seem to favour directness, so I¡¯ll be direct. Old-man Bart is right, you didn¡¯t hear the call.¡¯


    The chills down his spine spread the course of Havoc¡¯s body, freezing his blood. Careful to suppress all reaction, he maintained Graceless¡¯ gaze.


    ¡®If you were sure of that, I would be dead.¡¯ Chuckling once more, Graceless leaned back in his chair.


    ¡®Relax. You have nothing to fear from me. Whether you live or die isn¡¯t my concern. I¡¯m just passing through. That being said, it¡¯s rare for inheritors to hear the call. If by some chance you¡¯re one of us, I have no reason to deny you the chance to prove it.¡¯


    ¡®So you¡¯re a benevolent stranger?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m an apathetic stranger. You wanted to live and I have no reason to kill you.¡¯


    Havoc scanned his eyes across Graceless¡¯ face searching for signs of deception. With a snort, Havoc crossed his legs, slouched before resting his face between his index finger and thumb.


    ¡®I don¡¯t suppose that means I can leave?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t suppose it does. You didn¡¯t hear the call, but your claim can¡¯t be ignored.¡¯


    Without exception, every inheritor to have been called by the dungeon had made a name for themselves, for better and worse.


    ¡®It wouldn¡¯t do to release every criminal claiming the call.¡¯


    ¡®I would never ask for such a thing, only that you release me.¡¯ Graceless¡¯ Billowing laughter met Havoc¡¯s words as the man stood to his feet and approached the door.


    ¡®I think I could grow fond of you, boy. I hope you survive your trial.¡¯ Without looking back, Graceless left the bedchamber, the clang of metal locking into place followed his departure.


    Sliding back into bed, Havoc closed his eyes and massaged his temples, relieving the edges of the hollow ache of his recent tribulations.


    He was alive. For now, that was sufficient. As for the trial to come, he would face it as he had faced everything else in life.


    With everything he had.

 Chapter 2: Chamber Of Inheritance

    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡®I would strongly suggest you forge your first link with a weapon.¡¯ He finished.


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®You see, the same animating force which carved this city from the hellscape of the dungeon is the same that runs through me.¡¯ Bartholomew continued. ¡®Even when diluted by the filthy blood of a harlot, there is great power within me. The power to rule and the power to reign.¡¯ Bartholomew lifted his face towards the ceiling, his self-reverence clear for Havoc to see.


    ¡®


    ¡°


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®yourself to be left in the dark.¡¯

 Chapter 3: The Dark

    It was as Graceless said. From the moment Havoc crossed the threshold into the Chamber of Inheritance, he felt death¡¯s frozen breath tickle his nape. In a way, he was glad for it. Without the abject terror that sensation inspired, he doubted he could withstand his body¡¯s rebellion. A dense fog clouded his thoughts, making every mental effort a laborious task. His body fared no better. Though he had eaten and drank his full, Havoc could feel the protracted violence of starvation and dehydration rip through his form.


    He collapsed to his knees, bashing his joints on the hard surface below and deeply inhaled¡­ Nothing. There was air in the chamber. He could feel a breeze mercifully brushing by, but that was the only mercy the great hall would permit.


    He was dying, but he could not die.


    He had lived a challenging life. He had been beaten, bruised, and broken, but nothing to that point could compare to the agony of he was now experiencing. With clenched teeth, he tore at his throat. Frothing at the mouth, a rabid panic electrified his nerves.


    Perhaps he was screaming, he could not tell. If sound escaped the prison for his soul, it was not to be heard over the roar of his blood rushing to his ears.


    ¡®Enough...¡¯ He whispered into the void, the thick pulse of dread beating back the words.


    ¡®Enough.¡¯ he said again, grappling with his thirst and desperate starvation, battling the drive to lay still as dead.


    ¡®Enough!¡¯ That time louder. So loud as to shatter the waves rolling passed his eardrums. The echo of his defiance faded, but its impression lingered still. He still felt he was dying, but he wasn''t dead. If Graceless was to be believed, at that moment, he couldn''t truly die.


    ¡®What is pain if not proof of being alive?¡¯ Havoc said, breathlessly, aloud. Where there was life there was hope. Even the torturous half-life the chamber would allow was worth fighting for, and Havoc would fight, nail and bone, to grasp the hope he would not permit to slip passed his fingers.


    It took everything to stand, but stand, he did. Shaking from privation, he released his hold on his stomach and stood to full height. Though unsteady on his feet, when he opened the eyes he did not realise were sealed, the majesty of the chamber overtook him. No longer merely confined by the suffering of his flesh, to a level he could not know, perhaps it was slight, it could have been greater, he was elevated from the mire of bodily tribulations. Though the agony lingered still, it could not climb to reach him in his higher place, enlightened by the glory laid out before his eyes.


    Spectral light flooded the chamber from crystal stars embedded above. He absorbed the sight, certain he would not see its kind again. He could not help but marvel at the thick ivory pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling as if a titan bound to the will of the gods. The ground was in stark contrast to the higher places of the chamber. Like a ravenous beast, the onyx slate devoured all illumination. He could feel the marble-like firmness beneath his feet, but to his eyes, he was walking on faith. There were no walls; the chamber was boundless. Each side of the structure travelled further than the eye could see. There was no exit, and the entrance he had taken was nowhere to be found.


    As grand a chamber as it was, he would not choose to stay longer than necessary. The threat of confinement and desiccation, though a harrowing thought onto itself, could not compare to the true danger of the expanse; a danger which flickered its warning below. It was a peril to inspire all fear. When he looked above to see, when its absence threatened to hollow his soul, even the stagnant blood of his half-life trudging painfully through his veins began to freeze.


    The first light had gone out.


    ¡°Do not allow yourself to be left in the dark.¡±


    Graceless¡¯ words crashed through Havoc¡¯s mind, assailing him in his higher place. It surged broiling panic through his chest. Through gritted teeth, he gasped at the air, but it did not fill his lungs. Nonetheless, he continued the discipline; each breath pushing back on the torrent of fear crashing upon the dam of his resolve. Determined not to sink back into the torturous depths, besieged though he was, he would not surrender to fear.


    Dying or dead, there was work to be done. With the first star of the vast abyss extinguished, there was no time to indulge in hopelessness. To inherit, first he must form his anchor. To form his anchor, he needed to bond with a remnant, but-


    There were none to be found¡­


    As far as his eyes could see, in every direction he turned, there was nothing. Whether it was a trick or a trap, he did not know, but there was no crueller task than one which could not be completed. The Dungeon was cruel, but it was not insurmountable. If Graceless had taught Havoc one thing, it was that the Dungeon


    craved Inheritors, perhaps more than man craved power. There was a way¡­


    There was always a way!


    The Dungeon was aware and the Dungeon was alive. Havoc did not hear the call, but with luck, the Dungeon might listen to his.


    ¡®So if you¡¯re listening, teach me! I¡¯m here, and I choose to inherit!¡¯ The second light above flickered out of being.


    ¡®Fine, be silent and watch!¡¯ Havoc roared in defiance. ¡®I¡¯ll do it myself.¡¯


    His direction did not matter. There was no use for left or right in a void, and so he began to march forward. His steps produced no noise, the ravenous darkness of the ground would not permit even sound to escape its maw. he did not know how far he had travelled, but as the day of the chamber continued to be consumed by the infinite night, he was forced by intuition in a different direction.


    He did not notice at first, but as his turns morphed into twisted, he could perceive subtle changes within the chamber. In one direction, it would get hotter while in another, the breeze would carry a whiff of decay. Turning left might send shivers down his spine, whereas, to the right, perhaps the ground was softer? If the Dungeon was speaking, Havoc did not know its tongue. All he could do was act on instinct. He pressed forward when he felt to do so, and backwards where he felt it necessary. In one direction he would walk, only to take a different course where he experienced change. Light continued to flee. The deficit was apparent. Balling a hand into a fist, Havoc was undeterred.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Some say the Dungeon is our punishment. That we mistreated the Aarth and so it locked us away, but I do not believe that.¡±


    ¡®What do you believe?¡¯ Havoc replied to the ghost of his instructor.


    ¡°We¡¯re here to conquer this world. An inheritor is many things, but first and foremost, we are warriors.¡±


    Havoc followed the scent of decay.


    Unexplainable, uncontrollable dread washed over him, threatening to drown him in its murky waves. His circumstances were dire, the light was halfway gone, but it could not explain the alien despondency gripping his cowering heart. Havoc followed the feeling, and the scent of rot began to mingle with the stench of blood. Tears streaked down his face, they were not his tears; he let them fall. When his vision cleared, there were fewer than a quarter of the stars left to illuminate his path, but it no longer mattered. He had arrived.


    As if a veil had been lifted, he could see. No longer an empty void upheld by ever present, ever distant pillars, rows of shelves boarded his path, stretching onwards from light into the dark. Each shelf presented a diverse selection of items. Some were weapons, others armours. Musical Instruments, both mundane and bizarre were present, as were an assortment of differing artefacts, trinkets and charms. Havoc could not keep the smile from his face, nor relief from his heart.


    He had found the remnants.


    Though it did not appear as though the Chamber was pleased.


    The crystal stars of the subterranean heavens flickered and died at an increased rate. The impenetrable night loomed down to reclaim its treasures. Havoc raised his arms and laughed into the abyss.


    ¡®As if you could possibly stop me now!¡¯ Without another word, he sprinted down an aisle. Rapidly, he looked left and right, scanning the remnants on each side. He was not sure what he was looking for, but he knew he had yet to find it. Graceless had told him compatibility was instinctual. As he glanced and remnants flashing by, his every instinct screamed at him to keep running.


    When he reached the end of the row, he turned, and dashed down another, and then another. All the while the stalking darkness set sights on its prey.


    ¡®I am nobody¡¯s prey!¡¯ he roared. Without slowing pace, he reached out a hand and swiped a remnant, intent on continuing. His intentions, denied. As his hand wrapped around what appeared to be a feather, a repulsive force lifted him from his feet and hurled him into the adjacent shelf. Could he breathe, all air would have been forced from his lungs at the impact. Could he have died, he surely would have, if not from the force of the initial impact, certainly from the bombardment of supernatural pressure pummelling him as more incompatible remnants rained down from above.


    The lights were going out, but he could not stand. Death may have passed him by, but pain was reluctant to leave his side. Havoc was no healer, nor was he a physician, but no training was necessary to diagnose his broken form. He willed his legs to move, but they would not.


    If not a leg, at least a toe! It would not listen.


    ¡®Then I¡¯ll crawl!¡¯ His arms were shattered.


    The darkness moved closer.


    No¡­.


    ¡®No!¡¯ His scream was not one defiance, nor of rage, self-pity, or anything quite so evolved. His was a primal noise. The guttural howl of a cornered beast. Havoc¡¯s dread was his own. His tears were his possession. Sound escaped his mouth. He spoke no human tongue, but rather the words of the damned; a contorted wail conveying only the torment of his soul.


    He had failed.


    ¡°A pity, and you were so close.¡±


    ¡®Who¡¯s there?¡¯ Havoc groaned. He did not mistake the voice in his head to be benevolent, but it was not in him to forsake all hope. Even against his own will, he could only cling to whatever he was offered. If a saving hand reached down at the cost of his soul, he would take it, grip tight, and reclaim his soul from firmer footing.


    ¡°You had potential, but I think I will be taking you.¡±


    ¡®If you see potential than help me!¡¯ Gathering the shards of his shattered spirit, he craned his neck to see¡­


    Nothing.


    ¡°Your soul will do nicely. It has been so long since I¡¯ve had one so fine.¡±


    ¡®Show yourself¡¯, Havoc groaned. The voice¡¯s disregard of Havoc¡¯s plea did not escape his notice. He was beneath the consideration of that thing. Worthy of a response, he was not, only musings and pondering as though fine meat hanging from the butcher¡¯s hook. To fry, roast, or boil? It was decision of apatite; the preferences of the lamb was not worth mentioning. His heart sank.


    ¡°So very long¡­¡± Havoc did not reply.


    A single star remained alight. It flickered but held.


    It would not hold for long.


    ¡°A pity nonetheless. It truly is a waste.¡±


    The last light went out. He was left in the dark.


    ¡°Such a waste¡­¡±


    The once solid ground began to melt. Though Havoc could not see, he felt a viscous substance cling to his exposed skin. Slowly, he began to descend. As he sank into his tomb, his tomb sank into him. Helpless, he could feel a foul substance worm its way inside him. There was pain at first, but as filth snaked his veins, his anguish morphed beyond pain. When it penetrated his bones, no mortal tongue could describe his affliction. To put words to his torment could never do justice.


    Were Havoc whole, he could not have escaped the pull of the inky night, but the futility of the struggle would not stop him. Resigning to the knowledge he would not be saved would not stop him from saving himself. With his flesh and bones held together by the penetrating blackness, he gripped the shifting ground to lift himself up. Blind, and screaming, he would not surrender.


    Not yet! Not while I can still move! His efforts were thwarted at every stage, but he would not give in, not until he was taken completely and perhaps not even then.


    ¡°Tell me mortal, why do you still fight?¡± Ignoring the call, he pushed against the ground, only for the surface to further soften and drawn him back down.


    ¡°Remarkable¡­ Tell me, mortal. What would you sacrifice for power?¡± He did not not have to think. There was no weight on the scale to unbalance his resolve. With his life rushing past his sightless eyes and the screams of his childhood like anthem he could no longer block out, in the moment he knew what he would exchange. Straining against pull of the of the dark he pulled his head from the surface. He expelled the black from his lungs to conjure one word.


    ¡®Everything!¡¯ At first there was no response, but as he collapsed into the murk, laughter crashed against his patchwork skull. It was a terrible sound.


    All solidity lost, he sank completely.


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ***


    Dressed in rags and bound by chains of consuming darkness, Havoc knelt. Unimaginable power radiated from a presence before him. It shook his bones and spread terror down his spine. Havoc could see, but he could not look up.


    He dared not look up.


    Though pain lingered still, he could feel strength return to his form. He commanded his toes down and up, and they obeyed.


    He did not know what would come next, but for the moment, He still lived. Terror be damned! Where there was life there was hope.

 Chapter 4: Inheritance

    Havoc knelt, as though in supplication, on the ebony floor within the Chamber of Inheritance. He gripped his stomach and projected from his mouth a putrid, black filth. It showered the marble-like surface. The ground shifted and softened to receive his vile offering, accepting the foul substance now trickling from his lips. When the last drop slipped into the puddle, the surface of the ground solidified once more.


    Waves of violent nausea retreated, and he collapsed to the ground. Once again, gluttonous hunger and ravenous thirst tore through him; it was as crippling as when his trial had first begun. A strange kind of death loomed over him. It would not claim him, yet it refused to leave his side. He was, once again, subject to the Chamber¡¯s predations.


    It¡¯s not so bad. He thought, having no strength left for words. I¡¯ve faced worse.


    He had, indeed, faced worse. Spirited away to where he did not know, he had encountered true malevolence and terrible power.


    He had met terror incarnate.


    And yet, I¡¯m alive¡­


    Resilient as he was, he was not fool enough to believe he could challenge that¡­ thing. He did not believe there was a man, beast, or worse who could.


    ¡®And yet, I¡¯m alive,¡¯ he croaked, having slowly regained the little vitality permitted in his undead state. He was truly bewildered. The entity had spared him, that much was clear, but he had been broken. Every bone had shattered; every organ burst. The Chamber would keep him from death as long as there was light up above, but as for repairing his living remains, even going so far as to erase the criss-cross of scarring inflicted during his incarceration... He did not think Chamber so merciful. As for the entity¡­ He did not believe it to have knowledge of the concept. Yet he could not deny his restoration. His arms and his legs, no longer a patchwork of jagged reminders of his torture, was smooth and supple to the touch, as though newly birthed.


    He rolled onto his back and basked in the light. Darkness had claimed the vastness of the void, but a cluster of crystal stars had reignited in the entombed heavens. They had not been there before. He had not forgotten when the last star had burned out. He had not forgotten being left in the dark. He had been consumed by the night, both inside and out. It had flooded his veins, seeped into his bones, and drew him into its depths.


    There had been no escape.


    That isn¡¯t true¡­ He retorted against his own trail of thought.


    Rummaging through his mind, he tried to recall the encounter. When he probed at the boarders of the experience, he could distinctly remember he had descended into the murk and ascended through creation into stranger lands. But the details were scrambled. He knew he had witnessed the profound. It was as though the curtain of rationality were rolled aside to reveal unbounded chaos, renewal and destruction, simultaneous and never ending. It left an impression deep in his soul, but It was not a mental image he could retain. His fleshly mind would not tolerate the incoherence of cosmic order.


    To his recollection¡¯s grip, the retention of the entity was far more fluid. It slipped through his every attempt to hold on. Something had happened and for the second time, he had been reprieved, as for the cost and duration of that clemency, he could not even guess.


    Perhaps it was best he could not remember. His human captors had required he seize the power of the gods to be forgiven. Whatever it was that a god among gods would demand for his absolution¡­ it was not worth thinking about. At least not yet.


    He did not know and he could not know, His recollection of the events had been fragmented and crushed. Like shifting sand, he could not piece together its original form. The best he could hope for was to create something new. But a castle moulded by the seaside held few clues concerning the structure time had destroyed for its formation.


    Though his fists were clenched, he had no choice but to let go. And as a newly born star began to flicker above, he no longer cared. He was given a chance. As to whom or what he had to thank, it was a secondary concern.


    His first task was to inherit; his second was to survive. No matter how he had suffered, he would suffer it again. He could not leave the Chamber, but neither would he try. Were a door to appear and shepherd him from harm, he would slam it closed and remain. He would not leave without his prize.


    He had bled for it, died for it, had been condemned to Hell for it. Nothing would pry his hands from it. Balling up a hand into a fist, he struck the ground. The pain was nothing; he struck once again. Again and again, his fist collided with the unbreakable. The slip of his blood painted the floor, but its all-consuming black would allow no stain to show. He howled into the void. It was a wail unfamiliar, but he knew its cry. It was a call of resolve. A declaration that he would not be taken alive. He had no surrender left to give. He gritted his teeth and stood on shaky feet.


    The chamber spun, but he held still. His body was restored, but disorientation and fatigue lingered. His vision swam. Squeezing shut his eyes then opening them, he stepped forward into a less hazy expanse. Staggering past scattered remnants laying hazardously on the ground, he was careful not to so much as brush past the smallest artefact. Step after step, he walked the corridor of shelves. One by one, the few lights of the Chamber were being extinguished. Darkness stalked him, cutting off retreat as he pressed on. He could not run, but he moved at a pace, looking to his left and right, trying to feel¡­ something. He still was not sure what he was meant to feel. Whatever that pull of compatibility was, he was yet to experience.


    It was not until he reached the last row of shelves outside the reaches of boarding darkness that he felt anything beside his own determination mixed fear, hunger and ravishing thirst. When he saw the urn, he was instantly taken. If asked to describe the feeling, he could not. His sister once said that falling in love could not be explained, one just knew. When he looked upon the remnant, he just knew.


    Still, he hesitated¡­


    His attraction to the vessel battled with repelling dread. A single feather had shattered him; he was not eager to contend with a remnant more substantial.


    The ivory jar was not much to behold; beyond the inscrutable runic writing encircling the remnant, there was not much in its form to entice. By appearance alone, it was, perhaps, the least impressive piece on the shelf. To its left, a crimson crystal skull of a species he could not identify. To its right, a dagger adorned in jewels. If he trusted only his eyes, he would have taken such a treasure. But he knew better than to trust sight in this place. Instead, he leaned on older senses; feelings he intuited to be more primordial than vision. So powerful was the draw, If not for the memory of his last attempt, the urn would already be in hand. Its call was like a siren¡¯s song. Soft and inviting, it promised all things. Holding out a trembling arm, his hand hovered above the urn. He reached out to touch it, but at the last moment, pulled back. The sirens of tales drew men to the depths...


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I¡¯ve stared into the abyss and I¡¯m still here. What is left to fear? Silently repeating his mantra in his mind, his fingers traced the urn¡¯s curves and clutched to a grip


    He held the urn firmly and filched back. He was not repelled. Even so, he did not trust its benign stillness. But his true fear was of the encroaching shadows. They spread with each passing moment.


    The runes around the urn began to glow. With a racing heart, his priories shifted. He tried to unclasp but the urn held his grip. It resisted his efforts at dislodgement. Frantically shaking his hands, he stopped as the cold metal warmed in his grip. Its heat flowed through him, spreading a semblance of life though his undead flesh. It Eased his hunger, lessened his thirst, and cleared the fog clouding his thoughts, He could not say he was truly alive, but he was not quite as dead as before.


    As the vanquished stars burst back into full radiance, pushing back the darkness, he was left without doubt.


    He had found his anchor.


    ***


    With his legs crossed and his eyes closed, Havoc sat. Hovering his hands over the urn he had placed in front, he strained to feel any connection. At first, he counted the seconds. When the unruly numbers rebelled against his focus, he used the slowed thump of his heart to measure the passing of time. It was not an accurate measure, and before long, it too was discarded in favour of unbroken concentration. However, try as he might, he could not feel anything from the enchanted vessel. The urn was his anchor; that much he knew. As for how the tangible remnant was to bind to his soul¡­


    I don¡¯t understand¡­


    It made no sense to him. The remnant was physical; his soul was not. For all he knew, it might not even exist.


    Do killers have souls or did I trade mine for vengeance? To Havoc, it would have been a bargain nonetheless. In any case, his fixation on the urn was proving fruitless. Groaning in frustration, he opened his eyes and leaned backward. Not for the first time, he returned to the lessons of his maddeningly enigmatic tutor.


    Graceless had instructed Havoc on what he must do, but provided sparing detail on how it was to be done.


    ¡®To inherit, you must form the anchor to your spirit chains.¡¯ Havoc rolled his eyes as he repeated the instructions, doing his best to imitate the intonation of his ¡°wise¡± instructor. ¡®As if it''s so easy!¡¯


    He dissected the statement but could find no clues in its anatomy. He did not know what it meant to form an anchor. Limited as his education had been, he only had a passing understanding of what an anchor was.


    ¡®It has something to do with boats, but I¡¯ve never been to sea!¡¯


    Chains were a more familiar concept. In the past year, he had become something of a self-taught expert in their function and form. Chains were used to connect one thing to another. In his experience, chains were used to bind him to walls, heavy slabs of metal, or other immovable objects. They allow his guards brutal liberty without fear of reciprocity.


    ¡®The anchor is the wall, or rather, I am the wall the anchor is bolted to¡­¡¯ The thought came to him as the words left his mouth. A wall was part of a larger structure.


    ¡®The Dungeon¡­¡¯


    It still made no sense. Based on Graceless¡¯ teachings, an inheritor was chained to the Dungeon; they were not, themselves, a part of it.


    ¡®That could be the point¡­¡¯ Havoc mumbled. ¡®A wall out of place, or maybe a drawbridge?¡¯ The loose threads began to tie together in Havoc¡¯s mind. He was not a fixture of the Dungeon, but to inherit, that is what he would have to become, and the point of connection was the anchor. It was a confused metaphor, but sufficient.


    An image formed in his mind.


    He could see a grand fortress, tall, imposing, but incomplete. Large breaches marred its exterior. Surrounding the structure were the materials of its repair; Havoc was among the materials. He was a wall out of place; an unfitted stone to a much larger edifice. He would not be affixed by mortar, but rather by chains, chains reaching towards the heart of the keep. It was the chains that would hold him in place once the anchor had been secured. In his ruminations and understanding, a thought penetrated his mind. The Dungeon was a prison held together by chains, but...


    What kind of prisoner needs to be chained to each stone¡­ He did not have the time to meditate on the thought; he could not have, even if he wanted to. As a strange kind of power surged in his chest, he could not bear to place his focus on anything else. It was like going from death into life. He felt both emptied and filled. Emptied of himself, his weakness, and frailty, and filled with might. A new perception awakened within him. No longer constrained by sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch, no longer limited to the physical, he could feel his soul.


    It was expanding.


    He delved deep into himself. The further he went, the more distinct the force building within felt. Although, ¡°forces¡± was perhaps the more accurate description. At first, he could not tell them apart, but as he grew accustomed to the foreign sensation, he became aware of its discord. What he had thought to be a singular force swirling within was rather the clashing of two conflicting energies.


    It was akin to fire and ice.


    No, it¡¯s like order and chaos, he thought as he wrestled to understand. He did not reach enlightenment. Before fully grasping what had happened, it was over, thrusting him back into the chamber. But the power was still there; he could feel the paradoxical magics, for he was certain it was magic, within his innermost. It was not as distinct as before but was present nonetheless.


    Did I fail? He had not. When he opened his eyes to see the urn no longer before him, he knew he had inherited. A smile spread across his face. It stretched until he could feel his cheeks push up on his eyes. When his lips had journeyed as far as they could go, a manic laughter burst from his mouth. If anyone could see him, he was certain they would deem him insane. He was just as certain that he did not care.


    ***


    Once he made his selection, it did not take much time for Havoc to forge his first link. Following his ascension into the world of the gods, everything had changed. The remnants resting on the shelves lining the chamber no longer warded him away but rather beckoned him closer. Some called louder than others.


    With a multitude of crystal stars pulsating above, he had been in no rush. Graceless had warned urged him to select a weapon as the remnant to follow his anchor, and Havoc was careful in doing so.


    When he examined each remnant, from most he felt nothing, but from some he heard whispers. Unburdening itself of its secrets, a knife had sworn that it would burn his enemies to ash. The Searing Cut, as the knife had introduced itself, made a tempting offer, but Havoc kept searching. A shield boasted of its ability to make all who would look upon its enchanted wood lose heart and the will to fight. He did not dwell on its self-exultation. A spear which could bend in any direction bade him welcome, but he gave it his farewell. It was only when he had seen the scarlet blade of The Thirsty Edge and had heard it flaunt its capabilities that his search had come to an end.


    With runes marking one side of the blade, the sword was not the largest. It was narrow, broadening towards its point. Havoc was not too knowledgeable about swords, but he was familiar with the design of his chosen. A falchion, he believed it was called. The very same edge he had used to stab, slash, and savage the man who had harmed his sister.


    ¡°I will drink the blood of your foes, and you will be restored,¡± the blade had whispered.


    The weight of the chamber''s mysteries pressed upon him, but The Thirsty Edge gleamed, hungry and ready, in Havoc''s determined grasp.

 Chapter 5: Dungeon Spawn

    The Thirsty Edge materialised in Havoc¡¯s outstretched hand. He felt its weight as he slowly rotated his wrist from left to right. Light from the crystal stars danced upon the crimson blade enhancing its menacing gleam. Not for the first time, not even for the tenth, Havoc admired the weapon before dismissing the sword, allowing its return to his spirt chain.


    Despite the hours spent in practice, he was not yet accustomed to the feeling. It had taken some time to truly perceive the peculiar magics pooled within his chest, and even more to manipulate the forces. However, once he gained rudimentary control, he quickly learned to channel his arcane power to his anchor and link.


    His anchor was useless. No matter how much force he passed into his metaphysical core, it refused to respond. The link was a different story. It would eagerly accept his power and manifest a blade in return.


    The Thirsty Edge.


    Its name was fitting. The Remnant was thirsty in more ways than one. He had chosen the weapon for its restorative power. Having experienced bodily ruin, a countermeasure was most appealing. What he could not quite countenance was the speed at which the blade would leave him depleted. At the onset of his experiments, he could keep the sword drawn a few minutes, only. Through persistence he discovered he could withdraw his power from his link without dismissing the remnant. The lustre of the blade would dull, but the Thirsty Edge would remain.


    He realised the Remnant''s power was an active effect. If all he need was a sword, the Thirsty Edge was not so demanding. While he still felt a consistent drain when the blade was in hand, it was negligible when compared to his early attempts.


    ¡®Almost ready¡¯ Havoc said to himself, turning his focus to the azure door in front. Like the entrance to the Chamber, the door was both narrow and tall. Runes decorated the exit from its peak moving downward. Unlike the ebony door leading into his trial, the one in front would only move when provoked.


    When the doorway first appeared, he had placed his hands upon it. In response, the runes blazed to life, and the door slowly opened. When he jerked back his hands while the door was ajar, it snapped shut with force.


    He considered going through the colossal doorway, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was an inheritor, but that did not make him immortal. He had gained power, real power. Even without the blade, he could feel new strength in his muscles, and a sternness to his bones. Nevertheless, he refused to become reckless. He may have only known his reticent mentor for four months, and the circumstances of their meeting was bound to foster a level of distrust. However, Graceless¡¯ words were not easy to ignore. He had told Havoc to bond with a weapon, and Havoc was not so far the cynic to believe there there was no reason¡­ Though, he was close.


    In any case, whatever the Chamber would do next, it was better to be as prepared as time would permit.


    Time bled and died as Havoc gained familiarity with his new abilities. He would summon the Thirsty Edge and repeatedly strike. The only other time he had used a sword, technique gave way to blind, impassioned fury. He was successful in his goal, but lacked the ignorance to believe such method would fare well against a higher class of monster. In truth, for an unrepentant killer, he was hopelessly inept. He wanted to survive. Power alone was insufficient; he required skill.


    With no tutor in the way of the sword, he could rely only on his memories, guesswork, and repetition. Three good strikes and a thrust. That was all he could afford from the man who had sold him the tool of his vengeance. In the end, his lessons had gone unused but the bastard still died. Nevertheless, in the Chamber, as he remembered his grips, stance, and guessed at his breathing, he did not feel quite so aggrieved by the steep price of tokens the lessons had cost him.


    He started with an overhead cut. When the action was, if not ingrained, perhaps, ¡°comfortable¡± he continued his practice by slashing his blade from the right to the left in a horizontal cut. His final move was a diagonal slash, rising from lower left to upper right.


    He could not say how much time had passed as he honed his deadly craft. His best unit of measurement were the many intervals between exhausting his inner force and its renewal. Sleep was not a comfort the Chamber would allow, but through concentrating on the power within himself, he had managed to achieve something akin to a restful state. While his connection to the duality within had not risen to the level it had been when he first inherited, during his periods of recovery, he had gained a greater level of clarity and control.


    Ten times depleted and ten times recovered, Havoc begun the task of combining his strikes into a flurry. Though clumsy at first, his moves adopted a sharpened lethality. Only when he was satisfied he could execute each strike through more instinct than thought did he rest one final time within the Chamber.


    ***


    Fully renewed, Havoc opened his eyes. Since entering the Chamber, he did not know and could not even guess at how much time had passed. Whether days, weeks, or months, he could not say. What he could say with determination was that his remaining time could be measured in minutes.


    He uncrossed his legs and stood to his feet. He walked towards the azure door and stood still. The faint drum of his heart quickened, but it did not hold his hands away from the surface of the sky-blue behemoth.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The door began to shift.


    A thin mist flowed through the opening carrying with it the scent of wetted grounds. The door widened further, permitting Havoc a glimpse of what lay beyond.


    Rich hues saturated the horizon, illuminating a similarly diverse explosion of colour painting the ground. The door widened still, exposing a realm of fungi. Looking down from within the Chamber, He could not see a patch of land uncovered by mushrooms. They grew as grass; short, thin and plentiful, allowing only wisps of moss to grow between. Stranger still, in place of trees, radiant fungi reached out towards the heavens, allowing only slivers of daylight to reach the terrain.


    The alien new world was revealed in full. It was a mushroom forest, or perhaps a forest of mushrooms.


    Havoc hesitated at the threshold. He was prepared for cruel, not for such exoticisms.


    But why not? He mused. Is it any more bizarre than where I¡¯ve been? Softly chuckling at his persistent naivety, he stepped through the open door.


    The land squelched at his feet. As he walked forward, a loud bang followed. He spun backwards in time to see the sealed doorway vanish before his eyes.


    There was no turning back¡­


    His heart thrashed in his chest. In truth, it had only just regained its normal rhythm; but for Havoc it was deafening. Having spent a time unknown as a half-life in the Chamber, the full thump of his heart had become little more than a memory.


    Free from the Chamber¡¯s restraints, his lungs grew drunk from the air. The hunger and thirst he was accustom to retreated, and death¡¯s ever-present chill withdrew. He was alive.


    Fully alive.


    He did not know whether to leap for joy or cower in fear. Never before did he truly appreciate the gifts of living, but the living can die. Alone in an alien world¡­ death may have left his side, but it was his companion even still.


    Water, food shelter. His priorities set, he moved at pace deeper into the forest.


    ***


    To say Havoc was lost would be inaccurate. To find himself lost, he would have needed a destination. The Chamber had deposited him in the depths of a forest. No instructions were given. No conditions were set for his return. He knew it was a test. He knew there would be danger, but that is all he knew. Yet amid the uncertainty, the pressing need to locate a water supply weighed heavily on his mind.


    He had inherited. He was stronger, faster, and more durable than a mere man had any right to be, but he was still a man. His trek beneath the luminous mushrooms did not fatigue him. With his enhanced physique, he believed he could hold his pace indefinitely, but as his throat dried and his stomach groaned its opposition to its neglect, he was sure his body would soon begin to protest. In the unfamiliar terrain, he was not prepared for such a demonstration.


    Before his arrival to Stone Garden, Havoc could remember very little. The odd memory would spark from time to time and there were moments he could not forget, but for all intents and purposes, he was raised in the city. Moving through the fungal landscape was novel for more than just the vegetation. He was the only human among the overgrown shrooms, but his isolation was not solitary.


    Birds of varying kinds chirped overhead. Some were recognisable, if not from the city then from the illustrations in the books his sister would insist upon. Others did not seem as though they belonged to nature. A peculiar owl with many open eyes interwoven in its feathers seemed to stalk him. It would occasionally hoot its reminder of its presence. The sky was not the only to teem with life. Small creatures darted between thickets of mushroom. Emerald rabbits thumped across the ground. Every so often the vivid green critters had indigo canines snapping at their heals. Some would escape beyond the jaws of their pursuers, others hanged limp, caught by the neck between razored fangs.


    Though he was yet to come across any larger animals directly, his eyes were not closed to their signs. Cloven tracks and paw prints spread in each direction. Life was spread across the forest.


    ¡®Where there¡¯s life, there¡¯s¡­ Water.¡¯ Havoc muttered to himself.


    He studied the squished fungi, and took the path most travelled.


    The bright light of day, which had filtered through the crevices between the towering toadstools, was replaced by the pale light of the night-sun. The night brought with it a chill in the air, but there was something else. There was a crispness to the breeze. As he continued further, the thick mushroom scented air began to yield to a fresher, moist aroma.


    He heard it before he saw it. The gentle flow of water passing through the land. Quickening his pace, he reached the boarders of a clearing. The full glow of starlight basked the ground ahead in its haunting incandescence. The spectral light of the night-sun was reflected by a stream at the centre of the oasis. Lining the space, creatures of different kinds drank from the life-giving waters. Havoc wanted to run, no, sprint towards the stream, but caution forbade it. Instead, he scrutinised the enchantment.


    There were many beasts at the stream, but they drank with caution. They leaned forward to quench some thirst before propelling themselves up to look to the left. Havoc followed the trail of their curious dance. When he caught sight of the focus of the creature¡¯s attention, when he understood what it was, a cold sweat spread across his back.


    At first he thought it was a man for It stood on two feet. Its sickly grey skin quickly dissuaded him of that notion. If its pallid complexion was not hint enough. the elongated limbs hanging limp from its hutched yet muscle-bound frame, was the final clue needed to know it was not human.


    ¡®Dungeon Spawn¡­¡¯ It was barely a whisper. he did not dare speak louder. Every child of Stone Garden knew what they were. They were the monsters beneath the bed of each frightened youth.


    They were real. Terrifyingly real, but his city was blessed, Havoc had been told. No demon could pass through their hallowed gates. To the subjects of Stone Garden, the wider dangers of the Dungeon were stories and legends; gossip and rumours.


    The terror before him was not a legend. It was living, and breathing, and turning his way. As a childlike fear gripped his heart, the old-wives tale broke into a sprint.

 Chapter 6: Only Forward

    Hunched on all fours, the creature bounded towards Havoc. With limbs oversized for its frame, its encroachment was not graceful. Havoc would have found humour in the beast¡¯s uncoordinated approach, were it not approaching him. As things stood, it was not mirth he was feeling, only dread. Molten panic surged from his chest and spread throughout his body, rooting him in place. It was not the size of the creature nor its musculature which had paralysed him, but rather the recognition of its existence. It was a different kind of fear; the fear of a child in the dark learning the monster of his imaginings really did lurk in the closet. He had known. He had always known, but it was not meant to be.


    The creature lumbered closer.


    He wanted to run. He wanted to sprint back into the forest, find the door to the Chamber, and stay where it was safe. Better yet, he wanted to turn back the clock, and never step foot into a world he had no business with. He wanted to return to Stone Garden, return to his life.


    What life? The thought pierced through his terror. What life do I want to go back to?


    ¡®There is no backwards!¡® He declared to the encroaching nightmare. ¡®Only forward!¡¯ He shouted to himself, drowning out the drum of his beating heart. With an outstretched hand, he summoned the Thirsty Edge and charged.


    They met in the middle of the clearing, and the beast rose to its fully height. Havoc inspected the monster as it hunched over him. Its arms hanged low, nearly touching the ground. Its fingers were stubbed, but its claws, its unreasonably sharp claws, compensated with interest for its underdeveloped extremities. Its legs were thin and gangly. They would have been well sized for a man, but for the stretch and musculature of its torso, and the length of its arms, they seemed grotesquely mismatched.


    The beast had no face. A singular patch of flesh covered what should have been eyes. Yet, Havoc knew it could see. If not its surroundings, it could see him. It swayed its bulbous head, matching its sightless gaze with his positioning. When Havoc settled into his stance¡ªfeet planted, sword raised¡ªthe beast pulled open its mouth to bare rows of pointed teeth. Bilious saliva flung from its mouth, and a thunderous roar shattered all silence, quickening Havoc¡¯s heart. Steadying his breath and his grip on the blade, there was no more time for thought.


    In a downward, diagonal motion, the beast lashed out with razored claws. Whether by practice, chance or his desperate will to survive, Havoc countered the strike with a rising diagonal slash. His crimson steel met hardened claws, preventing him from being torn asunder. But the force of the impact launched him into the ground.


    Pain battered his body, and air burst from his lungs, but he could not allow himself to slow. Rolling on his side, he avoided the lethal pounce of the beast. He scrambled to his feet only to fall once more as the creature swiped again, grazing his stomach in its attempt to disembowel.


    Slick blood seeped from his cuts sticking his rags to his skin. He could not inspect the damage; he could only stand and throw himself to the side as the creature continued its frenzied pursuit.


    It was a matter of time. Havoc knew he could not outpace the beast. Frantically, he parried, dived, and rolled from death¡¯s grip, but he knew he was moments from its door. In each exchange, he collected more wounds.


    I¡¯m going to die¡­


    He pushed the thought aside and blocked an attempt to rend him in twain.


    The beast was faster. It was stronger. It was more ferocious than he could have dreamed in his most haunting of nightmares. It was crafted perfectly to rip flesh from bone. He could not win, but neither could he run. He knew to turn his back was to lose his life, but there was more. He was being preyed upon.


    He refused to be prey.


    Fear, pain and fury danced their dance, but his rage was most skilled. As if answering his murderous call, his dualistic magics boiled within and surged to his anchor and spirit chain. When the dazzling scarlet blade of the Thirsty Edge met the relentless claws of the fiend, it was the beast which was pushed back.


    Havoc did not question his explosive strength, he took advantage of it. Beneath the ghastly, pale-light of the midnight sun, he pressed his advantage and threw himself forward. Rapidly, he felt his internal forces drain, greedily consumed by his spirit chain and anchor. He did not have long.


    Three good strikes and a thrust. As the creature reeled from Havoc¡¯s surprising strength, Havoc strained his body into form and executed a flurry of steel. Indescribable violence howled from his throat and his blade tore through the dungeon spawn, spraying grey, fetid blood with each line across the fiends body. Time was short but the beast still stood. A putrid grey oozed freely from its many lacerations, but it did not fall. A feral cry devoured the field of battle. Whether from the beast of his own lips, Havoc did not know. In the moment, there was nothing he knew beside the fight. It was his world, the only thing that mattered. There was a purity in that. A clarity of purpose and design. In a few beats of his heart, one would die. To Havoc, It almost did not matter which. All that mattered was the moment.


    The moment arrived.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    With both arms raised, the creature dived forward. Havoc did not attempt to dodge. Crouching down, he leapt forward into death¡¯s embrace and plunged the tip of his blade through layers of muscle and sinew. Every inch he pushed stretched into a mile. His strength was waning against the beast¡¯s resistance. A deep, guttural scream broke from Havoc¡¯s lips. It harmonised with that of the beast¡¯s, blending into a cacophony of death. Pain detonated in his back as the daggered claws of the beast suck into his flesh, but there was no retreat. With everything he had, he pushed. A final shriek pierced the sky, and then moan, then there was silence.


    The creature¡¯s claws fell from Havoc¡¯s back and the beast slumped forward. When Havoc withdrew his support, the creature fell.


    "In pale-light, your captive spirit grows." Havoc heard the words and recognised its source as his Anchor.


    The Midnight Urn....


    His mind reeled. His anchor had never responded, never shown any sign of life until then, It had not even spoke its name. Havoc clutched at the thought, he tried to delve deeper, but when the blade and the urn exhausted the last wisps of his magics, he fell to the ground, and darkness took him.


    ***


    Havoc had not been awake for long. When he had first opened his eyes, he wanted nothing more than to slam them shut, and return to his dreamless sleep. His groaning stomach and parched throat did not allow him to indulge in the fantasy for long. More crucially, when the fungal scent of the forest flooded his nostrils, his recollection of events came with it.


    Alert, he jolted to his feet. Running his hands across his back, he felt for the lethal wound inflicted in his final exchange with the beast.


    The wound was gone. While his flesh was tender still, and a new layer of blood had crusted over his rags, his injuries had, for the most part, healed.


    ¡®I guess The Thirsty Edge has had its fill,¡¯ he muttered to himself before inspecting the remains of the slain dungeon spawn.


    He had anticipated the creature¡¯s bloodied corpse. His expectations were denied. In place of a body, there were only bones. Oddly, the skeletal structure held a strange luminescence. Though the eerie glow beckoned his curiosity, a sharp pang of thirst clawed at his focus. Although some animals remained, the beckoning stream in the centre of the clearing had been largely abandoned. The few beasts which had remained quickly scattered as he made his way toward the waters.


    Arriving at the edge, he went to knees, cupped his hands into the stream, and drank. With his thirst quenched, he washed the dungeon spawn¡¯s vile blood from his face, lay beneath the starlight and allowed his mind to transverse the crooked terrain of his thoughts.


    He had faced and conquered his literal nightmare What¡¯s more, his anchor had spoken. Prior to his inheritance, The Midnight Urn had called to him, but the conclusion of the battle was the first time he had heard its voice.


    ¡®In pale-light, your captive spirit grows.¡¯ Havoc mumbled the words. In light of his battle, the meaning seemed clear. Under the glow of the night-sun, his anchor would augment his already enhanced physique and provide additional strength, speed, and resilience. In the final clash with the dungeon spawn, he had felt his strength soar from the moment his tumultuous magics washed over his anchor and chain. By Graceless¡¯ words, remnants which enhanced one¡¯s strength were not uncommon. In the world of Inheritors, they were hardly special.


    Within the Chamber, Havoc encountered many such remnant which had boasted of that ability. A pair of gauntlets had sworn to give him the power to crush boulders between his hands. A steel helmet had bragged that with its aid he would shatter the bones of all who blocked his path. A simple broach whispered of meagre, but total bodily fortification. Ultimately, Havoc opted for the healing abilities of The Thirsty Edge, and to rely on what he had felt to be a more than sufficient boost in his strength gained through Inheritance.


    As it happened, his strength was not sufficient.


    Far from it, Havoc thought to himself. For a mortal, he was powerful. For a dungeon spawn, even with his anchor and every drop of magic inside, he was barely strong enough to survive.


    Lifting himself up, he sat. He rested his arm atop his thigh, and his chin between his forefinger and thumb. If he had even imagined at the vast divide between his inherited strength and that of his foes, he would have forged his link with a different remnant. ¡°I swear there was a flute which could call upon a viper to fight in my place.¡± he recalled, suppressing a tinge of regret. Whatever he could have chosen, all that mattered was gaining control of the remnants he had. The first step was to understand their abilities.


    He believed to have fully grasped The Thirsty Edge. The enchanted falchion was shaper than a sword had any right to be, but its true power was in its restorative abilities. The Midnight Urn, on the other hand¡­


    If it was a simple strength enhancing remnant, why wouldn¡¯t say as much? It didn¡¯t say anything about my strength, but rather my spirit¡­ My captive spirit.


    For a moment, he lingered on the thought before dismissing it. Despite Graceless¡¯ lessons, he simply did not know enough about Inheritance to come to any definitive conclusions. At least without experimentation.


    Experiment is what he did. While the night sun was still high above behind the domed expanse, he channelled his magics into his anchor.


    In the heat of battle, he had not noticed, but while his energy streamed into the urn, a pale mist emanated from his body. The intensity of the mist reflected the magics he would feed. With a trickle, the mist was faint, barely visible to his eye, but when he drowned his core with power, the mist would flood from his skin as though he were engulfed in flames. However, no matter the quantity of mystic energies channelled into the urn, he could not surpass the might he had experienced in battle. The enhancement was limited. Havoc could not help but think the mist was not truly for him. Rather, he began to believe, the increase he gained was a by-product as opposed to the main effect.


    Even still, it was something. As the light of day invaded the sky, Havoc concluded his practice learning his most useful lesson; The Midnight Urn carried the light of night even during the day. Satisfied with his discovery, he directed his thoughts on what lay ahead. He did not know what waited on the other side of the stream, but he did not believe the beast he had felled was the only of its kind.

 Chapter 7: A Dance Of Steel And Claw

    The clearing within the fungal forest offered sanctuary. Havoc had spent the night familiarising himself with his anchor undisturbed. He had even lost consciousness after his battle with the dungeon spawn, yet had remained unmolested. He was being tested by the Chamber, or perhaps the Dungeon, but the stream dividing the two halves of the forest seemed to be both testing grounds and a safe haven. He could stay there indefinitely, intuitively, he knew that. He also knew, to ever leave the forest he needed to press forward. He waited until nightfall to cross the stream and re-enter the dense mushroom growth.


    The forest was transformed at night. The radiance of the monolithic fungi dulled, and their diverse spectrum narrowed so that the land beneath was cast in a deep indigo. There were still birds. The many eyed owl seemed to have waited for Havoc, but otherwise the inhabitants of the forest were not to be seen. There were not even tracks to hint at their presence.


    He had quenched his thirst by the stream, but hunger was a growing concern. Had he known the forest creatures would be so scares ahead, he would have hunted the strange beasts he had encountered earlier, before continuing forward. It was too late for regrets. After walking what felt like hours down twisting paths, he doubted he could navigate back to where life teemed.


    The mushrooms were not an option. He had never seen their kind, but no one needed to be taught to avoid glowing foods.


    Well, I¡¯ve met my share of idiots, and I wouldn¡¯t put it past them, he mused, softly chucking.


    It¡¯s not so bad, he thought, taking in the peculiar sights. The forest was alien, but not without its charm. He would have liked to relax, put up his feet and enjoy the novelty of his surroundings. But such thoughts had to be restrained. There was the pressing need to seek out shelter and food. The nimble birds circling above could sustain him, but catching them amidst the towering mushrooms was a task too tall to consider. For the time being, he could only transverse deeper into the growth.


    He walked for a while further before a cave entered his line of sight. Approaching slowly, carefully and as silently as he was able, he hid behind a mushroom tree and examined the opening from a distance. Surrounding the cave were fungal towers such as those sprouting across the forest. However, they were tightly packed. From where Havoc crept, he could see no path through besides the cave. But¡­


    The cave was not left unguarded.


    At the mouth of the cave, three dungeon spawn stood hunched. Their skin was grey; their arms, long; their legs were disproportionate to the size and musculature of the rest of their bodies. They were identical to the monster Havoc had barely managed to kill, but now there were three of them¡­


    They did not seem to notice his lurking presence, but he was under no illusion that would remain true for long.


    Retreat was an option, but not one long entertained. He needed to move forward¡ªthat objective was unchanging. His instincts were telling him the cave was the only route. His stubbornness told him that there was no turning back, and then something else entirely whispered to retreat was to fail and to fail was to die.


    The thought was intrusive. By all appearances, it was counter-intuitive, but he knew it was true. Like falling in love, like finding his anchor, he did not know how he knew, he simply did. Whether it was the will of Chamber or Dungeon, he was not sure, but it wanted him to fight. As to the outcome, it seemed ambivalent; it only desired the confrontation.


    A direct approach?


    Shaking his head, he rejected the idea. Even if he were inclined toward suicide, surely there were less brutal methods. Stealth was likely to fail. The creature he killed had no eyes but was never blind to his location.


    The creatures were fast, yet their movements were lumbering. In open grounds, their speed would be an insurmountable advantage, but within the dense confines of the forest...


    It¡¯s possible, he considered.


    He was not fond of the plan, but try as he could, nothing better sprung to mind. With The Midnight Urn, it was possible. He could not outpace the predatory beasts, but they could be out manoeuvred.


    With some luck, maybe even by me¡­


    The time for thought had passed. The time for hesitation would not come again. He summoned the Thirsty Edge and walked into the open. Detected immediately, not a moment later, he was pursued. The fiends galloped towards him, and he ran. He ran for his life.


    Dashing between the looming mushrooms, he sprinted as fast as his legs would take him. He convoluted his tracks as ravenous growls trailed. Bursting into a dense cluster of mushroom trees, he pressed ahead. The beasts followed suit. He glanced back to see two of the creatures collide with the obstructions. The third carried forward and leaped. Without a second to spare, he slid beneath the beast and, in a fluid motion, turned. He harnessed his reserves of magic, summoned pale-light from his anchor, and launched himself towards his falling prey. With his blood-thirsty sword pointed downwards, he met the beast, piercing its skull with the momentum of their collision. Wasting no time retrieving his blade, he dismissed the sword to his spirit chain, stood, and ran.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The remaining monsters had resumed their chase. Their determined roars cried out from behind.


    Close¡­ Too close, he thought, his heart churning in his chest. Sprinting out of the cluster, he ran towards a thick fungal tower. He made no attempt to dodge or divert, rather, he threw himself at the monolithic growth. With his crimson blade returned to his grip, he stabbed into the mushroom tree and with a burst of strength, propelled himself further up from the hilt of his blade.


    The colossal mushroom trembled when one of the beasts crashed into its base. As Havoc rose from higher, he slammed a fist into the flesh of the mushroom to form a grip. He held the crevices as he continued to rise, and rotated in the air until he was parallel with the dazed creature. The Thirsty Edge retrieved itself into his free hand, and Havoc threw himself down. He dove into the beast, plunging mystic steel into the creature¡¯s neck.


    The final monster did not lament its fallen comrades, but it seemed determined to avenge them. It swiped at Havoc as he tucked in, pressing his feet against his recent kill. Havoc launched himself backwards from the slain and falling devil, narrowly escaping the claws slicing through the second fiend.


    He stood to his feet. Resummoning his scarlet sword, he faced the remaining savage. He had used the forest environment, his inherited physique, and bursts of power from his anchor to deliver fatal blows to the felled demons where opportunity allowed. However, these were not acts of skill or technique. He knew in a direct confrontation against the three, he would have been hopelessly outmatched. Untrained in combat, all he had was his daring. From the start, he was only one false step from death the whole time. But things had changed. There was only one left.


    Fleeing was not an option, the beast was too close to outrun, and there were no clusters mushrooms in range to escape into. There were no more tricks, no more traps, he could only fight.


    It was odd. In a way he did not fully understand, he was calm. His heart was pumping blood at a heroic pace, and his breaths were jagged, but his thoughts were sharp. Once more, it was kill or be killed. The clarity was liberating. Havoc met his eyes with the sightless gaze of the nightmare with an exhilarated smile


    ¡®Let¡¯s have at it,¡¯ he whispered to himself, signalling an end to words. He charged at the beast and the creature lunged at him. Fuelled by arcane forces and the dwindling pale-light within his anchor, Havoc lashed out with The Thirsty Edge. The sightless monstrosity repelled his attack with the steeled claws of one hand before striking back with the other. Havoc dived and rolled to his feet, resuming his attack in a rising diagonal slash.


    With limited magics and little pale-light, Havoc paced himself. He used the mist of The Midnight Urn to strengthen his strikes while conserving its abilities in times of retreat. Wound repaid for wound, their battle continued. Diving, rolling, dodging, and leaping, he did what he could to direct the flow of combat. He guided the battle, leading the creature toward towering mushrooms, and used the obstructions to save himself more than once. But the beast was persistent in its ferocity. It did not seem to care what stood in its path, it would not slow its attacks, and it was always moments away from tearing Havoc apart.


    Havoc was more measured, but no less ferocious than the fiend. Where the beast showed vulnerability, he showed the cutting edge of his blade. Where the beast stumbled, he struck. It was powerful but mindless, whereas Havoc¡¯s thoughts raced. He could not explain it. While their battle raged, and his strength dulled, his mind sharpened. It was as if he had deciphered the violence of the creature. It was muscle and fury; dangerous, but not difficult to read. In the heat of combat, Havoc began to anticipate its attacks. No longer was he reacting. He was predicting, and from prediction, he arrived at pre-emption. The beast would swipe to the left, but Havoc would be at its right, spilling its foul, grey blood with a horizontal slash. The devil would try to catch him with both talons, but Havoc would leap and roll behind, opening a new wound across its back.


    His body craved peace; his mind was dedicated to war. Fresh wounds bloomed scarlet across his chest, back, arms, and legs as he studied his adversary. But every exchange unravelled more of the dungeon spawn¡¯s weaknesses. Havoc was swift to exploit each opening to weaken it further. At first, he had traded marking the monstrosity for being marked himself. As the battle persisted, he seized the upper-hand until his was the only sharp edge to inflict injury.


    Relentlessly, he continued, stacking cut atop cut with a single-minded determination. A fevered roar arose from his chest as he preceded to circle his quarry, flash his blade across its flesh, and retreat only to be upon his foe once more.


    ¡®Again!¡¯ He screamed, adrift in a sea of battle mania as he ducked below an eviscerating slash to inflict a further laceration. ¡®More!¡¯ He yelled as he rolled between the parted legs of the creature before thrusting his blade into its muscled side. ¡®I¡¯m not finished!¡¯ He screamed as he unleashed a flurry of steel before leaping behind a mushroom titan only to pounce with blade in hand to spill more blood across the foliage. In the end, he never scored a decisive blow. Instead, he cut, struck, sliced and hacked with increasing frequency until, finally, with a pitiful whimper, the creature fell.


    He stood over the dungeon spawn. Its vile blood dripped rhythmically onto the bed of fungi. For a moment, he could only hear the pit and pat, but his thoughts soon seeped through. In the end, it was anti-climatic. There was no final charge, the monster simply fell.


    Channelling the fumes of his magics into his blade, he stared at the corpse. Havoc¡¯s many lacerations began to close while the flesh of the beast sparked and flared off the fiend at a rapid pace. Laughter broke from his lips. It started as a chuckle before contorting into something more primal. He fell to his knees. Baptised in the blood of his kill, he lifted his face towards the heavens and continued to laugh.


    ¡®I did it,¡¯ he wheezed between fits of maniacal mirth. Over and over, he repeated the words until his mind began to accept it.


    He was alive.


    He had done the impossible.


    Sanity slowly returned, displacing his mania as the last sparks of flesh evaporated from his prey. He inspected the bones on the ground. They were glowing. More so, he could feel a power radiate from the remains. It called to him, not in words, but with an enticing harmony he could hear within his soul. He answered the call; the power flooded into him. A comforting warmth prickled his skin and penetrated his bones. He basked in the warmth until the light from the corpse expired and the bones disintegrated into nothing.

 Chapter 8: Cave Of Nightmares

    Havoc had returned to the mouth of the cave. With no monsters to guard the entrance, he had taken his time to inspect his surroundings. There truly was no other path forward. The fungal monoliths laying between the cave were so densely packed as to be impenetrable. He had considered scaling the towering mushrooms; it was an impossible task. Not so because the height was such that he would never reach the top, rather, unlike the mushroom trees dotting the rest of the forest, these titans had flesh that was harder than steel.


    If there was a way of progressing without entering the cave, he would have preferred it. Three monstrosities guarded its entrance, that did not bode well for what lurked within. When he had first returned to the cave, his magics were depleted. He had no choice but to venture inside... He would not do so defenceless.


    He settled in a patch where the night-sun¡¯s rays broke through to the ground. Over the course of what felt like hours, his arcane energies had replenished. However, his rambunctiously growling stomach served as constant reminder that his spirit and anchor were not the only thing which required replenishment.


    It was not as though he had gone entirely without sustenance. After absorbing the bones of the slain dungeon spawn, Havoc¡¯s enhanced physique had enhanced further still. The corpse of his freshest kill provided the most profound difference; his skin thickened, his bones grew more solid, and his muscles swelled with power. The other kills also amplified his gains, but they paled in comparison to the latest. Whether it was due to the freshness of the remains or some other reason, he was not certain, but anything that made him harder to kill was a welcomed boon.


    The day-sun had risen, restoring to the forest its full spectrum. It had been a sight to behold. The warmth of day permeated the air, the rich indigos of the fungal towers receded, and the full incandesce of their bioluminescence bust forth, painting the ground in vivid and diverse tones.


    Arising from the sunlit ground, Havoc walked beneath the resplendent shade and approached the cave¡¯s opening to peer inside. Shadows spread the cavern, but luminous moss navigating the narrow walls provided light enough to see. Though there were no present threats, the dried blood strewn across the stone ground inspired Havoc¡¯s blade to his hand.


    He entered the cave. With light steps, he inched his way deeper into the narrow passage. It twisted and turned, broadening in places before shrinking down in others. Minutes passed, and he arrived at a chamber. Halting his steps, Havoc scrutinised what lay before. The chamber was not large. It could host, perhaps, a dozen grown men stood side by side and slightly less than twice the number stood one before the other. The same glowing moss lined the walls, but the shadows were deeper than within the passage. To the left of the space, Havoc could see his path forward. He crept forward before catching his step. There was movement in the shadows.


    Being no taller than a human adolescent, a creature stood in place. Though the beings features were cloaked in darkness, Havoc could see the movement of its arms and head. It lifted something to its mouth, and from its mouth, he could hear sharp crunches and inhuman gnawing. Facing away from Havoc¡¯s prowling place, the creature was eating.


    Something fell from its hands, tapping the cavern floor in its decent, and the figure inside crouched down to pat the ground, drawing his sight down. His blood froze. Though little light reached the ground, shapes could be discerned, and the structure the creature gripped and lifted, was the unmistakable form of a foot¡­ A human foot.


    Bile rose to his throat as the chewing recommenced. He lifted the back of his hand to his mouth and suppressed his convulsions.


    ¡°Be good, oh child, be watchful. Be restless while ye rest. The spawn love naughty children. They love to eat their flesh.¡±


    He did not have much of a childhood. Outsiders to Stone Garden, he and his sister had no family dwellings within the city. Before they had aged into employment, many nights had been spent on the streets. Nevertheless, they did not spend each night beneath the domed Dungeon sky. When there was space in the slum¡¯s child homes, they had shared the company of other children. It was from their peers that they came to learn of the dungeon spawn.


    At the time, it was a game. The boys would creep into the girl¡¯s dormitories at night, and delight in their shrieks when they would awaken to teeth at their heel.


    The truth of it was no game. There was no laughter, no playful giggling, only reawakened dread, and disgust at the horror of the scene. Havoc¡¯s grip on The Thirsty Edge tightened.


    Two thoughts crashed through his unease. The first was the confirmation that there was no safety in the cave. The second, he was not the only human within the fungal forest¡­


    There are others, he thought.


    Or at least there had been, he concluded. Since entering The Chamber of Inheritance to his arrival in the forest, he had been alone. He did not hate the solitude, but there was safety in numbers. He longed for the feeling. Ultimately, whether he was alone or surrounded changed nothing. The only way to return to civilisation was to pass through the cave. Nothing, which barred his path, be it dungeon spawn or otherwise, would survive his resolve.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He began to move cautiously, avoiding where the light glowed brightest. crouching behind the feasting monster, he positioned the tip of his scarlet falchion to the back of its neck and thrust. The fiend let out a tortured gargle, but Havoc¡¯s twisting blade silenced its noise. As he dismissed his sword to his spirit chain, the creature fell into Havoc¡¯s waiting arms and was laid noiselessly on the ground.


    Close enough to inspect, he examined the fiend as its flesh sparked from its bones. It was not like the spawn he had killed before, but it could not be mistaken for human. Its rapidly burning skin was emerald; its face was tusked, and it had predatory, amber eyes. Unlike the other monsters he had encountered, its limbs were proportional, well-toned, but thin. If he dared to hazard a guess, he¡¯d believe it was of a lesser kind. Of course, he did not know enough of world of Inheritance to rest certainty on that conclusion.


    The last embers of tissue burned from the fiend leaving only its softly radiant bones. Havoc allowed the power from the corpse rush into him, and the bones disintegrated into nothing. Returning his blade to his hand, he walked into the next passage.


    With a measured pace, he navigated the tunnel to a point where it branched in divergent directions. The unmistakable stench of iron wafted from the right. To the left, there was a musky odour. He continued to the left.


    The channel seemed endless, and it was not undefended. Along his way, fiends roamed. With darkness and surprise as his ally, he quietly dispatched the scattered denizens. Most were of the kind he had encountered in the chamber. Some were of a different but similar variety, with their only distinguishing features being the length of their tusks and colour of skin. None had the chance to so much as wail before being silenced from behind.


    Muted step by muted step, he journeyed deeper. His ears, his guide, he listened for the echo of movement and the distant growls of beasts. Always alert, consistently on edge, he adopted a stalkers instinct. His eyes had long accustomed to the dark, and he had come to depend on its protection as he slaughtered his prey to the frantic rhythm of his heart.


    It was strange how quickly he acclimatised to the task. After a while, he no longer stopped to consider the matter. His environment did not matter. The scatterings of human and animal remains were irrelevant. The blood dried on the walls faded to the back of his mind. His only thought was to advance through the cave. His goal was singular. It was such that when soft the laments of sobbing pricked at his ears, he had dismissed it. It was not the sounds a monster makes. It was only after his blade pass through the neck of his latest kill that he registered the cries.


    He did not hasten his step, but he followed the sounds, leading to an opening in the cave. The cavern was larger than the first, and the moss lining the walls was more dense, shining uneasy light across the space. Surveying the chamber from the safety of the shadows, he assessed the danger. A faceless beast roamed the walls. Its muscular arms pounded the stones before it growled and moved on to another segment of the wall. Havoc¡¯s gaze traced the beast as it moved from segment to segment. Only when it released a bone-chilling roar and left through a further passage did his eyes wander to the objects of the monster¡¯s fixation.


    Heads, human heads were fixed in stone. The bloodied faces of men, women and children stared vacantly. It was a scene from only the most fevered of his nightmares. Havoc had not enter the cave without the expectations of violence; the blood at the entrance forewarned of the threat. But, before him was something was more brutal, more wicked, and far crueller than for which he could have ever prepared. Within the forest, he had encountered dungeon spawn. They were vicious, but mindless. Nothing he had seen had alerted him to what every instinct was telling was no imaginings.


    It was a human stockyard¡­


    The cavern was too bright for stealth, but with the room abandoned by all but the miserable souls embedded in the walls, there was no need to hide his presence. Still, he did not lower his sword as he entered the grim space.


    Thick, green veins bulged from the faces and necks of each head protruding from the stone. As Havoc walked, the eyes of the people traced his movements. They were still alive¡­


    Almost alive.


    There was no hint of intelligence in their gaze, frozen in a mask of terror. Their mouth¡¯s were agape, as if screaming aloud, but only muted whines escaped their lips.


    ¡®What could have done this¡­¡¯ His voice was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and he received a reply.


    ¡®Ab-omin-able spirit.¡¯ Adrenaline surged through Havoc¡¯s veins at the words. He turned swiftly, sword high, ready to strike. ¡®


    I-it was a-an abominable s-pirit.¡¯ The voice said again. The source was of the mounted heads. A woman no older twenty. Her hair, where it was not caked in blood, was golden, her eyes may have once been blue. It was difficult to tell, much of the vibrance seemed drained from her irises leaving them dull, retaining only faint hints of colour. She could have been beautiful once, but with the thick green lines criss-crossing her face, her beauty was lost to Havoc¡¯s imaginings.


    There was a chilling poignancy in her voice. It was feeble, yet carried the weight of her torment.


    ¡®Come¡­ closer.¡¯ Havoc did not. He pitied the woman, but he did not trust her. ¡®Please, I¡­ won¡¯t last long¡­ And¡­ neither will you¡­ H-avoc.¡¯


    Chills engulfed him and his heart beat like a percussionist possessed. She knew his name... ¡°How could she know my name?¡±


    ¡®Plea-se¡­ There¡¯s not mu-ch¡­ time.¡¯


    ¡®I don''t know you...¡¯


    ¡®Plea-se¡­¡¯ The woman repeated. ¡®Plea-se¡­¡¯


    Havoc paused. Every fibre of his being told him to retreat. To leave the cave and never return. Something else whispered to move closer. It was the same compulsion which told him to fight the dungeon spawn guarding the terrible place. The same instincts which had guided his steps since he had chained himself to The Dungeon. Graceless had said to inherit was to be bound to the will of their world. Havoc had come to believe his words, and so he moved closer.

 Chapter 9: Force Of Will

    ¡®I¡¯ll be direct; I want you to save me,¡¯ the blonde woman said.


    Havoc had not moved from the cavern grotesquely adorned by human heads, and yet he was somewhere very different. Moments before his abrupt arrival, the world sank into itself, his head spun, and then he was there. It was a nearly empty tearoom, and he was sat facing a beautiful woman. When he had seen her in the wall, her features were marred by blood and unsightly veins protruding from her neck, but in the caf¨¦, her allure was untarnished.


    Havoc ignored the woman¡¯s words and looked around. Only Lord-Mayor Kaine¡¯s dwellings could compare to the opulence of the room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling; their twirling candlelight danced across the walls. Though he was alone with the woman, there were many exquisitely presented tables, such as those he had only seen in the half-ruined pages of discarded society papers. The marble floor was a spotless white, and great arched pillars lifted from the ground, separating the dining area from a cream-white staircase. He could not guess at where the stairs could lead, but he did not doubt it was somewhere equally luxurious.


    He had kept his composure. When facing the unknown, he believed it was prudent to act as though it was familiar territory. In truth, since entering The Chamber of Inheritance, his sudden transportation was not the most astounding he had experienced. Nevertheless, he was astounded. More so than he would allow a potential threat to uncover.


    ¡®Where are we?¡¯ Although his voice was steady, he could not quite extinguish all embers of trepidation from his tone. However, if the woman noticed, she did not betray her perception.


    ¡®That isn¡¯t important.¡¯


    ¡®I admire your boldness.¡¯ At Havoc¡¯s words, the woman¡¯s golden eyebrows lifted in what appeared to be genuine befuddlement.


    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    ¡®Its just a little strange how you can be so daring to ask for my help and then refuse to answer a simple question. It¡¯s admirable¡­ A little short-sighted, but I wouldn¡¯t have the guts for it, that¡¯s for sure,¡¯ he said before narrowing his gaze. ¡®You want me to save you? Fine; that¡¯s great. But my help comes at a price, and it doesn¡¯t come ill-informed. So, I¡¯ll ask you again, where are we?¡¯


    For a moment there was silence. The woman¡¯s ruby-painted lips parted, and her eyes went wide, displaying her ocean-blue irises in their full splendour. Seconds ticked by, and the silence was broken as her melodic laughter lifted to the ceiling.


    ¡®By the Hosts of Harmony! Even with foresight, I couldn¡¯t have prepared myself for you,¡¯ she chuckled, raising a palm to cover her lips. ¡®Fair is fair. I¡¯ll answer your questions so long as time allows, but in return, I want you to take my request.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll hear you out. If its within my power to save you without sacrificing myself, I¡¯ll consider it,¡¯ Havoc replied, inspiring a renewal of musical laughter.


    ¡®Then we have a deal. As for where we are, physically we¡¯re still in the cave. We never left. I¡¯m still embedded in the cavern, and you¡¯re right in front of me. However, our minds are inside The Fair Lady¡¯s Teapot. It¡¯s my anchor. It allows me to conjure this mental space, and I can even draw others inside.¡¯


    The woman¡¯s identity as an Inheritor was not a surprise, and Havoc had deduced her anchor¡¯s ability from the context of their present meeting. Nonetheless, it was difficult to reconcile the casualness of her speech with her dire predicament. She was bound to a wall in a human larder, helpless within a cave infested with horrors. But she spoke with the ease of one attending a friendly meal. In a sense, that was the most unnerving thing about her.


    ¡®Annalise, by the way. Although feel free to call me Anne. Like you, I¡¯m an inheritor, but while you¡¯re of the Servant rank, I have ascended to the Soldier.¡¯ At her words, Havoc¡¯s eyebrow lifted. He had known that not all Inheritors were equally powerful. The mysteries of inheritance, too sacred for the bereft, was a closely guarded secret in Stone Garden. Graceless had imparted some knowledge, enough to prepare him for his trials, but try as he did, Havoc could not pry the finer details of the world he had now entered from his tutor¡¯s lips.


    Questions began to form in his mind. It started as a trickle, but before long they descended as a torrent. He attempted to weigh their importance, but before he could give voice to his enquiries, Annalise, seemingly picking up on his confusion, had begun speaking once more.


    ¡®Right, I almost forgot you¡¯re from that city¡­ Tell me, Havoc, how much do you know about the world of Inheritance?¡¯


    Havoc considered lying. He did not think it wise to lay his ignorance so clear for observation. Ultimately, he dismissed the thought. He did not fully trust Annalise, and while she was the more immediate threat, his lack of knowledge had hounded him since entering the Chamber of Inheritance. An opportunity to cure such defect would likely not arise during his trials again.


    The risk is worth the reward, he concluded


    ¡®I know that Inheritors are chained to The Dungeon, and that we derive our power from remnants. I also know that we have magics flowing inside us, and we use those magics to summon our remnants. Beyond that, I know nothing at all.¡¯


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Annalise leaned back in her chair and sighed. She closed her eyelids and massaged them with her fingers before returning to her upright posture.


    ¡®You know, not every human settlement is like Stone Garden. I don¡¯t know why they keep their bereft population so clueless on these things¡­ Okay, we won¡¯t have time to cover everything, but I¡¯ll teach you enough so that you¡¯re not so much a mystery to yourself. Now, where should we begin?¡¯ Annalise asked, her face tightening to a pout.


    ¡®The magics we use, is there a way of increasing it?.¡¯ Ultimately, it was Havoc¡¯s most pressing question. Violence had been a consistent companion in the forest, and he did not believe it would soon leave his side. Without the strange powers within his core, he would not have survived the ordeal.


    ¡®Okay, sure. First of all, the power we inherit is called Harmony. Through its use, this Dungeon-world came to be. As you said, when we inherit, we¡¯re bound to The Dungeon. It is through that link that we are able to wield remnants.¡¯


    Annalise began slowly, but as she continued to talk, she did so with vigour. Her beauty was magnified by the enthusiasm and joy which brighten her face as she spoke. Havoc paid attention to her words; they were too important to ignore. However, it was an active effort. Through will alone did he pull his focus from her captivating lips to concentrate on the words she formed with them.


    Though it was an unexpected challenge, he did hear her words. Through them, the dark clouds of ignorance which had continuously promised the storm, dispersed. Anne bounced from topic to topic. She had started on how an inheritor advances in ranks through conquering Dungeon Cells which correspond with their chosen anchor before deciding that her explanation would make no sense before providing some detail about the will of the Dungeon. She circled back to make sure that Havoc well and truly understood that it was not about strength of even exploration, but rather that the Dungeon had expectations of every Inheritor, and it would not permit progression until its criteria had been met.


    ¡®¡­ For instance, if the Dungeon wills that you slay one hundred abominations in one hundred different ways, it will not matter how many monsters beyond that number you kill. Unless you meet the Dungeon¡¯s criteria within a compatible Cell, you will never reach the next rank. Which reminds me, it is crucial that you understand the distinction between a dungeon spawn and a dungeon Abomination-¡¯


    ¡®Wait, slow down!¡¯ Raising both hands towards the rambling beauty, Havoc shook his head as he attempted to organise the details Anne had scattered across his mind. Visually annoyed, Anne pouted in apparent frustration, and paused her lecture.


    Havoc began to weave together the disparate threads of details Annalise had spun, and before it unravelled, he was determined to comprehend its design. From her speech, he had come to understand that Inheritors were divided by ranks, and each rank consisted of three steps. Every step permitted the forging of a new spirit link. And with each new spirit link forged, an Inheritor could bind to themselves an additional remnant. Every step required an Inheritor to defeat and absorb an increasing number of enemies leading to their capacity for Harmony to grow. However, each rank represented a qualitative enhancement in an Inheritor¡¯s power. It permitted the use of more powerful remnants and further integrated an Inheritor''s anchor, strengthening its original powers while also unlocking unique abilities to be mastered. Havoc learned that increasing ones rank required bespoke accomplishments within the Dungeon Cells. Each one tailored by the will of the Dungeon to each Inheritor, however¡­


    ¡®You haven¡¯t explained what these Cells are or how we¡¯re supposed to know what the Dungeon expects from us.¡¯ Havoc said. Annalise leaned back in her chair and a mischievous smile lifted her lips.


    ¡®I¡¯m glad you asked. Cells are areas of the Dungeon separated from space and even time. Within a Cell, an Inheritor is pushed to their limits and often far beyond. You¡¯ll come to learn that soon.¡¯ She paused. ¡®This entire forest is a Cell, and you¡¯re barely past its entrance. As for the Dungeon¡¯s will for you, that couldn¡¯t be more simple. The Dungeon wants you to save me.¡¯ Anne¡¯s words lingered in the silence. They were deafening.


    From the beginning of their meeting, Havoc had felt ensnared. With every detail Annalise revealed, he could feel the trap tighten. With her latest revelation, he felt utterly bound. He did not believe she was lying. In fact, he knew she was not. When she spoke the Dungeon¡¯s will, he heard the Dungeon confirm her words. It was the same whisper that had thrust him into combat outside of the cave except that whisper was now a shout.


    What is this? Like an ant enslaved by giants, oppressive was the feeling baring down upon him.


    ¡®What have you done?¡¯ Havoc¡¯s eyes burned into the oceans of the woman sat opposite. She looked away, but her mischievous smile did not leave her lips.


    ¡®I can¡¯t say I know what could have you so upset.¡¯ Annalise replied.


    When she had first requested he save her, he had not felt any resonance with her plea. It was a request he could accept or refuse. Only after Annalise had detailed the world of Inheritance did he feel compelled. Havoc did not know how, but he was certain, by her actions, words, or deeds, she had bent the will of their world.


    ¡®Oh lighten up, would you. Did I not give exactly what you asked for? You lacked knowledge of how this world works, and I told you everything you wanted to know and more. Did you imagine that wouldn¡¯t come at a price?¡¯ Her face stern, Annalise met Havoc¡¯s gaze.


    ¡®How?¡¯


    ¡®The Dungeon¡¯s will isn¡¯t static, it¡¯s reactive. With enough foresight, it can be enticed to one¡¯s favour. By talking with me, and learning from me, you received assistance of which you were not entitled. Now you need to earn that entitlement. How better than saving the very damsel who relieved your distress?¡¯ Anne replied.


    Havoc had been weary of the blonde woman before him, but that caution bellowed into crashing tones of alarm. Behind her innocent fa?ade, she was dangerous. Far more dangerous than the dungeon spawn he had narrowly survived. Bloodied and battered, waiting to be devoured, yet she could manipulate his destiny¡­


    ¡®If it¡¯s any consolation, I¡¯m not in the most ideal position either. The Dungeon wills for you to save me. If you cannot, you will never advance beyond a Servant, and you will likely never leave this Cell. But to get what I want, it demands that I be saved. We are both prisoners of this world; bound to its will.¡¯


    ¡®What is it that you want?¡¯ Havoc asked.


    Annalise¡¯s smile widened, and an intensity burned within her eyes. Havoc¡¯s best guess at interpreting the expression was desire, but he could only reach that conclusion by peering through the madness.


    ¡®What I want?¡¯ Lifting a hand, the deranged beauty began to twirl her hair with a finger. ¡®Oh, nothing much. Nothing much at all. All I want is...


    ¡®The power to destroy this accursed world.¡¯

 Chapter 10: Annalise

    Annalise faced her opponent. She held in her hand a glass wand. Chaotic lines traced the inside of the wand. From the internal fractures, one would be forgiven for believing it would shatter at any moment, but in truth, The Shattered Wand was as sturdy as steel. During her trials within the Dungeon Cell, her Remnant''s durability had been tested nearly as thoroughly as she had been.


    ¡®We don¡¯t have to do this! You have always been my friend! We can find another way!¡¯ Not for the first time, Annalise begged the woman before her to reconsider. Together with four other members of their party, they had journeyed from the seventh floor of the Dungeon down to the eighth. They had crossed mountainous regions, and frozen wastelands, all to locate The Grandfather¡¯s Cell.


    Through Anne¡¯s gifts of foresight, she had divined the Cell would soon open. Within, she was determined to find a remnant which could protect a growing community where she had found her home. Clinging to paradise, she stumbled into Hell. The Grandfather¡¯s Cell was unforgiving.


    An accursed miasma spread the land. All who came in contact with the scarlet haze would feel its effect immediately. Endlessly, they would be confronted with their greatest shame, their deepest regret, and unspeakable fears. Without the comfort of her companions, Annalise could not have survived contamination.


    Nothing grew beneath the rocky terrain. Bereft of daylight, the only light in the perpetually black sky was that of the night sun. It tricked below its phantom radiance. Charcoal day after ebony night, there was no brightness within the Cell.


    Annalise lost track of the days spent surviving. Together with her party, they had battled inconceivable horrors. A giant composed of decomposing human limbs had ambushed them within the first few hours of their arrival. The party maintained their positions. Though the battle was gruelling, their leader had eventually reduced the creature to ash with the power of his flaming spear.


    That¡¯s right. It wasn¡¯t unbearable. While he was here, there was still hope, Annalise thought as she raised her wand towards her friend.


    They did not need the day sun because he was their sun. A raging star in an otherwise empty sky. With his burning spear, he cut through the nightmares of the Cell. With his shield, he called forth walls of incinerating heat to protect the weaker members of their group. He was a Servant Inheritor as were the rest of them, but they were not made equally. The purity of his Harmony was unmatched, and his reserves were never ending.


    When a legion of skinless ghouls descended from the jagged cliffs, it was he who pierced through their ranks to lead his group to safety. He never gave up. He never surrendered. Adam Greaves did not know the meaning of hesitation. He would act, and do so selflessly.


    In the end, The Dungeon did not care. It paid no notice to his unparalleled bravery or generosity of spirit. Rather, he was punished for it.


    The Cell was arranged in six circular regions. To pass deeper into the nightmare, a sacrifice was required. The first offering was a remnant. Gladys, one of their weaker members, gladly offered a charm. It enhanced her perceptions. It was useful, but it could be spared. The second region demanded a finger. The third required a hand, and the forth accepted a sense of perception. It was Annalise who fulfilled that requirement. She surrendered her sense of taste. To protect the ones who had adopted her as their own, it was an inconsequential loss... Hardly worth mentioning. The fifth desired a life. It hungered for three, but it would accept one.


    Their strongest one.


    Adam did not hesitate to offer himself. Try as they did, the rest of the party could not hold him back.


    ¡®He was the best of us¡­¡¯ Annalise muttered under her breath as shards of razored glass manifested around her.


    Adam had thrown himself at a wall of outstretched hands. Giddily, it received him. Anne had watched as he was torn apart, and dissolved into its fabric. He did not scream, he did not cry. He never begged for mercy. Instead, his final words were to say he was sorry. He was not strong enough to watch his friends die.


    ¡®What about us, Adam? You were stronger than all of us! What makes you think we¡¯re strong enough to watch you die!¡¯ By the time the words left Anne¡¯s lips, it was already too late. Adam was gone, and the fifth barrier parted.


    Without Adam to lead the way, The final circle of The Grandfather¡¯s Cell overwhelmed the party. Annalise had done all that she could to keep their spirits high, but the tide of unholy monsters and the deepening miasma proved to be insurmountable. Turning her blade on herself, the weakest of the group had ended her own life. Another had been torn from limb from limb by an empty-eyed giant resembling a grey and sickly human infant. The forth to die did so heroically. He faced the corpse of a ravenous wolf. It was five times his size, but he did not back down.


    Screaming ¡®For Adam!¡¯ He used his armour remnant to enhance his own size to that of the wolf, and wrestled with it as Annalise and her oldest friend escaped deeper into the Cell.


    Anne could still hear his tortured wails as the wolf overpowered him. His screams for help hounded her as she fled further.


    Most of her party was gone now, and the one who remained was resolute in being the only one to remain.


    ¡®Mary, Please! We don¡¯t have to do this¡­¡¯ Annalise cried. ¡®We can find another way¡­ There¡¯s always another way!¡¯


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Mary¡¯s raven hair fluttered in the wind lifting from below, and she began to hover above the ground. The winds gathered to flank her shoulders. Shaped by an unseen force, they formed into spears.


    Annalise had been with Mary when her friend had claimed The Sealed Storm. She could remember Mary¡¯s excitement at having discovered a remnant which so perfectly complimented her Anchor. When the tear-shaped earrings first manifested through her lobes, Annalise was the one to first notice the tempest sealed within the otherwise plane glass adornments. She was also the first to see its power as Mary had closed her eyes the first time she launched a spear of of twisting heavens through the centre of a lumbering dungeon spawn.


    They had both been delighted by its might. Mary¡¯s anchor, the Scarf of Feathers, allowed her to float. Her Inherited physique allowed her to assist, but it was The Sealed Storm which had given her the power to fight.


    That power was now turned against Annalise.


    ¡®Only one us can leave here, Anne. The Dungeon wills it.¡¯ Mary¡¯s voice was bittersweet to Annalise¡¯s ears. It was the voice of her friend, but stripped of all passion. All that was left was a stark resolve.


    ¡®That isn¡¯t true!¡¯


    ¡®You know that it is. Only one of us will ascend. Only one of us can Inherit the right to be called a Soldier. If we leave now, we will forever be slaves of this world.¡¯


    They were not fighting for their lives. Their battle was for power¡­


    When they had reached the final barrier, they were given three choices. The first was slay the master of the Cell. The Abomination known only as Grandfather was a terror such as Annalise had never seen. It was a creature of the Champion rank, the third ascension of its infernal Inheritance.


    Sealed within a dark-crystal, Grandfather could not be seen, but its terrible wrath permeated the Cell. From its spite, the hateful miasma flowed. The party could have challenged the demon at any stage. Had they done so, the Cell would have demanded no sacrifice. However... one and all, they would have surely died.


    The second option was to simply leave. Doing so would not harm the women physically, but they would lose the favour of the will of the Dungeon. While advancement would not be impossible, by defying the settled will of their world, their world would turn its back on them. Its voice would no longer guide them, and without its guide, their path to further accension would likely reach its end.


    But I could live with that¡­ Annalise thought as the shards of glass before her rotated horizontally.


    The final choice was to fight, not a monster or beast, but one another. To the palpable glee of their world, that is the option Mary had chosen. Annalise¡¯s oldest friend was determined to strike her dead.


    ¡®Rest easy, Annalise. After you¡¯re gone, I will protect our home.¡¯


    Anne did not wait for Mary to finish her goodbye. Diving to the left, she escaped the piercing winds hurled her way at at lethal speeds.


    There was no time to avoid Mary¡¯s next strike. Anne knew it would skewer her before she could move from her place. With her wand in hand, Annalise jerked her wrist, sending a plane of razored glass to intercept the strike.


    The glass shattered on impact, but the force of Mary¡¯s storm was depleted. Flicking her wrist, Anne sent the second shard flying towards her opponent. She knew it would not hit her agile foe, but it was distraction enough to allow her back on her feet.


    Flooding her spirit chain with Harmony, she summoned a further shard and launched it forward. Her aim was true, and it was too swift for even Mary avoid. However, before shard could end her friend¡¯s life, it shattered into nothing. With wavering resolve, Anne could not kill her friend.


    ¡®You fool,¡¯ Mary whispered as two new spears of a mighty storm formed beside her.


    ¡®Mary, please! It¡¯s not too late, we don¡¯t have to do this¡­ No one else needs to die!¡¯ Futile words upon deafened ears, Mary gripped both spears in her hands and charged towards Anne. With vicious speeds, Mary narrowed the gap between the two and struck.


    Neither woman excelled in close quarters, but Mary¡¯s ability to wield the storms in her hand had allowed her to develop a level of proficiency. Were Annalise not able to predict Mary¡¯s intent, the savage wounds suffered upon retreat would have proven fatal.


    Forcing Mary backward, Annalise hurled sharpened glass towards her. The second shard came, and Mary sacrificed one a spear in her defence.


    Surging Harmony, Annalise fashioned more projectiles. Her mastery over her remnant''s had always excelled her friend. It was no challenge to outpace Mary¡¯s attacks. The difficulty was in landing a decisive strike. As their exchange continued, there had been openings. Mary was swift, but against an opponent who could glimpse into the mind, speed was of limited utility. It was Annalise¡¯s reluctance, and nothing more, prolonging their combat.


    ¡®With all of your gifts and all of your power, look at what you¡¯ve made of it,¡¯ Stretching both arms wide, Mary halted in place as a razor projectile sped towards her. Before the glass could impale her friend, Anne dismissed the attack and the shard disintegrated into mist. ¡®Annalise, you are too weak to ascend. You cannot defeat this world, but I can. Lay down your life for me, and I will carry your will. Through me, our dream of creating a better world is still possible.¡¯


    ¡®Listen to yourself! This isn¡¯t you, Mary! This isn¡¯t who you are. Think about our friends! They gave everything for us. More than any of us, you admired Adam. He would never do this! Never!¡¯


    ¡®You are right, he would not. But he¡¯s dead, Anne¡­ They¡¯re all dead,¡¯ something flickered in Mary¡¯s eyes as she spoke. For a moment, Annalise could see her friend, but the moment faded quickly. ¡®Has our journey taught you nothing? This world is cruel and unforgiving. The weak die, the strong die too. Only those willing to do whatever it takes to survive are worthy of survival.¡¯


    Lifted from below, dust rose to the air. It circled Mary before forming into a spike. More and more dust compiled. It grew until forming rotating lance of rock suspended within the pressurised heavens before Mary.


    Annalise could feel Mary¡¯s intent. She was going to kill her. The attack could not be dodged, and it would shatter all defence. Mary¡¯s everything compiled into killing intent. There would be no next blow. There would be no need.


    The lance grew into a pointed boulder, and the boulder grew even still. Annalise knew It would be moments before the attack would be unleashed. Raising her wand, she formed her transparent attack behind Mary¡¯s back. Looking into the hollowed eyes of her friend, tears began to fall from her own. The rock angled towards Annalise, promising the certainty of death. Death arrived, but not to Annalise. Before Mary¡¯s final strike, Annalise pulled at the glass behind her friend, and the bladed shard pierced through Mary¡¯s back, its sharpened tip protruding from her chest.

 Chapter 11: Heritage

    The grand opulence of the tearoom began to distort. Cracks tore their way through the tables, arches and floor. Havoc¡¯s world spun. His vision grew blurry, and as quickly as he had entered the mental space, he was ejected.


    Unsteady on his feet, Havoc swayed as to fall. He caught himself before he could stumble forward onto the grisly rampart. His head pounded and vision swam, but he remained on his feet. With each slow breath, his ailments retreated. He shut his eyes and slowly reopened them. Focused and steady, he had returned to the cave.


    Anne¡¯s face was awash with glee when she had told him how close he had been to leaving the Cell. By her reckoning, with a little more sneaking around and perhaps one real fight, he would have been led outside the cave to find a door leading back to Stone Garden. Despite the protruding green veins lining the sleeping woman¡¯s face and neck, that same joy was seared into her expression. To Havoc, it was far more disturbing than anything else he had seem since entering the wretched cave.


    Through her machinations, he was bound. The Dungeon had entwined his fate with hers. Unlike himself, Annalise was an Inheritor of the Soldier rank. He had taken her assistance, but with it came her challenges. Challenges a novice Inheritor was never meant to face.


    The Abominable Spirit¡­


    By Anne¡¯s description, Havoc was to face a fierce and menacing enemy, but one he was uniquely equipped to dispatch. It was the master of the cave, and resided deeper within. Annalise had told him that it had taken residence within a dungeon spawn. The spawn had domain over rock and a strange vegetation, but the Spirit had domain over the spawn.


    The creature could be struck down, but the abomination within required bespoke methods of execution. For Anne, that is where Havoc would would prove useful.


    ¡®I won¡¯t promise it¡¯ll be easy, but you have three advantages of which to make use,¡¯ Annalise had said prior to returning Havoc to the moss-lit cavern. ¡®The Spirit itself is of the Solider rank, but its vessel is not. It has been dominated, but it has its own will. Most dungeon spawn are of limited intellect, but they are territorial, how much more so of their own beings? Finally, there¡¯s your anchor¡­¡¯ The most useful revelations of his conversation with the manipulative woman was of his own abilities.


    If she was to be believed, the mist of The Midnight Urn did not only enhance Havoc¡¯s physical standing, it could also give substance to a Spirit. Once substantiated, the intangible creature could be cut down.


    Covering his eyes with a palm, He deeply sighed.


    ¡®Its not that simple.¡¯ Havoc had replied. ¡®I¡¯ve just become an Inheritor. Every creature I¡¯ve faced has very nearly killed me. Now you want me to kill dozens more then challenge the most powerful monster in this place? It¡¯s suicide!¡¯


    ¡®How do you know so little about yourself?¡¯ Annalise had responded, her eyes rolled up. ¡®When you killed the first spawn, it was a struggle to the death. Then you went on to kill three more in quick succession. Did you think it was by chance?¡¯


    At the time, Havoc did not have a reply. He had counted himself lucky, but not particularly skilled. When Annalise questioned his exploits, he could not help but acknowledge how ridiculous they had been. No question, he was stronger. However, his accomplishments had not been feats of strength alone. He had wielded his falchion as if leaving the womb blade in hand. He had weaved himself into the forest and became more perilous than any pitfall or snare. He had sneaked into the cave and became to the monsters within a stalking predator, dispatching one after the last with a cold precision. These were not the boasts of an unskilled fighter.


    ¡®The Heritage of The Prince Of War.¡¯


    Annalise¡¯s words echoed in Havoc¡¯s mind. No one is certain why some Inheritors are further blessed by the Dungeon, Anne had told him. There did not appear to be a connection between an Inheritor¡¯s physical lineage and the traits they could receive. It was a rare gift to be bestowed, coveted deeply by all with knowledge of their existence.


    Annalise explained that to those such as himself, the Dungeon would impart further power. Havoc was graced upon any field of battle. Each conflict would sharpen his prowess. Each battlefield would become his estate. His blessing was not absolute. Against a vastly more skilled opponent, it could not save him, but if he survived, his acumen for bloodshed would be greatly enhanced.


    Annalise was also bestowed with a Heritage. Havoc was sure of it. She was too familiar to be lacking in experience. Nevertheless, whatever true secrets she bore, the loathsome woman had been far too cunning to let slip.


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter.¡¯ He could not deny he was curious, but it was not his primary concern.


    Havoc¡¯s eyes readjusted to the dim lighting of the cavern. Prior to entering into Anne¡¯s mental space, a faceless monster, he had come to learn were named slasher-spawn, had exited the cavern through a passage. It was the same path Havoc was to take to the Abomination dwelling deeper into the cave.


    Following the directions Annalise had given him, he navigated the cave with purpose. With an awareness of his Heritage, he fought the spawn he encountered with greater abandon. When he had caught up with the slasher, he ensured it was alone. Deciding against stealth, he engaged the creature directly.


    Harnessing his experience gained from others of its kind, he evaded its attacks while delivering critical strikes of his own. It was as if he was reading its thoughts. Deranged as they were, there was a pattern to its ferocity. No matter how beastly the monster had been, it could not cut what it could not strike. In the end, Havoc had been too relentless in his strikes, too quick in his retreats, and too domineering with The Thirsty Edge in hand for the slasher to contend with. The faceless creature had fallen to his blade.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It was not the last.


    His encounters with the monsters of the cave became more frequent. As he moved from chamber to chamber, it became apparent The Dungeon would no longer permit him to engage in single combat.


    A slasher guarded by two emerald skinned monsters seemed to be in disagreement over the portioning of a brutalised woman. When Havoc entered their den, their dispute was resolved. The clawed grip of the faceless monster retracted from the woman¡¯s neck, and she collapsed, bloodied and limp, to the stone. Not a moment later did a green skinned monstrosity charge.


    Claws forward, the beast darted towards him. Its movements were decisive, but simple. Havoc left-stepped its attack and delivered one of his own. With a single horizontal slash, the fiend had been beheaded.


    The remaining dungeon spawn did not act with cohesion, but they did act together. It was a novel challenge for Havoc to overcome. When the slasher would attack from the right, the razor claws of the smaller creature loomed hazardously from the left.


    The battle did not leave him unmarked, but he avoided the most devastating strikes and rapidly adapted. Exploiting the monsters¡¯ lack of coordination, he used one to stumble the other, ultimately slaying both in a flurry of pointed cuts.


    He could not deny the value of his Heritage. With every battle he faced he could feel his skill sharpen. More so, with their lives extinguished, their flesh had sparked from their bones. Havoc did not neglect to harvest the glow their remains. It was a virtuous cycle, but it could not be sustained.


    Conservative as he was in his use of Harmony, it was not a limitless resource. Allowing time between conflict, he would recover as best as he could. Even still, his reserves were emptying at an alarming pace. His second concern was that his gnawing hunger had yet to be satiated. Its ravenous call would not allow him peace.


    ¡®That damned witch! Where is it?¡¯ The still twitching corpse of a slasher-spawn slid from the tip of The Thirsty Edge. Its neck loose, the beast tumbled to the ground. Its decomposition was swift. Moments following its fall, Havoc could already see its softly luminous ribcage revealed from beneath its burning chest.


    Sweat dripped from his brow, but in the broad tunnel in which he was located, there was no time to rest. Distant as it was, he could already hear the enraged growls of monsters ahead. Sucking stagnant air into his lungs, he wiped his face with the ragged sleeve of his shirt, and pressed forward to meet the new threat.


    Annalise had told Havoc of her preparations. Further into the cave, there was safe haven. He would have to fight to get there, but she assured him that the real dangers of the cave would not appear until after he had a chance to fully recover.


    ¡®You couldn¡¯t have prepared somewhere nearby?¡¯ Havoc muttered under his breath as his crimson blade bit into the neck of a slasher-spawn. Fuelling his strike with the mist of his anchor, the sword¡¯s edge pushed past the spawn¡¯s muscles and tendons, fully liberating its head from its shoulders.


    ¡®Putting it bluntly, if you step foot into the lower levels of this cave as you are, you will die a pointless death.¡¯


    Annalise had not been too shy to tell Havoc how weak he was. His growth was rapid, but he was never meant to venture too far into the cave. He was certainly never meant to enter forest below.


    ¡®Killing the Abominable Spirit will not be enough. Once free, you and I will face the true horrors of this Cell. You need to be stronger, Havoc. Much stronger.¡¯


    Havoc deftly rolled from the shadow of a deadly pounce. He leaped to his feet and threw himself at a faceless monstrosity. The air whistled as he closed the distance, but his only focus was the kill. With a honed lethality, he crashed into the slasher, plunging his blade through its skull on landing.


    ¡®You¡¯ll need to reach the second step before facing the Spirt and the third before leaving this cave. The monsters you¡¯ve faced so far cannot be compared to the abominations of the forest below.¡¯


    His body throbbed with pain. Bruised and bleeding, he wanted nothing more than a warm meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed in which to wake from the endless nightmare which had become his life. Annalise had guaranteed the bed and the meal when he arrived at the place she had prepared for him. But he would not awaken to a dream.


    Breathing deeply, he leaned on the tunnel wall for support. His strength was spent from the never ceasing battles. Nevertheless, he pushed himself onwards. His bloody handprint marked his progress.


    ¡®It should be close¡­¡¯ He muttered.


    Don¡¯t hold anything back, Havoc thought, recalling Anne¡¯s words. when you feel you can¡¯t go on, you¡¯ll be right around the corner.


    All he could see was more of the endless tunnel.


    ¡®It was a lie from the start, wasn¡¯t it?¡¯ Spitting the words, Havoc pushed himself further. ¡®There¡¯s no place prepared for me. You just wanted me to suffer. Suffer and die, isn¡¯t that right?¡¯ He was alone and did not expect a response. Even still, relief tinged with disappointment stirred his chest. He did not appreciate the manipulation. Annalise had toyed with his fate. Her every move had drawn him closer, her every action blinded him to the snares. Even still, she had impressed him. It was as if she had known him for years. All of his secrets were open to her while the woman, herself, was shrouded in questions. For all Havoc knew, maybe she was watching. Crafty as she was, Havoc could not help but think she had chosen to remain silent.


    He pressed forward. His laborious journey weighed heavily on his shoulders. Nevertheless, he did not fail to acknowledge his gains. From the monsters killed and their power absorbed, he had benefited greatly. He was far stronger than he had been before entering the cave. Whereas a single slasher-spawn had taken his all to defeat, now, save for landing a decisive killing blow, he did not even need his anchor to dispatch them. His physical might was enough. Further still, while his reserves of Harmony were dangerously low, he could feel his capacity increased. If on Inheritance he had been drawing from a bowl, he now felt as if it had been reshaped into pot.


    What good is an empty pot? He thought as his blistered hand scraped sharpy on the tunnel wall and he stumbled furthermore.


    Anne¡¯s design was to make him stronger. He could not deny the genius of her architecture. He would not trust the woman, but she had use for him. He wrestled with the thought, but did not turn back. She had said he would find safety when he could go no further. He did not trust the woman, but he did believe her.


    With staggered breaths, he rested his weight upon the wall. Sweat and blood mingled from his forehead to sting his eyes. Sinking slowly to his knees, his hand grated down the rock.


    The stones of the wall shifted.

 Chapter 12: Enter The Marshlands

    Pale light streamed from a crack in the ceiling. Its ghostly shine lit the cavern, painting Havoc¡¯s shadow across the wall. Cross legged on a bloodstained mat Havoc paced his breaths and allowed the light from above to fill The Midnight Urn.


    As he felt both his anchor and core reach capacity, a shiver crept down his spine. Before they had ever met face to ghastly face, Annalise had accommodated his needs. He was deep underground where light from the suns had no right of claim. Nevertheless, that woman had readied the one place within the dreary cave where its all-encompassing gloom was penetrated from above. His anchor craved the radiance of night. Against all reason, Annalise had made that possible.


    ¡®If she becomes my enemy¡­¡¯ Havoc mumbled under his breath.


    Without knowing more, It¡¯d be silly to underestimate her foresight, he thought. Even when absent, he would not reveal to her his intentions.


    Opening his eye, he reached into a satchel at his side. Rummaging within, he pulled biscuits and preserved strips of meat from the bag and began to eat. The biscuits were dry. Before they could be consumed, he dipped them in a bowl of crumb filled water. If they ever had taste, it had surely soaked into the bowl. As he bit into the flavourless lumps, his mouth salivated at the thought of the scraps he and his sister had scavenged from the wanton bakeries and wasteful tea houses outside the boarders of the slums. Stale and grimy as they had often been, they were well worth the derisive stares, cast stones, and violent usherings away he and his sister could scarcely afford.


    The meat was not much better. Even with his great strength, it was a challenge to chew. From its flavour to its texture, he unconvinced Annalise had not peeled a tempered leather boot for his subsistence. Even still, it was food, the only food he had come across since he entered the Chamber of Inherence. To his tongue¡¯s protests, his stomach¡¯s demands took precedence.


    It had been one week since he located the shelter. Upon entering, he had collapsed on the ground. His harmony spent, his body exhausted, his mind fatigued from the endless strain of ever-present danger, he could not have willed himself from the hard surface. Sleep was quick to welcome him. His was a dreamless slumber. When he awoke, his core surged with his dualistic harmony and a full day had been spent.


    Still wounded from his journey, he had summoned The Thirsty Edge and filled it with power. The crimson blade had flared that second day. Warmth flowed into his body, and his wounds were healed. But when the blade grew dull, thin cracks chipped its length.


    He ventured out on day two, battling deeper into the cave. On his return, the cracks widened. The Thirsty Edge was breaking. Each use of its restorative powers widened its fractures. He knew it would not be long before the blade would disintegrate


    He was already sparing in its use. Though his reserves harmony dwarfed that of his previous condition, the blade was still costly. Learning of its perishability, he reserved healing for only the most dire afflictions. Having spent the previous six days exploring the cave, discovering new and terrible threats, the most dire afflictions were not as uncommon as he had anticipated.


    His hand returned to the satchel to retrieve a stack of papers. Spreading them in front, he leafed through the pages before taking one and sliding the other papers to the side. Unfolding the page, he unravelled a map. With a pencil, he added marking to the sketch.


    Though he referred to it simply as a cave, in truth, it was a labyrinth. From his place of safety, the cave spiralled out in every direction. A stark contrast to the narrow passage leading to small chambers he encountered before. Broad pathways stretching towards vast expanses was the true nature of his setting. He had remained underground, but it was no less vast than the domed heavens above.


    In the days spent exploring, he had trekked several paths. Unable to traverse any path to its end and return the same day, the segments he explored deeply impressed upon him the enormity of his task.


    Annalise had not lied when she told him he had been at the entrance. She had also spoken truthfully when she said he was weak. Though he was sure he had reached the second step, he was equally sure it was not sufficient¡­


    His power had grown significantly. When facing a slasher-spawn, he was now able to match its strength without use of his anchor. Their raw brutality was their only boast, with that advantage neutralised, many had felt the cut of his blade long before they had the chance to cry out. The green, yellow, or sometimes, red-skinned scratchers, were more of a nuisance than a threat. Their danger lay in their numbers. Havoc had wandered into a nest of dozens. He did not leave unharmed, but he left all the same without sparing a single monster in his departure. If they were the only creatures of the cave, he would not be concerned. Though they should have been only monsters he would need to face within the Cell, his destiny had been changed, and his challenges alongside.


    There were real monsters deeper within. Demons from which he could only run. Along one path, he encountered a stone giant. Composed of boulders stacked one atop another, the creature loomed with a man-like shape. It wore no armour and carried no weapon, for the living mountain was a fortress unto itself. Each step it took sent tremors through the ground, imprinting the stone beneath with the sheer force of its stride. Lashing out with all his strength, Havoc was not able to scratch its impenetrable surface. With a single swipe of the giant¡¯s hand, he was hurled towards oblivion. Straining to heal Havoc, the Thirsty Edge teetered on the brink of annihilation. An ¡°x¡± carved into his map marked the dwellings of that creature. He would not venture that path again.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    No path was without danger, but safety had long become relative for Havoc. Trails terminating upon the insurmountable were crossed from the map. Of those, there were a few. Directions merely crossing the terrible were dotted with crudely drawn skulls, and the tunnels leading to weaker grotesqueries were boarded with a ring. They were his hunting grounds. In such spaces, he would slaughter monsters, devour the glow of their remains, and grow in might.


    At the start, his gains were significant. His core had expanded at a monstrous pace. But having taken the second step of his servant Inheritance, his growth began to plateau. Tracing a trail on his map, his finger settled on more hazardous terrain.


    I don¡¯t have a choice, he resolved, his stomach churning at the thought.


    An abomination stalked the grounds. He had encountered it once and wished to never do so again. Abominations were insane, but theirs was a lucid mania. Distinct from the spawn of the Dungeon created from the dispersed spirits of the fallen mingled with malice, abominations had a soul. Twisted, broken, but sentient nonetheless. As Annalise had phrased it, even in death, none could escape the Dungeon...


    They had been people once. Not human¡ªat least not necessarily. Nevertheless, they had lives of their own. They hoped and prayed, dreamed and wondered. Desecrating their prayers, the Dungeon stole their dreams and exchanged them for madness. Their hopes contorted into envy, and their wonder was displaced by rage. They were monsters of the most dangerous sort. The kind which could delight in their monstrosity.


    The White Temptress had taken true pleasure in her cruelty. From neck to waist, she took the form of a woman, while her lower half was that of a serpent. Her hands were feminine, her fingers, delicate, yet they ended in claws. Viciously sharp, bone white, the Temptress had screeched a detestable laugh as she sliced Havoc¡¯s back during his retreat. She was large. Tangled within her own tail, her true length could not be determined, but Havoc suspected if the creature could stand, she could not be contained within any level of the cave. Most distressingly, the Temptress was alluring. With her forked tongue and her rows of needle-like teeth, she could not be said to be beautiful. Yet, there was a charm to the serpent. When she had first set her sights on him¡ªspeaking her name into his mind¡ª by dint of will alone was he able to duck beneath the deadly lash of her tail.


    ¡®Worrying about it won¡¯t help,¡¯ he whispered. It had to be done. Returning the map and his papers to his satchel, he stood to leave the chamber.


    ***


    A viscous, emerald orb hurtled towards Havoc. He rolled from its path. Faintly registering the hiss of acid melting rock, he returned swiftly to his feet and charged his assailant. It would take time for the scaly bastard to do that again. Corrosive as it was, he had killed his way though enough of the fiends to know their limitations. Thirty seconds. It was all the time he had, but more than he needed. Blade in hand, he closed in on the armoured toad. Its scales were hard, but it could not withstand the cut of his blade. Not with the force he could now exert. The spawn¡¯s lined eyes widened at Havoc¡¯s approach, and it leaped. Its feat as impressive as it was futile, when the overgrown amphibian cast its shadow over him, he darted upwards to meet it. Its underside unguarded, The Thirsty edge melted though its gelatinous stomach, bathing Havoc in its putrid contents.


    Not as dreadful as death nor as pleasant as a punch to the face. That is how he summarised his, roughly, three hour journey deeper into the cave. Downwards, he went. Winding trails, steep landings, and precarious climbs across treacherous cliffs marked his progress. Where he went, novel dangers waited. Whether it was named before, Havoc had dubbed his most recent location as The Marshland Cavern.


    From where the water sprang, he could not tell, but every depression pressed into the stone ground housed a puddle. Every pit held a pond, and in the craters were lakes. Some clear, crystal. Mercifully refreshing. Others were browned and reeking a foul odour. It was to one such pond that Havoc approached.


    Cupping his hands into the muddied waters, he washed himself as best he could. It was far from cleansing, but mire was to be preferred over the mucilaginous discharge of the toad¡¯s ruptured gut. Like a thing birthed from a swamp, he was drenched in muck. His eyes darted to a clear lake nearby. It was tempting, but he had learned to only risk those waters when dehydration demanded. He was not the only being to grow thirsty in the Marshland¡­


    Returning to the glowing remains of his kill, he sat and absorbed its light. It provided more substance than the little he could draw from the scratchers and slashers, but by inches not feet. Still, for what lay ahead, he would take what was offered with gratitude.


    ¡®It won¡¯t be easy¡­¡¯ He muttered under his breath. His nails dug into his palm. He pressed the tight ball of his hand into his lap. With his other hand, he covered his face and sighed.


    Killing The White Temptress would be his greatest challenge yet. She was powerful, for certain, but Havoc had grown confident in his abilities. Her true danger hid beneath her charm. She had made him hesitate. In a battle to the death, there was no room for such luxuries. The cost was too steep; he was not willing to pay.


    ¡®Her hold on the mind isn¡¯t absolute¡­ Maybe¡­¡¯ His voice trailed. The cold, wet and filth carried with it stark reality. It had seeped though his skin, entered his blood and muddied his mind. Barely surviving his first encounter with the abomination, he could not help but curse the delusion that made him believe he would emerge victorious. Narrowly escaping a single blow before fleeing to safety was vastly different to slaying a beast able to halt his every move. She was the perfect counter to his heritage. It would not help to anticipate an attack he was unable to avoid.


    ¡®Madness! Complete madness!¡¯ His grip tightened across his face. ¡®What choice do I have?¡¯


    The cave spread in many directions, but only three led towards the Spirit. One was guarded by the stone giant. It was impassable. The second, hordes beyond numbering. From his high place, he witnessed their legions. It did not matter how far he had come. Confronted by such numbers, he could only turn back. The White Temptress guarded the final passage¡­


    There was no way around, only through.


    Cross-legged, he sat. Chest expanding, chest contracting, he focused on his breaths. They wooshed a precious sound. He counted them wondering how many he had left. No longer were they a function, they were a resource. A limited one. So enraptured by their fluttering tune, he had nearly missed the accompanying beat.


    He pulled open his eyes and followed the sound. It was distant but unmistakable among the stone horizon. Drawing closer and closer a bird thrashed its wings,. Summoning the Thirsty Edge, he raised his stance, but as the many eyes of the bird came into focus, his alarm turned to confusion. When his sight settled on the sack held between the owl¡¯s talons. that confusion became bewilderment.

 Chapter 13: Cloak Of Mirrors

    In ever-tightening circles, the many-eyed owl hovered above. The sack between its talons dangled in the wind of its aviation. Staring up at the owl, two things were apparent. The owl was the same as the one encountered within the fungal forest. Wherever Havoc had gone, the owl was not far behind. In truth, it had always been ahead. Considering his second revelation, that was no surprise, for the omni-sighted raptor surely belonged to Annalise.


    The bird glided lower. Its multiple eyes danced between its feathers before focusing on Havoc. To say the sensation was peculiar was to make a mockery of words. For certain, feeling the cold gaze of the creature bearing down tingled his spine and pulled his hair to attention; yet there was something more. With the bird of prey ever in motion, he only caught it a few times and each time briefly, but he swore there was something... someone else looking through those eyes. They were not peering through all, but they could see through any.


    The owl¡¯s flight tightened further until only Havoc was within its ring. It expelled a hoot and the sack was released from its grip. Without a thought, Havoc outstretched his hands and the bag landed between his arms.


    It¡¯s soft, he thought before returning his sight skywards. Where he expected to owl lingering, there was empty space. Scanning the horizon, he caught a final glimpse of the raptor as it crossed a cliff-face his eyes could not follow.


    He turned his attention to the sack. Woven of straw, tied by string at its opening, there was nothing concerning the pack that to entice the eye. Yet, within, he felt power. A power he had not experienced since The Chamber of Inheritance.


    ¡®A remnant¡­¡¯ He whispered. His heart spiked and his hands trembled. He had been sure he had reached the second step. Nevertheless, he welcomed the confirmation. Having peered into his own soul, where once there was a single link connected to his anchor, he had long started to perceive the phantom of a second entwined with the first. Unlike the first which was uncannily solid for a spiritual and metaphorical concept. The new link in the burgeoning chain was shadowy and illusive. It phased in and out of perception. Blinking in and out of being so rapidly it could hardly be said to exist at all.


    It was no great mystery to Havoc. The difference between the two links was clear. One contained The Thirsty Edge, and the other¡­ It would soon hold the remnant held within the sack.


    With a tug at the drawstring, the mouth of the bag parted. He reached inside. A silky fabric met his fingers. Soft and smooth, it rolled within his grip.


    ¡®A cloak?¡¯ His speculation was confirmed as he pulled the remnant clear from the sack. It was a deep azure. Lighter shades of blue and dashes of silver formed patterns on the back. Stretching from the shoulders to the fridges, they seemed almost like wings shimmering under the moss-light. On closer inspection, the patterns themselves were a composite design. Needled together from runes, spreading into a grand design.


    The front, in comparison, was a modest affair. At the head, it was cowled. Eschewing the traditional open style, the fabric elegantly rolled down. Gracefully, it draped in overlapping layers. These layers seamlessly converged down the torso, creating a cascading effect that ceased at the midsection.


    Despite the softness of the fabric, there was a firmness to the material. With all his strength. the cloak could not be torn. Neither could it be cut by the stroke of The Thirsty Edge.


    As an armour type remnant, whatever ability it endowed, it was bound to provide a level of physical fortification. Though the full shredding fury of The White Temptress¡¯ claws would likely overcome its defence, Havoc was thankful for any protection afforded him.


    ¡°Behind my illusions, your enemies shall see only that which you desire them to see.¡± The cloak whispered into Havoc¡¯s mind.


    Grinning, he carefully scouted the marshland chamber. Registering no threats, he kneeled and began drawing the remnant into the second link of his fledgling Spirit Chain.


    When the process was completed, no longer was the link ephemeral and ghostly. Rather, it had all the solidity and permanence of the first.


    ***


    A hooded figure sprinted across rocky terrain. In his wake, a great lizard followed. Its skin, alabaster white, the six muscular legs of the beast beat the ground and its spiked tail thrashed left and right as it rapidly gained on the cloaked boy. Standing no taller than five-foot-seven inches, the gargantuan reptile towered the boy. As it drew closer and closer, the disparity in their statues became more obvious. The lizard¡¯s tail alone could have been ridden. From its snout to the ground would have been a lethal fall to most humans.


    The figure¡¯s azure cloak billowed behind, and shimmered under the soft light of the luminous moss. He picked up his pace, but the lizard was not far behind. Once the reptile was close enough, it parted its jaws and launched its head down. The cloaked figure leaped to the side and rolled to his feet ensuring the lizard tasted only rock with its first attack. Making a hybrid noise between a croak and a roar, the lizard staggered, rattled its head, then continued its chase.


    ¡®Just... a bit further.¡¯ Havoc said, his voice staggered as he strained against his exertion.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Ahead of the hooded figure stood an arch. Composed of rock and a crystalline substance, it reflected the dim light of the cave and magnified its glow. Like the night-sun at dusk, it was a guide, a beacon. It drew the figure towards its sparkling visage.


    He was close, so very close. He quickened his step. The lizard followed suit.


    The shadow of the archway lay ahead. Its arch, too narrow and low for the full hulking form of the lizard to enter, offered sanctuary to the hooded boy. Once beneath the structure, he need only go further than the lizard¡¯s neck could extend, and his safety was assured. Panting furiously, the cloaked figure dived into the shadow. The lizard dived after him. Jaws wide, teeth bared, Its head pierced the opening of the arch.


    For an eternal moment all that could be heard was the harsh grind of rock as the reptile¡¯s neck swag wildly. Its tail beat the ground, and its six legs tore into the terrain clawing its way deeper into the arch. The moment passed with a thunderous roar. Seemingly frustrated, the beast began to squirm its head from the rocky passage.


    ¡®Right where I want you.¡¯


    With The Thirsty Edge in hand, Havoc lurked atop the arch. Peering down, he watched as the reptile slowly loosed itself from the rock and crystalline structure. Bit by bit, the lizard snaked itself free. Slowing his breaths and tightening his grip on his blade, he waited. When only the front of the creature remained beneath the arch, he walked the edge, cast aside his hesitation, and leapt.


    Landing on the gargantuan head of the beast, he wasted no time plunging the tip of his scarred blade into skull of the reptile. With all of his considerable strength, he dug deeper. Like an erupting volcano, sapphire blood gushed to the surface. The violence of the geyser bursting from below was so great, it threaten to eject him.


    The blood drained from his hands as he gripped his sword to hold himself in place. The slip of the creature¡¯s life-fluid challenged his hold on the hilt but he would not let go. Not as lizard thrashed its head from side to side, bashing itself upon the arches, not as its spiked tail whipped from behind.


    ¡®Just die!¡¯ He screamed. He twisted the blade and with a gut-lurching, crack, the wound widened. Shifting to one knee, he released a hand from the blade. Balling his hand into a fist, he began pummelling the skull of the beast.


    One strike, that is all he had planned for. One strike and the beast would fall. As he clung to his hilt and continued to slam his fist into the lizard, hysterical laughter began to intersperse his determined cries.


    There was an old saying. So old, its origins were not of the Dungeon World, but rather, Aarth. Humanity¡¯s native land.


    No strategy survives contact with the enemy.


    His certainly had not. Having tested the limits of The Cloak of Mirrors, he was confident in its ability to lure the lizard to his hiding place. Allowing him to cast an illusionary image of himself as far as his sight would permit, drawing the reptile¡¯s attention was a simple affair. From there, luring it from its lair towards the arch followed naturally. In retrospect, he now believe that is where he grew greedy¡­


    His goal had never been to kill the beast, but to plunder its lair. Luring it away would have sufficed. If so needed, he could have returned with his loot to dispatch the monster with greater ease. But in what he could no longer deny amounted to gross and outright hubris, he had opted for battle. Once his choice was made, the Dungeon confirmed him in that choice.


    Wrestling to stand, he lifted the sword from its grisly sheath only to thrust down once more inches away from his initial incision. The cry of beast was not one of pain. It spoke of an unquenchable fury. A rebellion over the indignity a mighty creature, such as it was, being undone by its prey. It was great and noble. The land trembled at its feet. All lesser beings were to honour and fear; noirish and serve. Havoc could hear its aggrievement clearly, but he did not care. Not when he plunged the blade in for the forth time nor when he twisted it for the seventh.


    His fury was every bit as palpable as that of the lizard¡¯s. It tore through him. Fuelled by years of destitution and disrespect; tempered by his endless trials. He would not be looked down upon. Not even in his imagination.


    ¡®You¡¯re just the first!¡¯ He screamed, smashing his mangled fist into cracked and bloodied scales of the great reptile. ¡®I will drag the mighty from their high places and bring them low! I will tear down their bulwarks and raze their lands to the ground! You who are great, know that I¡¯ll be greater, and despair!¡¯


    His passion passed through the enemy before him and extended towards the true target of his ire.


    Of the events which brought him to Stone Garden, Havoc remembered very little. He was young. Younger than he could recall. But he remembered a home. He remembered green fields. A strong father, a loving mother, and fire. So much fire. As if Hell had opened to swallow his world, they came. The men were slaughtered. The women, those who could not end their own lives, were carried away. The children were hunted and tossed into the flames. Only he and his sister survived.


    Many years later, his memory of his life before Stone Garden was like a dissembled puzzle of which he could never quite find all the pieces. Nevertheless, the ferocity of the lingering rage, it was subcutaneous; ever-present. Never far from the surface. Always moments from ignition. Ready to consume all which stood its path.


    It was the rage which would not allow him to die on his execution. When his body lay shattered in the Chamber of Inheritance, it gathered the pieces and forced him to move. Against the first of the Dungeon Spawn, it charged his frenzy, and atop the damned reptile, it was burning still.


    He did not care of the lizard¡¯s umbrage. His rancour was by no means inferior, and as his blade cracked through scale and skull for the countless time, spilling more reptile blood into the river cascading below, his was the fury that won out.


    Silence consumed marshland cavern. It was deafening. Then with a final croaking roar, the lizard fell and grew still.


    Laying atop the oozing wounds of the slain reptile, he panted heavily. Hand loose around his blade, he felt his face flush. His was a strenuous battle; lost in the heat of the moment, the grandiose words he screamed sounded courageous and defiant. Having secured such a victory from a powerful foe, he could not have anticipated the first emotion to follow would be embarrassment.


    For the time, he only wished that Annalise had not been watching.

 Chapter 14: The Buried Strike

    The smell was the first thing Havoc noticed. It wafted from the entrance of the lizard¡¯s lair and wrestled with his nostrils. The battle was intense. Against the pungent stench of what he assumed was excrement and rotting flesh, he had no meaningful defence. He lifted an arm to cover his nose, but the reek passed through the fabric of The Cloak of Mirrors as though it were not there at all. It struggled down his throat choking him, threatening to displace the content of his stomach onto the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes, he retched. Hunched over, he fought to hold on to his latest meal. It was an uphill battle but wiping his mouth, he stood to full height, breathed deeply, and allowed his stomach to settle.


    It could not be helped. Though electric dread surged at the notion of enduring a stronger dose of the noxious fumes, he stepped into the lair.


    His nose had acted as a seer. The lair was exactly as he had expected. Mounds of black clay-like faeces littered the space. Large bones protruded from the piles. Some stripped bare, others had patches of rotted meat clinging to them. Though foul odours saturated every inch of the space, it was especially concentrated by the piles holding the most bones.


    Like the rest of the cave, the lair was lit by luminous moss. Though it was not as abundant as in the larger chambers, there was light enough to see. As for whether this was a good thing, Havoc was of two minds. The hazards of the lair were many. Had he possessed all the soap in Stone Garden, he was not convinced it would be sufficient to cleanse the befoulment of accidentally falling into a mound. However, as his eyes glanced the maggot-ridden, half-mauled carcasses scattered about, he could not summon the gratitude usually warranted of the gift of sight.


    The buzz of insects circling the waste was the only sound within. Atop the backdrop of utter silence, it was a piercing noise. Distinct and unpleasant, it conspired with his other means of perception in confirmation of what each individual sense needed no alibi for which to testify. The lair was wholly disgusting. Yet¡­


    It was faint, but he could feel its presence. Deeper within, a remnant hid. Following the directions within the letter Anne¡¯s peculiar owl had left with him, he had located the great reptile¡¯s lair. Annalise assured he would find a replacement to The Thirsty Edge.


    The scarlet blade had carried him far. Its cutting edge and restorative abilities had saved his life countless times since his Inheritance. But it was falling apart. It would not survive its next use. Examining his mangled hand, he knew his time with the falchion was short. Unwilling to be defenceless for even a moment within the cave, he had restrained himself from undoing the wounds of his latest battles. However, once the new remnant was in sight, he was resolved in destroying the sword to restore his grip.


    No point in overthinking things, he thought, hesitant to open his mouth lest the stench further overwhelm his senses. No step taken was sanitary, but doing his best to avoid the most defiling obstructions, he treaded deeper into the lair.


    He almost missed it. Laying unassumingly on its side, tucked beneath an overhanging protrusion of the side wall, his eyes had glanced the spear without registering its presence. It was only after he had walked passed that he could perceive it. He did not have much knowledge of remnants. His time within the Chamber of Inheritance provided some first hand experience and Annalise had expanded on his education. Nevertheless, there was much he still did not understand about the strange relics. However, one thing he knew for certain, remnants spoke to their chosen Inheritors. When he walked past the weapon hidden beneath rock and camouflaged in dirt, instantly he paused when it whispered its name.


    ¡°The Buried Strike.¡±


    Searching through sound for the source of the uttering was futile for the spear spoke into his mind. Still, knowing it was nearby, Havoc interrogated his surroundings and it was not long before he set his eyes on the filth covered spear.


    ¡°I shall pierce the ground to skewer who would oppose our will.¡±


    With his right hand, he gently squeezed his damaged left. Wincing, he quickly retracted his right before summoning The Thirsty Edge into his grip. He lifted the scarlet sword to the light. Deep fractures lined the blade. Each scar marring the mystic steel substituted from his own. Without the healing power of the blade, he would not have survived. Knowing the remnant had taken him as far as it would go did nothing to sweeten the bitter pill of having to swallow its loss.


    ¡®You¡¯ve been faithful,¡¯ he said. Though the foul miasma of the lair rushed down his throat, The Thirsty Edge had earned a spoken tribute.


    Tightening his grip, he channelled harmony into his link to the blade. The Thirsty Edge flared bright and a warmth flooded his hand. The misaligned joints of his fingers snapped back into place and the seeping gashes closed before his eyes. He flexed his left; it was as good as new, but the scarlet blade dulled, cracked, and disintegrated into nothing.


    ***


    It would not be much further. The Marshland Cavern was The White Temptress¡¯ domain. He had long intruded her lands and was not far from her dwelling place. On his first excursion deep into the Marshland, she had come as a surprise. Passing through a tunnel, he had crept the narrow space on his hands and knees. When he had emerged, she was there to greet him. Her unnatural charm paralysed him; her ferocious speed overwhelmed him. He had barely escaped.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    If she followed me back¡­


    Pushing the thought from his mind, he refocused on the task at hand.


    Possessing The Thirsty Edge no more, he knew he could no longer recklessly charge into battle. Rarely had he secured victory without injury. Often, he had landed critical strikes simply because he knew he could reverse the damage of the countering blows. That tactic would no longer serve him.


    The Buried Strike¡­


    He called the spear to his hand. Cleansed of the filth that had covered it, the pole was ebony black. So deep was the shade that it reflected no light. From base to tip, the pole-arm dwarfed him. The pole alone stood two feet or so taller than his five-foot-seven and the ivory winged blade added an additional two feet to its length.


    With the pole in both hands, he repositioned the spear horizontally and thrust forward. He repeated the movement, increasing the speed of his powerful propulsion as he continued. Acclimating to its reach, he began weaving slashes into his motions. He shuffled backward and charged forward. With one hand near the base of the spear, he struck out, sliding his positioning hand down the weapon until both hands met.


    He was no expert in the pole-arm, but its use was intuitive and its advantage apparent. What he had lost in being able to recover from crippling blows, he had gain in the ability to avoid them altogether.


    ¡®It¡¯s not a bad trade,¡¯ he mumbled, positioning the blade of the spear diagonally to the ground. Channelling Harmony into his spirit chain, he thrust the spear into the rock of the cave floor. The blade melted into the ground as if plunged into a lake. With no resistance, the poll followed until it was less than half its length in his grip. As if it were an additional limb, he could feel the spear beneath the surface. He urged it forward and felt it tunnel below. Settling his eyes a distance away, he compelled the spear to follow. Akin to a compressed spring pushing to expand, The Buried Strike yearned to be released. The weapon slurped Harmony as Havoc held it in place.


    ¡®Let¡¯s see what you can do,¡¯ he said as he released the tension suppressing the spear. In an instant, the ivory blade propelled from the ground. Resembling the fang of a colossal predator, the blade protruded from the rocky surface of the cave floor. Had a man stood in its path, he would have been bisected from groin to head.


    ¡®Impressive...¡¯ He said. Unintentional as it was, the word refused to be withheld.


    He retracted the spear from the ground, observing as the distant blade retreated simultaneously. When he thrust it down again, a sharp ring of metal striking stone echoed through the cavern. The sound pierced his ears, yet The Buried Strike did not pierce the floor.


    It can¡¯t be used in quick succession, he concluded silently. He began to count in his mind. Every second spent, he prodded the ground with the tip of his spear. When half of a minute had passed, the blade slipped into the ground once more.


    ¡®Thirty seconds¡­ That¡¯s not bad, ¡¯ he muttered as the blade cut up from the stone a distance away.


    The consumption of Harmony was at its height while the blade lurked below, but it could not be compared to the drain of The Thirsty Edge. However, Havoc¡¯s Harmony was dualistic. Formed of two distinct forces, It battled within him. Neither power able to gain pre-eminence, they circled his core having formed a tentative armistice. While The Cloak Of Mirrors and The Thirsty Edge paid no heed to the distinction between the energies, The Buried Strike received only of one. The imbalance was uncomfortable, but more so, it was limiting. Though his Harmony had grown significantly throughout his trials, The Buried Strike could only draw from half of his reserves.


    He would need to be decisive with his ranged attacks. While the spear was summoned, its passive drain on his Harmony was negligible, but positioning the blade for a distant strike increased the spend tremendously. Releasing the attack, once in place, ceased the expenditure. Provided he was resolute in his offence, the limited pool of Harmony The Buried Strike would accept could be mitigated.


    His lips fell into a frown. While confident that the drawbacks of his new remnant would not be too burdensome in isolation, the wider implications of the instability within his core posed deeper concerns.


    In all of her lecturing, Annalise had never mentioned a duel nature of Harmony. Havoc felt the competing energies so distinctly. They were like fire and ice. Equal and opposite; neither one able to devour the other. The incongruence was so unambiguous as to be defining. If it was a standard experience for Inheritors, Anne would have mentioned it. The fact that she had not, led Havoc to believe that his was a unique constitution. If not unique then certainly uncommon. So rare, in fact, that his all-seeing, all-knowing puppet mistress was seemingly ignorant to the state.


    Though he was curious at the time, he chose not to alert the prophetess as to the solitary mystery he was able to keep from her foresight. Resolutely shaking his head, he would not regret his secrecy. Nevertheless, his own ignorance was troubling. So much more so now that it was consequential.


    He could not guess at the result of one force overcoming the other. He did not know why The Buried Strike was so partial in the energy it would consume. He inspected the pole-arm in one hand and pondered further.


    Is the Strike unique or are there others like it? Would other remnants favour the darker half of my Harmony? Searching his thoughts for answers only led to deeper questions. Though, he believed he had stumbled upon one conclusion.


    The entity¡­


    Within the Chamber of Inheritance, whether in body or spirit, he could not say, but he had been taken. Chained before a being of great and terrible power, he had bargained for his life. The memory was disjointed. But he remembered some. Enough¡­ Enough to know it was no dream. The visceral terror of the event had imprinted on his soul.


    He did not know what he had exchanged, but he was ever-certain his mix of powers had been his portion¡­


    Shaking his head once again, he dislodged the thought. He was convinced a time would come when all would be made clear, but for now he would focus on his immediate challenge.


    The White Temptress...

 Chapter 15: Fallen Grace

    The icy grip of fear wrenched Havoc¡¯s heart. Firmly, it tugged at his resolve, squeezing his determination, draining him of the will to go on. Stood before the narrow tunnel adjoining the fantastical region of the Marshland Cavern and the all too real nightmare of The White Temptress¡¯ abode, his hands trembled.


    Repeating the scene over and again, even in his imaginings he could not slay the serpentine abomination. He had pictured their clash. In his mind, the tip of his spear would thrust towards the fiend but then he¡¯d pause. It was only for a moment, never longer than a second a two, but it was enough. More than enough. The seductive serpent would envelop him from head to toe and squeeze until nothing resembling a human remained.


    The more his thoughts lingered on the creature, the more insurmountable she became. But there was no other way. As harrowing as she was, of the three horrors guarding the three paths to The Abominable Spirit, she was the only one he could even hope to overcome. He knew that. Deep within where rationality still held sway, he was certain of it¡­ Yet it was unthinkable.


    Its her charm¡­ The thought crashed into the palpable barrier constricting his cognition. A most welcome intrusion, it left a crack sufficient for reason to creep through.


    ¡®An overgrown snake with dominion over the mind¡­¡¯ He mused. It made sense she could slither inside and inject her venom within. He had yet to challenge his foe but she had already landed the first blow.


    As the full realisation of the abomination¡¯s manipulation settled, her image flashed before his eyes. Mouth wide, needle-like teeth bared, and scowling; she radiated fury. A noise carried from the beyond the tunnel. Shrill and unpleasant, the abomination shrieked a shriek echoing every decibel of enmity visible to his mind¡¯s eye.


    The spell was broken; the imposition of hopelessness lifted. His thoughts were his own again. The abomination was not pleased. From the end of the tunnel, the cries of incense intensified. Raucous shuffling swept the air and a piercing screech akin to nails scraping a chalkboard mingled with the sounds, coalescing into a cacophony of outrage. Then all at once, there was silence.


    ¡®Clever boy,¡¯ the voice in his head was like a shower of whispers. Omnipresent, yet dispersed. Inhuman, yet distinctly feminine. Foreign to the confines of imagination, it was a pit-a-pat of understanding. Impelled not spoken. Deciphered by instinct alone was her voice.


    ¡®Oh so very clever,¡¯ the disembodied whispers continued. ¡®I would have enjoyed twisting your terror into worship. It would have satiated my hunger for weeks. Alas, come inside. I¡¯ll make do with your flesh and bones. A morsel, for sure, but I¡¯ll make do.¡¯ The image of the serpent assailed his mind. Wrapped within her alabaster tail, he was helpless as her pale face lowered to his, her forked tongue tasted the sweat of his brow, and her razor teeth sank into his neck.


    Shaking his head, he dispelled the projection and cast one of his own. An image of The Buried Strike thrust into the creature¡¯s mouth cutting through to the back of her head.


    With renewed fury the Temptress screamed.


    ¡®That is how you see me?¡¯ Her voice like a tempest thundered in his head. ¡®As if I''m a monster to be slain! I am a queen!¡¯ Surrounded by a horde, he could see her. Looking down from above yet somehow part of the throng and part of her, he witnessed countless thousands lower themselves in veneration to she who inspired their awe.


    In mesmerising patterns of radiant colour, scales adorned her lower half. They shone with purifying light. Whether a vision, a memory, or a dream, beneath her incandescence, he was enraptured. Carrying a peace surpassing mortal understanding, he bathed in her glow as it washed the weight of his strife from his soul.


    From her torso rising was the form of a woman. Her skin, lilac, without blemish or flaw. Clothed in nobility, there was no immodesty in her nakedness. Transcendent of lust, her beauty stoked pious admiration. No eye was without tears; no face disguised joy. Forbidden was grief before her splendour.


    ¡®Look upon my majesty!¡¯ He could not describe it. No rendition of The Temptress¡¯ psychic communication would ever accurately portray its otherworldliness, but there was a strain to the disseminated murmurings of her voice which had not been there before.


    Darkness clouded the visionary sky and it began to rain. Drenched in scarlet precipitation, the rainbow scales cracked and shed from the angelic serpent. A piercing cry broke from her lips as the surrounding multitudes contorted around her. Their bones shattered and reformed. They were not human to begin with, but they had been no less wondrously knit. The grotesquerie of their deformation defiled the senses. Feathers decayed and fell. In their place sprouted fangs. Paw, claw, and hand contorted into all manner of foul appendages. From above he could see, from within he could feel, the arch-profanity of their transformation.


    No less stark than the mutilation of her subjects, from the bleeding sky, in the fullness of her provocative horror, The White Temptress was born.


    The world fractured and broke, and Havoc was returned to the Marshland Cavern. Eerie and unnatural as it was, from beyond the tunnel he heard the sounds of weeping.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡®Curses to you who would claim divinity! Never shall you have that which which was taken from me!¡¯ Whispers no more, The Temptress¡¯ voice descended like a swarm.


    ¡®Never shall you have!


    ¡®Never shall you have!


    ¡®Never shall you have!¡¯


    The swarm retreated. Stillness returned to Havoc¡¯s consciousness yet he was shaken. A cold sweat drenched his back and strength fled from his legs.


    ¡®What¡­ what did I just see?¡¯ He muttered. Having readied himself for a for a battle of blade and claw, he was utterly unprepared for what it meant to face an Abomination. He had expected a more powerful dungeon-spawn. Terrible, cruel, but devoid of reason. Certainly The Temptress was the former, but she was a being of true intellect. Warped, without question, but recognisably sentient. More so than that, he pitied her. Dread, he had planned for; but for empathy, he could not account.


    Like him, she was robbed of all she loved. Like him, she carried the burden of her loss. Against her will did she fall to corruption. She was doubtless a monster but she had not chosen to be so.


    He did not want to kill her¡­


    So lost was he in his thoughts, only faintly did he hear soft beat of wings from behind. He did not register its significance until moments before the many-eyed owl landed on his shoulder. Protected by the fabric of The Cloak of Mirrors, he did not feel the sting of the owl¡¯s talons. But the return of the raptor, wings wide, eyes glowing between its feathers, penetrated the thickening fog of his indecision.


    The ground would not remain still. It shifted, swayed, and wobbled. The rocky walls around him cracked. Stone by stone, they tumbled, revealing a white and empty void. All the world was spinning and falling away. All which remained was the owl. No longer affixed to his shoulder, it hovered in the emptiness; Its wings expanding outwards in every direction. Within seconds, it was the world. Its feathers, the sky; its many eyes in place of the stars and planets of which Havoc had only seen in paintings. Its great beak was an inverted mountain. Tall and wide, It opened. Discombobulation robbed him of the instinct to raise his arms in his defence as the great beak descended from above and swallowed him whole. Inside, there was only darkness.


    ***


    ¡®You¡¯ve gotten stronger,¡¯ sat across from Havoc, Annalise¡¯s ruby lips curved to a smile. ¡®Once you¡¯ve done away with that tiresome snake and dreadful spirit, you¡¯ll certainly reach the third step. Who knows, when we leave this awful place, you may even ascend in rank.¡¯


    Caught in the turbulence of his reeling senses, a staggered nod of his head was all he could do to acknowledge Anne¡¯s words.


    ¡®I can be absent-minded sometimes. Please, have some tea. It¡¯ll help with the disorientation,¡¯ with a wave of her hand, a crystal tea-set appeared on the table. Annalise stood from her chair, walked to Havoc¡¯s side, and poured a fragrant amber liquid into his cup. ¡®It¡¯s the finest I can recall. I hope it¡¯s to your liking.¡¯


    With unsteady hands, Havoc lifted the beverage to his lips. As the delicate, floral liquid danced across his tongue, his surroundings slowed and settled. His head still ached and heart still pounded, but against the ambrosia warming his stomach, they too began to recede. No longer struggling against the spin of the world, he recognised his surroundings instantly. He was within The Fair Lady¡¯s Tea Pot. The tearoom was just as he remembered it¡ªextravagant. Light from the crystal chandeliers waltzed across the room. The white marble floor was pristine; the arched pillars were as lofty as memory served. Scantly had he witnessed such intemperance; the few displays of such affluence, he would not fail to recognise.


    ¡®Better?¡¯ Annalise asked.


    Scowling his reply, Annalise glanced to her left and her right as if to ask, ¡°Who, me?¡±


    ¡®You sent me on a suicide mission!¡¯ Unable to keep his frothing resentment spilling from his voice, he shouted the last words.


    ¡®Oh, it¡¯s not as bad as all that. You¡¯re still alive, aren¡¯t you? And look at how much you¡¯ve grown,¡¯ dismissive was her tone. It was as though she were consoling a child embarrassed in front of his schoolboy infatuation. Not a young man she had manipulated into mortal peril.


    ¡®Not as bad as all that¡­¡¯ Havoc mumbled. ¡®Not as bad as all that?¡¯ He said louder. ¡®Not as bad as all that!¡¯ He shouted across the table. ¡®I¡¯ve been slashed, stabbed, swallowed, and have had every bone in my body pulverised, but it¡¯s not as bad as all that!¡¯


    ¡®I saw. You¡¯ve had quite the little adventure.¡¯ Annalise said, compelling Havoc¡¯s grip to his raven-black hair. Sliding his hands to cover his face, he breathed slowly into his palm.


    ¡®What do you want?¡¯ He asked, all passion depleted.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want anything, Havoc. I just thought you could use a little help, that¡¯s all,¡¯her smile was radiant. It chilled Havoc¡¯s blood.


    She was still too great the mystery for Havoc to contend. He could not guess at her motives. However, of the little he knew about his patron and puppet master, she did not lend her aid without price. He did not want to pay¡­ Silence lingered as he clenched and unclenched his fist. Taking captive his unauthorised thoughts, he slowed his breathing and straightened himself on his chair.


    Whether I like it or not, I do need her help¡­ He did not trust Anna. He did not believe her benevolence, but he did need her assistance¡­


    As if interpreting his silence as an invitation, Annalise continued.


    ¡®Given the circumstances of our last meeting, I can understand that you might have some¡­¡¯ Pausing, Annalise pouted and began to tap her upper lip. ¡®Lets just say some apprehension about accepting my help,¡¯ Annalise lowered her eyes. It was just for a moment that she seemed almost conflicted. Softly, she sighed and lifted her sight. Gone were any signs of misgivings.


    ¡®Believe me, in your position, I would feel the same. But Havoc, I¡¯m not in your position, I¡¯m in mine. And that position is slowly sinking into this cave to be digested, both body and soul, by the Abomination that lays at the bottom. I need you to save me,¡¯ stabbing her gaze into Havoc¡¯s, her mask of joviality slipped from her face. There was no warmth in her glacial eyes and no softness in her expression. Cold and unforgiving. For the first time he could see her clearly.


    ¡®I need you to save me, Havoc. And you¡¯re running out of time.¡¯

 Chapter 16: Returned To The Fair Ladys Teapot

    ¡®Through the All-Seeing Owl, I¡¯ll be able to counter The Temptress¡¯ psychic attacks.¡¯


    Returned was Annalise¡¯s carefree demeanour. The glacial steel of her eyes melted into inviting pools of blue. They promised tender rejuvenation to he who would sink into their alluring waters. Their promises were lies. Havoc knew that to be captivated was to drown. Her beauty was a weapon; she was never disarmed. ¡®With her greatest weapon out of play, you shouldn¡¯t have much issue handling that overgrown snake.¡¯ Annalise said.


    The Temptress was not as powerful as she appeared, Annalise had told him. The memory of the tips of her ivory claws shred through his flesh gave him pause, but in the end, there was no way out but through, even if he did not want to kill her.


    Even if he pitied her¡­


    ¡®Is there anything else I need to know?¡¯ Havoc asked.


    Absently turning her face from left to right, she twirled the golden threads of her hair around her finger.


    ¡®Well¡­¡¯ She said, stretching the word into suspicion. ¡®There¡¯s the matter of her thralls¡­¡¯ Annalise replied.


    Of course there is¡­


    Eyes rolled back, Havoc had no question Anne could hear his silent accusation with perfect clarity. Annalise placed a palm across her eyes and slowly parted her fingers to uncover her sight. It was a mocking display of embarrassment. Playful and light. He would have found it charming. His heart may even have fluttered had the display been from another woman even half as pretty. But having seen her true face, her mischief was only cause for further caution.


    ¡®The Temptress craves adoration. When times are scarce, she¡¯ll settle for dungeon-spawn or lesser abomination, but what she really seeks are the hearts and minds of uncorrupted beings.¡¯ Her hair returning to the rotation of her finger, Annalise continued. ¡®Lucky for you, I can tell you all about her adorers. In fact, they¡¯ll prove rather useful should you manage to keep some of them alive during your battle.¡¯


    He had no evidence to support the conclusion but somehow he knew she had placed the thralls in The White Temptress¡¯ care. An all too familiar chill crept up his spine.


    ¡®It¡¯s very much like you,¡¯ without intending, he spoke his thoughts aloud.


    ¡®What¡¯s that?¡¯


    ¡®Nothing. Tell me about the thralls,¡¯ Havoc replied to the pout of Annalise¡¯s ruby lips.


    ¡®She should have six of them. All inheritors, but only two of whom will pose any challenge. You should aim to free all six, but if you can only save one, ensure its the Selenarian.¡¯


    He had heard of their kind, but had yet to see one in person. Humanity was not the only to be imprisoned in The Dungeon. There were six others. Five invited and one intruder. The Selenarians were among the invited races. Humanoid in form but with light blue skin and intricate patterns running the length of them. Their eyes were blacker than night. Their ears stretched into a tube, pointing at the tip. He knew little of their culture, but the books he had shared with his sister said they lived in high places. Supposedly, they had cities within the tenth floor of the Dungeon. He had wanted to visit their cities. Crystal towers reflecting light below. The Dungeon was filled with the fantastical, but to him, they had always seemed magical.


    ¡®She¡¯s not very strong,¡¯ Annalise continued. ¡®You won¡¯t have much trouble incapacitating her.¡¯


    ¡®What of the others?¡¯ Havoc asked.


    ¡®As I told you, there are two you should be wary of. A gentleman of the Crest family and a lady of the Desmond. Of the Temptress¡¯ thralls, they are by far the most powerful. With a bit of effort, either one of them should have been able to do away with that snake themselves. It¡¯s a wonder how they found themselves ensnared,¡¯ Annalise said, devilment dancing in her smile. ¡®They¡¯ll be greatly diminished, and I¡¯ll do what I can to disrupt the hag¡¯s control over them from time to time¡­ They¡¯ll make things more exciting, for sure, but I trust you¡¯re more than able to handle it.¡¯


    The aforementioned gentleman was named Aaron Crest, and the lady, his fianc¨¦e, was Lucia Desmond. Anne said they were from Stone Garden but Havoc had never heard of them. Of matters beyond the mortal partitions of the city, he had never been concerned. The business of gods could be left to the gods, his only concern had been to pilfer enough to pilfer some more. That and revenge. A vengeance which had never been more than impotent fury. But things had changed. No longer beneath the concern or contempt of Inheritors, he was now one of them. With that came substance to his rage; a real possibility of avenging his past. But in his elevation, he would rise¡­ Rise to the attention of the those still able to crush him underfoot. He could no longer afford to pay no notice.


    ¡®That Crest boy is the stronger of the two. His daddy dearest is a man of means so he¡¯s equipped with the finest remnants money can¡¯t buy.¡¯


    Remnants could be bought and sold, but not necessarily for money... Havoc tucked that detail away. It would be useful, for certain, but only after escaping the Cell.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡®His anchor allows him to spit out flames. Besides that, he has two armour-type remnants, The Lesser Drake¡¯s Claws and The Lesser Drake¡¯s scales. The claws, while defensive, are quite handy for offence. The scales, while active, make an impressive defence.¡¯ Annalise paused for a moment before adding, ¡®He¡¯s also able to fly¡­¡¯


    ¡®Is that all?¡¯ He had managed to keep his eyes forward but their exacerbated roll carried in his tone.


    ¡®Well¡­ Almost¡­ Individually, his remnants are top notch, really gold star for his rank, but together they form a set¡­ More than the sum of their parts¡­¡¯ Rapidly, Anne raised both hands in front of her and began to wave them furiously. ¡®It¡¯s unlikely you¡¯ll have to worry about that. It takes a certain presence of will to make use of a set, more than that old snake will have left him with¡­¡¯ She hooked her upper lip with a finger before nodding her head. ¡®No, It¡¯s not a present concern.¡¯


    So it¡¯s a future concern? Havoc thought but did not say, weary of an abundance of answers. The Dungeon gave nothing for free. That lesson alone exacted a heavy price; a price he was still paying and could scarcely afford. Even still, The White Temptress was an abomination. He was only one step ahead of the collectors but to face her ill-prepared was to foreclose on a chance of victory.


    ¡®What of Lucia Desmond?¡¯ Grinning like the cat who caught the mouse, Annalise gave him a look. It was a strange mix of admiration and schadenfreude as if declaring him both commendably bold and incomparably foolish.


    ¡®You won¡¯t have issues identifying her, and if you avoid her wires, you¡¯ll be fine,¡¯ Annalise replied He had not felt it descend but as the last word fell from her mouth, he could feel it lift. It was as if being pulled from warm water. Water he had no recollection of entering but had, nevertheless, been submerged. His heart spiked. The Dungeon had been watching, weighing the weight of assistance against his burden, eyeing the scales for balance, ready to reappraise.


    Anne had given all the help he was willing to accept. The Dungeon''s expectations had been met. To ask for more was to raise its requirements.


    He silently vowed to tread more carefully in the future, the thought flashing through his mind like a warning flare: Another word from her, and that creature''s shadows might have sprouted yet another horror. Perhaps a second head, maybe another tail. To whom much was given, much would be required. He had enough.


    ¡®Shall we call this meeting to adjourn?¡¯ Annalise asked. Havoc¡¯s mouth parted but he sealed it shut. There was more he wanted to know. Not simply concerning the snake, but about the temptress sat opposite as well.


    Annalise was an enigma. Despite her apparent craftiness and formidable foresight, Havoc couldn¡¯t reconcile the powerful figure before him with the vulnerable state in which he had found her: caked in blood, entombed in stone, wretched, desperate, and alone, in need of his help...


    I don¡¯t understand, but he could accept that for the time. First things first¡­ He finally conceded, nodding his assent to Anne¡¯s dismissal.


    ¡®One last thing,¡¯ Annalise said as the tearoom span to a blur. ¡®Remember to mention the Tears Of Desire.¡¯


    The Tears Of Desire? Was Havoc¡¯s last thought before hurtling back through where seams of the world came loose.


    ***


    Reality greeted Havoc like a slap to the face. Gone was the lavish seating of The Fair Lady¡¯s Tea Pot, returned was cold, damp slab of the Marshland Cavern. The luminous moss reflected in the shallow lakes and ponds was a poor consolation for the crystal chandeliers which bounced off the pristine tiles of Anne¡¯s mental space.


    The walls of the cavern slowed; they stopped. In a few deep breaths, the ground regained its balance also. Though stark, the return to his body had not been as disorientating as being spirited away. The stale perfume of damp and mould was a grounding scent.


    The mad beat of wings drew his attention. Tracing the sound above, the All-Seeing Owl lifted into view. Its many eyes turned in every direction before bearing down in one. The tunnel to the White Temptress¡¯ abode¡­


    He could not hear her voice in his head, but he felt her rage. It permeated the thick cavern wall, tinting its moss-draped grey a dangerous red in his mind¡¯s eye. Pricking their warning, his hairs stood erect. The stillness wafting through the tunnel chilled his blood. The White Temptress waited.


    He could not keep her waiting long¡­


    ***


    Crouched at the end of the tunnel, Havoc beheld the Temptress¡¯ arena. Gaping tunnels were cut into the walls of the oval space. Some were level to the ground while others would be a steep climb to reach. The ground was covered in glowing moss. It was not a natural growth. Rather, it appeared the result of meticulous cultivation. A garden in a cave. A noble attempt, at least. Large swaths of charred stone disfigured the field. The dried blood darkening patches of moss and the stripped bones scattered about would not allow the cavern to be called a place of beauty. It was a monster¡¯s lair and could not be mistaken for otherwise.


    The illusory power of the Cloak of Mirrors demanded focus. The greater the concentration, the more tangible the illusion. Wrapped in the cloak, Havoc scanned for the Temptress. No doubt lurking in ambush within one of the tunnels, she was not to be found. Eyes closed, mind disciplined, Havoc pictured himself. When the soft glow of the bioluminescence returned to his world, his illusory copy stood by the entrance of a wide lower-tunnel to the far left of the cavern. His copy stepped out from the tunnel and walked towards the centre of the field.


    ¡®You coward!¡¯ Arms raised in challenge, the illusion¡¯s voice reached every crevice. ¡®You call yourself a queen? Why are you hiding?¡¯ Continuing its march, the illusion began to turn, surveying its surroundings. ¡®A morsel, you called me. Why are you hiding from your meal? Perhaps, your grace...¡¯ Condescension dripped like honey intending to sting. ¡®You¡¯re the prey and I am the hunter.¡¯


    Like rocks tumbling down a the face of a cliff, a low rumble blast from a tunnel above. A cutting shriek pierced through the arena, heralding the Abomination. She burst from the tunnel above the one from which the illusion had stepped out and sped the ground toward her lure, crushing the dense patches of moss beneath her. Claws forward, tail lashing behind, her pace could not be halted. Upon reaching the illusion, she dived forward, teeth barred, and bit into nothing.


    The illusion had vanished but Havoc had entered the arena. With The Buried Strike in hand, he plunged the tip into ground and tunnelled it below. Releasing his hold, the razored tooth of the strike pierced through rock and moss beneath the Abomination. Emerald blood flowed like a river, it dyed the moss slick green as the strike bit deep. A devastating strike, but it failed to be lethal. Missing her head, the blade had sliced into her tail.

 Chapter 17: Thrall

    Naereah could hear her mistress call. Though a part of her mind remained her own, she did not resist the compulsion; defiance had long been beaten out of her. She was a slave come what may. It did not matter who her master was. At least with the serpent, her servitude would be short. The hidden place where she was tucked away would soon dissolve, and she would melt away completely into the corrosive will of the Temptress.


    ¡®I live to serve you, my lady,¡¯ the words broke from her lips, but it was not her voice she had heard. She had long forgotten her voice. She was no longer sure it was ever hers to begin with; assuredly not now, not since her exile from Celestius, perhaps not since her cries upon leaving the womb.


    Her body lifted itself up and shuffled towards the glow of the battlefield. Feet dragging beneath her, she moved towards the tunnel¡¯s mouth. Naereah could not fathom what need her mistress could have to call upon a broken toy like her. Hers was a place to be discarded. The final dwelling for the Temptress¡¯ prey. When the last light of her will had flickered and died, mind, body, spirit, and soul, she would be consumed.


    No longer fit to feed the serpent¡¯s ego, Naereah was set aside to satiate the Temptress¡¯ other cravings. The first of her group to be discarded, she had clung to herself as long as she had for the chance to see her first mistress similarly renounced. Minutes, hours and days had fled; her tunnel, once cramped, became hauntingly spacious, yet Lucia had yet to arrive.


    ¡°Tend to me!¡± No word had been spoken, it was simply understood. Even now, the alien swarm of the Temptress¡¯ call was beyond Naereah¡¯s imagination. It was a stranger to reason, the Temptress¡¯ voice. Naereah could never call it familiar, yet in the moment it was more foreign still. Impossible as it was for a monster so great, the Temptress¡¯ voice carried a tremble. She was afraid.


    A wisp of hope flared in the hidden depths of Naereah¡¯s mind but quickly it faded; the monster who could slay her monster would surely end her, also. Freedom was not to be longed for. Hope only salted the wound.


    She had been freed before. When the purity of her Harmony had been graded as poor, liberated from the expectations of her father, the adoration of her people, her birthplace and freedom she had become. Sold as a novelty to the house of Desmond, she had been emancipated from kindness and unshackled from worth.


    A trail of blood slipped from her bare feet, painting the grey stone of her tiny world. The cold and the pain could not find her hidden place; she was an object, her body not her own. So stripped of herself, she could barely register the whiff of urine and excrement which surely trailed her passing¡ªa small comfort.


    ¡°To me!¡± Strained the psychic call of her mistress. Urgent and demanding, Naereah could not have resisted if she tried. She was close enough now that the sounds of battle reached even her.


    It was strange. The serpent was not shy of challengers. In the time since Naereah¡¯s ensnarement, she could recall the howl, growl, bark, and roar of numerous dungeon-spawn prior to the inevitable crunch and pitiable whimpers heralding the Temptress¡¯ triumph. But the sounds from beyond her world were not those of a beast. The grunts, shouts, and steps were distinctly the sounds of a person.


    It was not as though there had been no human contenders but the sounds they had made were of reverence for her mistress. Praise torn from their lips, they would sing, clap, dance and cry while withering away like rotted fruit. None as of yet as rancid as her....


    There was one¡­ When I was still a living thing, there was one who got away.


    With the back of her hand, the Temptress had stroked her cheek and beckoned her to watch. There was little left of her at that point. When the ones from before had similarly soured, her mistress had done the same. Charming her out to the open, Naereah had been commanded to watch her lady enrapture her replacement.


    With a crimson blade in hand, at the sight of the Temptress, he too had fell still, but where Naereah had bowed, he stood tall.


    Dressed in blood-soaked rags, holding a sword appearing eager to shatter, Naereah did not believe the boy would last an instant against her mistress. Even if he could resist the pull of her mind, he would not avoid the lash of her tail. She could remember the whip of air when the Temptress struck. She could recall the bitter concoction of horror and anticipation which had swirled inside her. However, what she could not forget was how he survived. Decisively, he had dived to the ground; fearlessly, he returned to his feet. Wisely he had made to retreat, and fortunately, he was able to do so¡­ Marked by her mistress¡¯ claws, but free and living.


    Her mistress could not be pleased that night. The chants of worship and songs of praise could not placate her ire. Deep enough to satisfy, not one of her adorers could bow, not even with the Temptress grinding their heads into the stone.


    ¡°He escaped!¡± The Temptress had screamed at her, lifting her by the cheek, the hiss of her tongue mingling with the buzz of her thoughts.


    ¡®A fool, my lady! A blind fool,¡¯ were the words ripped from Naereah¡¯s mouth. ¡®Your beauty is unequalled; your majesty¡¯s sublime.¡¯ She had said as her cheeks creaked between the pincer of her mistress¡¯ hold.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Naereah could remember how she smiled. From ear to ear, desperate and deranged. Tears had salted her buds as she wilted. Singing of the Temptress¡¯ beauty, she was carried off and thrown away.


    Naereah stepped into the light and gasped. Buried as she was, she was gripped. Tugged up from the depths, an entangled cluster of emotions surfaced.


    Cloaked in splendour, spear in hand, the boy dove from the downward thrash of the Temptress¡¯ ivory tail. He did not fall, rather, catching himself with one hand, he pushed up to his feet and struck out against the temptress. The tip of his spear spilled sickly blood onto the moss draped foundation.


    The boy retracted his spear and made to strike again. Before he was able, an orb of raging flames hurtled towards him, demanding his retreat.


    Mouth wide, heart thrashing, Naereah observed the scene. The Temptress was not alone in her fight. Glassy-eyed and without expression, her first mistress, Lucia took to the Temptress¡¯ side. Golden threads dangled from her fingers reflecting the moss-light. With leathered wings, and black scaled arms, Lucia¡¯s fiance rose to the sky. There were three others gathering around their lady. They had been fellow servants of their beautiful queen, but having lost so much of herself, she did could no longer recall their names. They all lived to serve; they needed no names.


    ¡°Attend to me, you fool!¡± Her mistress wailed. On instinct, Naereah moved her foot forward but stopped. She lifted dirtied hands in front of her eyes. Open then closed then open again. Her fingers obeyed.


    A sting in her eyes. A knot in her throat. Tears trailed her cheeks.


    Her fingers obeyed, but for the first time in a long while, she had not.


    ***


    Softly panting, Havoc lifted his spear and pointed, one by one, at his gathered foes. They slowly dispersed and made their way to circle him. It had been difficult enough when it was he and the snake. He did not know how he would fare against the newcomers.


    His grip tighten around the pole. He shifted a foot; the thralls raised their weapons. Two swords, an axe. A pair of claws, and ten golden threads dangling on the tips of a woman¡¯s fingers. Only one was unarmed.


    Loose threads, torn garbs, not one of the thralls could be called presentable. The Selenarian was least of all. Her dress, grey and dreary, was tattered and torn; bloodied and stained. Her light-blue skin was marred by sweltering patches of green. So thin as to vanish upon sideways viewing, she looked as though she could be felled by a decisive gust of wind.


    The fire spitter, he could understand. Sharp and scaled fingers, black and red leathery wings, even in his haggard ensnarement, he was imposing. Hovering over the Temptress¡¯ arena, his value as an ally was clear; the Selenarian¡¯s was less so.


    She¡¯s not moving.


    The others were. Like circling beasts, they sized him up. A ravenous reflection, waiting, eager, but cautious; a perfect echo of their serpent charmer. But the Selenarian held still.


    Open and closed, she stared at her hands as though unparalleled mysteries were held in her palms. She was shaking; pitch-black eyes glistening and wide. They were not the empty whites her peers.


    ¡®No!¡¯


    ***


    ¡®No!¡¯ Naereah could not believe the word. She glanced around. It could not have been her voice. But as she repeated the sound with rising conviction, she could not deny they were her words.


    She had refused the order.


    She had refused an order.


    It was not as though she had never resisted, but the marriage of rebellion and the rod was an absolute union. Their firstborn, pain acted as tutor to their second, compliance.


    Shackles loose around her ankles. The clink of chain hitting chain. Bound to her fellow slaves, she had been forced from her home. From the shining city of Celestius to the unknown place they had called Stone Garden, they would need to ascend two floor of the Dungeon. She had known escape would be difficult. The first thirteen levels may have sheltered the bereft, but the Dungeon was home to nightmares. Her purity was poor, but she was still an inheritor. She had nearly drained herself to heal her broken ankles, but in the moment the irons had slipped past her toes, the honeyed wine of liberty had dulled the pain.


    Under the pale light of the night-sun, unnoticed, she had distanced herself from the Slaver¡¯s caravan. The disgrace of her family, she had known she could not return home.


    But perhaps she could find another.


    Celestius was the capital of her species. Before her enslavement, she had never seen the world beyond its shining towers, but she knew it existed. Beneath the settled floors of the Dungeons stood many vanguard territories. From those outposts, Inheritors rested, worked and traded. Her anchor, The Bandaged Heart, gave her the ability to heal. Little was her power, and recovery remnants were not so scarce, but the vanguard, ever perilous and unstable, would find a place for her¡­


    She would have never gotten there alive.


    Outside of Dungeon Cells, it was the rare dungeon-spawn which was more than a solider within the settle floors. The bereft were still helpless but they were not undefended. It did not take many Inheritors to assure safety. From the fourteenth floor down, true horrors stalked each corner.


    She had resolved to ascend.


    The nearest flight would have been a three day walk. She had recalled at the time it connected the tenth to the third. There she would find others of her people.


    It was the second night they found her. Over the following three days, her slavers had laboured to educate on the wages of resistance. She had learned her lesson well.


    But stood in a monster¡¯s lair that boy held firm. Surrounded and outnumbered; dauntless and resolute. The passion of his cry as he charged against the odds. Naereah could not stay tucked away as he set alight her hidden place. The fumes of hope smoked her to the surface. Sucking deep the sweet air of a freedom she had forsaken, with tears running down her eyes, she shouted.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know who you are, and I know there¡¯s no reason, but please¡­¡¯ Wiping the wet from her eyes with the back of her forearm and flinging the tears to mossy ground, her voice trembled.


    ¡®Save me!¡¯

 Chapter 18: Serpent And Spear

    Counting the thuds of his heart, Havoc sprinted forward, the squish of his feet pressing deep into the moss could barely keep pace. To the left rushed the length of a sword¡ªthe uncanny blade stretched from the steady hold of its wielder. To the right, axe in hand, charged a second opponent. Diving from his high place, a third thrall swooped low. With no time to look up, the beat of the thrall¡¯s leathery wings was the only herald of his approach.


    Havoc did not think; his body simply moved. He dropped to the ground and the lengthened sword flew overhead, The slick of steel piercing flesh. The gasp, shout, and thump of flesh hitting ground. Havoc need not see to know; the wielder of the axe was no more. His life cut short by the elongated thrust of his comrade.


    The extended blade was a cover and spurn. It forced Aaron¡¯s retreat, and Havoc, in a sidewards roll, from the path of the bisecting cut of its descent. With no time to think, he returned to his feet, but the metallic glint to the right, in the corner of his eyes forced him to duck low. The air whistled, trailing the path of five golden wires.


    This is insane, he thought as he whispered a curse towards Annalise, the composer of this brutal symphony. Unreasonable was his task. A wrong step would court death. Even doing everything perfectly was no guarantee of survival. But he was not merely tasked to survive, but to succeed and mount a rescue.


    Six beats of his heart, he had counted. Fewer than half remained before the Temptress would reach the Selenarian. Blood seeped through the Temptress¡¯ cracked and shattered scales. It dyed the luminous moss of her trail, projecting skywards, an emerald light. Havoc was close but the Temptress was closer. Near the centre of the battlefield, he danced a deadly dance, avoiding wire and blade. His mind span as he plotted his route north-west forty paces


    For him, the Selenarian had cried out. Had he five heartbeats more he could have reached her. But their echoes were insufficient, he would never make it on time.


    But the Buried Strike could¡­


    With a downward thrust, he sank the tip of his spear into the ground. Greedily, the spear drew Harmony into its link. Speedily, the blade tunnelled beneath the arena. It rushed before launching up, its sharpened tooth dividing the Selenarian from the razor claws of the Temptress.


    With The Buried Strike protecting the girl, he could not move from his position. The remaining thralls were quick to exploit his immobilisation. His heart in his throat, three beats more, maybe four until black, scaled claws would meet the soft of his neck. Their parting would be a morbid affair.


    The collision was inevitable¡­ But then it was not. Just as claw was to dig deep, there was a blur in the periphery. Abruptly, the winged thrall twisted and turned mid-flight, crashing himself into the bioluminescent foundation. Atop Aaron as he slid across the ground, the All-Seeing Owl landed. Its many eyes focused only on the young man.


    ¡®Forgive me, my queen!¡¯ Running past the barrier of Havoc¡¯s strike, the Selenarian prostrated herself before the Temptress.


    The scattered showers of the Temptress¡¯ voice, thoughts and emotions assailed Havoc¡¯s mind. Her restless rage was palpable. He could taste it; bitter and metallic as though salivating blood. Beneath the rage lurked confusion. There was something wrong, he could feel the White Temptress¡¯ alert to the change. Her thralls were still as if frozen in time. Looming over the dishevelled, grovelling blue-skinned girl, the Temptress shifted herself from side to side. She was yet to understand. With his mind invaded, it took a moment for Havoc to grasp the situation, himself. Once he did, he was quick to act.


    He did not know how long Annalise could so aggressively intervene and was unwilling to test the limit. His overgrown nails dug into the palm of his left hand, with his right, he withdrew his spear from the ground. Harmony flowed into his anchor and a pale mist poured from his skin. He crouched into a sprinters pose ¨C right leg forward, left leg back ¨C and dashed towards the nearest standing thrall. From the approach to thwack of the pole of his spear across face, the thrall did not react. He took the blow and silently fell. Perhaps not silently, but Havoc did not register a noise as he raced towards his next target.


    Loose golden threads hung from her fingers. They jerked but that was all before that thrall was also incapacitated.


    Lucia, if I remember. I think that¡¯s her name, the thought rushed to his mind as he returned the Buried Strike to its link and rushed towards the serpent.


    Unarmed as he was, The White Temptress was not his target. Passing beneath her, he swooped the Selenarian into his arms. Pain cut across his back; he did not slow. As the feather-light girl struggled in his hold, he carried her into the tunnel she had come from.


    ¡®Take me back!¡¯ The Selenarian screamed. Annalise had deemed her his most vital resource. Her demands were ignored.


    She struggled and screamed but then she stopped.


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ she whispered then went limp in his arms.


    The tunnel, dank and dreary, was piled with bones. Pungent was the stench; the reek of foul excretions suffused the air. There was little light. Patches of luminous moss warded off complete darkness, but the tunnel belonged to the shadows.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Spread across the arena were many such tunnels. Havoc¡¯s gambit was that they were connected. He reached the end of the tunnel and his wager was rewarded. On the left side of the wall furthest back, carved into the top was a passage. It was a climb to reach, but it could be entered.


    ¡®Can you move?¡¯ As he spoke, he could feel the weight of his own urgency, hoping his words would press into the girl in his arms and squeeze from her a response equal to the gravity of their situation.


    ¡®I¡­ I¡­¡¯ Stuttered the Selenarian. A shrill wail pierced though the tunnel. It sliced from one wall to the next, the echo magnifying the malice it carried


    ¡°I will kill you!¡± Was the buzz of the White Temptress¡¯ psychic projection.


    ¡®Can you move!¡¯ Havoc shouted this time.


    ¡®I can,¡¯ the instant the girl finished speaking, Havoc threw her into the upper-passage. Gripping a groove in the wall with one hand, he carried himself into the same cavity.


    Cramped, damp and narrow; Havoc and the girl could not walk side by side. Neither could Havoc stand at full height. The noxious whiff from the tunnel below carried into the passage. Havoc sniffed and his nose wrinkled. The smell from was from the girl. She was filthy. Wet patches and dark stains tainted her torn grey dress. Havoc had known she was light when she was in his arms, but up close and in view, her frame was skeletal.


    She¡¯s suffered much,  he thought. It was plain to see. She need not say a word to convey the details. A brief glance at where she had come from spoke louder than any cry.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you!¡± A claw gripped the entrance of their escape. The Temptress¡¯ face rose to view. Her mouth wide, her fangs barred; the vertical slits of her eyes, a burned red. They radiated incensed madness.


    Unreasonable!


    Havoc repeated the word in his mind. It mingled with the crash of the White Temptress¡¯ projections and overtook them. His task was truly absurd. His obsession over that sobering thought did not distract or overwhelm. Rather it assisted in anchoring him against the waves of the serpent¡¯s mental bombardment. Although, without question, Annalise was also still lending aid from afar.


    The Buried Strike returned to his grip. His left hand near the tip, his right to its centre, with one foot forward and the other back, he thrust with the spear blinding the Temptress in one eye. She reeled backwards before the bladed tip could penetrate deeper.


    A thud, screech, bashing and shuffling. Havoc peeked from the edge to see the White Temptress retreat. He held no hope that she would not be back.


    Bundled into the side of the passage, the Selenarian shivered and swayed. She muttered to herself the incomprehensible, and gripped her grimy hair. So covered in blood and befoulment, Havoc had believed her brunette, but as her hold slipped down, threads of white were revealed as some caked mire came loose. He walked closer and noticed the patterns on her busied and bloodied skin. Twirling and intricate, they lined her. Ivory in colour, they paired with her hair. With some meat on her bones and a shower or three, she could have been called a beauty. She had not the gulling charm of which Annalise was armed. In her present state, she had little charm at all. Yet, there was an innocence to her. It stirred in Havoc¡¯s chest and urged his protection.


    A knee on hard stone, he took hold of her shaking arms and leveraged them down. Her tears fell like fountains and her head swayed from side to side. Staggered was her breathing and frantic were her murmurings.


    ¡®She¡¯ll always find me!¡¯ She said over and over. With each repetition her voice and her movements became more deranged. Despite her fragile appearance, she was an Inheritor. It took force to hold her restrained.


    ¡®Get up,¡¯ Havoc said to the response of her manic recital. ¡®We don¡¯t have time for this. Get up!¡¯ She would not listen. Holding both of her arms with one hand, Havoc pulled back his other. He paused, sighed, then slapped her across the face with his open palm.


    Her lightless eyes went wide and stared at him. Havoc let slip her wrists from his fingers. She stroked her cheek with the back of her hand. Shocked, without question, but her swaying had ceased. She seemed able to listen.


    ¡®If you have any intention of living past this day, I need you focused. Do you understand?¡¯ Her eyes still wide, the Selenarian nodded her reply. ¡®Where does this passage lead?¡¯ Havoc asked to the girl¡¯s vacant stare. Gripped her shoulders with both hands. he looked into her eyes. ¡®There isn¡¯t much time. I told you already, I need you to focus.¡¯


    ¡®I¡­¡¯ The Selenarian squeaked. She looked downwards and shook her head. Her breathing steadied and she returned her sight to Havoc¡¯s eyes. ¡®We can¡¯t stay here. All of the tunnels are connected. My mistress¡­¡¯ She paused. ¡®The temptress is wounded, worse than I¡¯ve ever seen her. She¡¯s disorientated, and I can feel her confusion. She¡¯s hunting us, but she¡¯s fighting another battled in her mind. However, she¡¯s regaining herself¡­ She she¡¯s distracted, but she will not be for long.¡¯


    How deep is her bond with the Temptress to feel what she feels so deeply? Havoc gave no sound to those thoughts. To him, the Temptress¡¯ psychic presence was palpable but vague, he could feel¡­ something, but nothing so precise. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought¡ªthere were more pressing questions to be squeezed from the moment¡¯s respite.


    ¡®Can you fight?¡¯ Havoc asked to the recoil of the Selenarian. Short staggered breaths, her head turned sideways as though the girl could not face him. Even if she had the ability, it was clear she could not stand up to the Temptress.


    It was all she could do to call out for my help. He thought.


    ¡®I can¡¯t,¡¯ She finally said. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯


    He smiled at her and stood as high as the ceiling would allow. His hand held out, he waited for her delicate fingers to cling to his palm.


    ¡®It¡¯s going to be okay,¡¯ He said as he helped her to stand and walked in front.


    ¡®Wait!¡¯ The Selenarian said. Her hands pressed into his back. He winced as his tattered shirt beneath his cloak stuck to the wounds freshly carved. ¡®There¡¯s not much I can do, but I can do this.¡¯ As she spoke, a warmth flowed from her palms. It seeped into Havoc and spread across his back.


    He had felt this warmth before. It was the same feeling he had experienced with The Thirsty Edge. Soothing and kind. When his back cooled, the sharp pain he had been neglecting was gone. His lacerations were no more¡­


    The Selenarian was a healer.

 Chapter 19: Naereah

    Loud and constant crashes echoed throughout the passage. Pressing his eye to a narrow gap in the stone wall, Havoc watched the Temptress. Her pointed nails, ¨C claws to scalp ¨C the Abomination thrashed about on the arena floor. Her long and ivory tail whipped the boundaries of her enclosure each time she bundled near. By chance alone did she neglect to crush the dazed and unconscious thralls remaining on the battlefield.


    Annalise¡­ He thought, feeling an all too familiar chill spreading across his back. Shaking his head, he could not keep his thoughts from slipping from his lips.


    ¡®How much are you capable of?¡¯ He whispered.


    A tug of his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see the Selenarian¡¯s eyes, wide and pleading.


    ¡®Can¡¯t we just escape?¡¯ She whispered. ¡®While she¡¯s distracted, I mean,¡¯ she said, averting her eyes from Havoc¡¯s frown.


    Escape was possible, but only the way he had arrived. He had posed a similar question to Annalise. The White Temptress, though now a monster, had not always been such. Within her psychic projection, he had borne witness to her fall from grace.


    Nursed by the serenity of The Fair Lady¡¯s Teapot, he had found his resolve to do so, but he did not want to kill the Abomination. He would not show mercy, yet he felt pity for the Temptress even now.


    If it were possible, he would have preferred to liberate the captives and slip by unseen. However, the Dungeon carried expectations for Inheritors; never were they as heavy as within a Dungeon Cell. The path forward would open, but only with the White Temptress dead. Even so, that was not the reason for his frown¡­


    ¡®What about the others?¡¯ Havoc asked. Slowly the Selenarian raised her head. Her lightless eyes locked into his. Her hands balled into fists and breathing became heavy. Her mouth opened then closed then opened again until finally she spoke.


    ¡®Not one of them is worth saving.¡¯ Her voice was like steel; cold and tempered. Havoc could not have expected it¡­ She was innocent¡­ She looked so innocent.


    This is the Dungeon and she¡¯s an Inheritor. What exactly have I experienced to be so na?ve that I¡¯d believe even one of them has a heart? Turning his back on the Selenarian, he started forward.


    ¡®You don¡¯t understand,¡¯ her voice was sharp as the Selenarian tugged Havoc¡¯s cloak from behind.


    ¡®I needed rest and I¡¯ve rested. There¡¯s no telling how long the Temptress will be occupied. You¡¯re safe here. I¡¯m heading back down,¡¯ Havoc was not even sure why he was disappointed. He did not know the girl, nor did he know the others. In his heart, he knew his desire to save them was for his own benefit. They had nothing to do with it. He could not draw reason from the well of dismay. There was no justification, but he could not deny his own feelings. He was disappointed.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be so na?ve,¡¯ he reminded himself in a whisper. With closed eyes, he shook his head before running ahead in a crouch, leaving the girl behind.


    ***


    ¡®You don¡¯t understand,¡¯ the girl whispered. Kneeling at the tunnel¡¯s end above the battlefield, she watched as the boy continued his battle with the Temptress. Blade and claw clashed, echoing his mighty struggle.


    The once cramped passage was too empty alone. To her, the boy was her safe place. More fortified and comforting than the hidden place within from where he had enticed her out. It was because of him that she could see a future. A future where her choices were hers.


    Hope was maddening.


    He had heard her cry to be saved and he had saved her. Without hesitation, he ran to her aid. He protected her from the malice of the Temptress and carried her in his arms to safety. Her heart fluttered at the memory.


    For the first time in a long time, she was shown kindness. It was no cloying display of magnanimity to rouse the insincere, sickly praise of his peers. There was no wetting of the lips as he fed her scraps robbed from the bowl of a hound all the while unwrapping her with his eyes. He had done the impossible and had done so for her. She did not even know his name; she did not need to. He did not need to say a word, she could see he too knew despair. In him she felt a kindred flame. Like a spark from the same inferno; whatever they could have been before life¡¯s ravishes had been burned up. But while she had drifted to a fade, he landed on dry and set alight. Heat in the cold and lasting night; from the moment she saw him, she yearned to gather his warmth. Perhaps in time, she too would reignite.


    But now¡­


    ¡®You don¡¯t understand. How could you understand?¡¯ She murmured, her voice wavering with longing. Adrift in the ocean of her mind, barely did she register the battle raging below. The battle in her heart was a fight too engaging.


    He had given her a taste of freedom, only to turn his favour towards the ones who had kept her enslaved.


    He wouldn¡¯t even listen, she thought as she blinked tears from her eyes.


    It had been a long time since she last dreamt of rescue. Wine staining the frill of her dress, all glasses had shattered when her first mistress had slapped her to the ground. Naereah has waited for a gallant prince to take her by the hand, lift her from disgrace, and keep her by his side. Even as her palm was placed on glass, she waited. And when heeled foot pressed down to her screams and the crunch of Lucia¡¯s cruelty, she still waited.


    He never came.


    No one would save her.


    But he did¡­


    Her knuckles whitened as they ground against the stone, teeth clenched against a pain smeared onto the ground. She lifted her trembling, bleeding hand, and with a pulse of Harmony a warmth flowed through her arm and the self-inflicted wounds healed shut. As to the laceration cutting her heart, she could only continue to grit her teeth.


    I¡¯m just a fool, she scolded, wiping the tears from her eyes. I know him as well as he knows me. Not at all. There¡¯s no reason to feel this way¡­


    She breathed in and out, steadying her breaths and crept closer to the edge of the tunnel¡¯s lip. I¡¯ve dreamt of a prince for so long, how could I not cling to the fantasy of the nearest toad? Her heart twisted in her chest. With her knuckles pressing on her ribcage, she could feel its tortured rhythm.


    Collar tight in her fist, she watched from above as the boy flipped backwards over the crushing whip of the Temptress¡¯ tail, held himself up by his fist, and returned to a stand with fluid motion.


    ¡®Stop it!¡¯ She whispered sharply. At the top of her lungs, she would not be heard over the shrikes, grunts and crashing of the waging conflict, but even now she would not dare draw the Temptress¡¯ eyes towards her. ¡®Stop it.¡¯ She said again, her heart thumping as the boy stabbed the ground with his spear, its blade rising up from below to spill foul blood across the mossy field. ¡®Stop it!¡¯ She whispered louder, shaking her head from left to right. ¡®I don¡¯t even know his name!¡¯


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    So deprived was she of herself, so long had she been hidden away, to feel anything at all was to feel it completely. She was still blinking in the light of her rebirth. Everything was fresh and overwhelming. Deep down, she knew that. Her emotions were raw and unsteady; her heart was a vessel too quick to fill. She knew that. But between the mind and matters of the heart was a chasm wide. Therein, she had fallen.


    Returning her attention to the fighting below did nothing to distract from the heights and sways of her unsteady feelings. Like a storybook hero, fearless in the presence of enemies. The boy danced the field of battle. Each disembowelling cut of the Temptress¡¯ claws was countered. Every flattening swing of her tail was narrowly, yet seemingly effortlessly, avoided.


    She seemed so invincible to me¡­ But to the boy, it was like a game. Round and round they went. The Temptress doing all she could was unable to catch up. She had two thralls remaining when their battle recommenced. A gallant unarmed blow to the face was all that was needed to reduce that count to one.


    Aaron¡­ The thought was given substance by the growl of her throat, and her sentiments tilted once more. Her lips tightened; her nose creased. Her eyes narrowed to a point. Blurred was the sight of all but the thrall.


    She hated him. She hated the appetite he never kept from his leer. Wetted lips, eager to tuck in. Her skin would crawl at his gaze. At his touch, fear could only keep her meal down while his company remained. He was her lady¡¯s fianc¨¦, Naereah belonged to the both of them. Her smile was painted; her eyes unmoving. She made for him the perfect doll. He would brush her hair. She would dream of elsewhere.


    Anywhere.


    The boy using the blunt end of his mighty spear to spare her chief tormentor left an acrid taste on Naereah¡¯s tongue.


    Swatted from the air, Aaron bounced on the mossy surface of the lair. The audible gasp of his impact gave Naereah hope that at least some of his bones had broken. The thought tugged her lips towards her eyes. Aaron deserved much worse, but it was at least small part of the justice owed...


    More than I thought I would live to see.


    Laid out on his back, Aaron¡¯s black leathery wings had twisted. A broken devil, splayed across the Temptress¡¯ lair.


    If only this moment could last forever, soft and wistful was Naereah¡¯s sigh.


    Aaron raised an arm. His contorted wings twitched beneath him. His back lifted and he sat. It was an unnatural movement; as though a puppet pulled by string. There was no will behind his resilience other than his mistress¡¯. From seated, he moved to a knee. He began to stand but could not. Before reaching full height, a satisfying sound reached Naereah¡¯s pointed ears. The spear pole of her waited-for prince cracked across Aaron¡¯s face. Like a marionette cut from his strings, he collapsed.


    Only the Temptress remained.


    Fury personified, the Temptress launched herself towards the boy. Her Claws lashing out, he could not retreat fast enough to avoid her mark across his chest. Their fight was too far for the odour of conflict to reach her, even still Naereah feel the scent of iron filling her nostrils.


    ¡®No!¡¯ She cried, reaching the very end of the tunnel, bracing herself to jump. Her legs crouched and tense, her hand gripping the ledge. Adrenaline coursed through her as she readied to jump.


    Do it! she screamed inside her mind. Her grip tightened as the Temptress continued her assault; a shrill and cruel laughter lifting up to the tunnel, taunting her resolve.


    She pushed herself back. Leaning against the cold stone wall, she held her knees between her arms. Forward and backwards, she rocked. Incoherent sounds, she muttered.


    ¡®I can¡¯t¡­¡¯ Her hands flattened the pointed tubes of her ears. She could barely hear the boy¡¯s agonised cries. But she could still hear them¡­


    The Temptress was too terrible to resist. Her hero would fall and there was nothing she could do. She kept telling herself there was nothing she could do.


    She was an Inheritor, true. But her Remnants were not for offence. What fool would trust a slave with a sword? Her Anchor, The Bandaged Heart, could heal. But not fast enough; not well enough¡­


    I¡¯m useless.


    A despairing whimper carried her thoughts. As a Servant of the first step, the only other Remnant she possessed was The Hungry Chest. It was a large brown coffer etched with runes. Its use was none other than storage, and always at a price. To retrieve an item, the chest would destroy another within it deemed to be of equal value.


    Under the threat of the whip, Naereah was forbidden from its use without Lucia¡¯s assent. Lucia never failed to remind her that both she and what was in the chest was her property. But the chest held infinitely more value.


    But¡­ It could not compare to the boy who had saved her.


    Consequences be damned! I¡¯ll take the whip!


    She released her legs and summoned the chest. From one side to the other, it filled the passageway. There were Remnants inside but there was no time to replace her link. And with poor Harmonic purity, there was little guarantee another Remnant would accept her. It did not matter. Remnants were not the only weapons of Harmony...


    ¡®Give me a Fragment of fire.¡¯ She said, the grip of one hand held tight against the shaking of the other. With a heavy clank, the brass catch of the coffer released and the lid lifted open. An impenetrable red haze filled the container. None could see within. The mist poured out. It gathered on the ground and dissipated. When it had drifted to nothing, a thin, rectangular slate was left behind. It was like a fossilised bookmark, as though it would crumble in the hand. Naereah gripped it with strength. She had seen it used many times before. In their panicked dash to escape the horrors of the forest beneath the cave, Lucia had not been sparing in their use. It would not break until needed.


    At the edge staring down, she gulped her fear. There was no more time for that. On the left of the Temptress¡¯ killing grounds, backed into the rightmost edge of the battlefield, the boy held his spear pointed up.


    He hasn¡¯t given up, she marvelled. She could not fully decipher her mix of emotions. A swell of admiration was within that concoction. His cloak in ruins and drenched in blood¡­ Still he was fighting. A bitter note tainted the pot. While Lucia lived, she would be her slave. Doubt lingered near the top. Resolve was an effective emulsifier, but to unify such diverse and heightened feelings completely, it was not capable.


    As if already victorious, the Temptress slithered slowly towards the boy huffing and puffing. Her arms held high and open, a familiar cue; her demand to be praised. Her ivory scales cracked and oozing, the Temptress had never looked so lowly. Her self-aggrandisement could not hide that from Naereah. The fraud emboldened her. She would see the Temptress fall into the pit from which she was forced to dangle.


    No turning back, she determined as she leapt. The wind whipped her hair. Her fall was steep but the groan of her landing was lost to her shout. She did not linger, but ran to the left, struggling to keep from slipping on the bloodied moss. The Fragment held between two fingers began to glow. She could feel her Harmony flee from her spiritual core into the stone.


    Her Harmony was lacking purity, it took nearly everything to power the Fragment. The world lost its focus and her head began to ache, but she did not stop.


    The Temptress turned to her and her blood froze solid in her veins. She wanted to cry. She wanted to drop to the ground, knees tucked tight and wait for a saviour never to arrive. How could he? He was already here. And¡­


    He needs my help!


    She fell as she knew she would. But not before launching the Fragment towards the Temptress. A crack of stone. A screech of a serpent. A ball of raging, incinerating fire burned forward. Its heat washed over Naereah in her backward decent. Sweat stung her eyes as she thumped the ground. She did not see what happened next, but she heard it. A scream so loud as to shatter the domed heavens arose from the Temptress.


    "You treacherous bitch!" Was the psychic wail carried by the Temptress¡¯ cries. The slick of sharp piercing flesh followed. The scream became a whimper. The whimper faded to silence.


    Her arms cried in protest as Naereah pushed herself to sit. The world was swimming, but she had to see.


    The boy, her hero, his spear buried deep. It protruded from the ground, piercing between the breasts of the Temptress.


    Naereah could hear laughter. Frenzied and manic, it was her own.


    ¡®She¡¯s dead!¡¯ She croaked as loud as she could. Her arms gave out; she fell backwards. Couched on the mossy bedding, Naereah closed her eyes and welcomed her dreams.

 Chapter 20: The Sapphire Staircase

    Deep rumbling shook Havoc to his knees. The intense vibrations zigzagged up his legs. His stomach churned and his chest juddered about. Both hands pressed tight to his head, the vibrations rattled his skull. A boom shot through him. It was followed by another and another. The White Temptress could no longer bar deeper exploration of the cave. So jealous of admiration was she that even her lair was commanded to flatter. Imitating its mistress, it too began to fall to clear the way.


    The ground pulled back. It formed a ring separating the centre terrain from the rest of the arena. From the left side of the dividing circumference, the ring clanked as it retracted into itself. Segment by segment, the side was pulled into the hollow rock of its centre. Luminous moss scraped from its surface. A sprinkling of illumination; the moss of the retreating stone fluttered down the opening pushed out from the ground.


    Havoc staggered to his feet, steadying himself on the side wall of the arena, his mouth agape, watching as the final segment shrank into the remaining semi-circular platform to reveal a staircase leading down.


    A clank, a clang, a bash, a boom¡ªthen silence. The path lay fully open. On shaken legs, he squished the mossy ground towards the centre and looked down. In a spiral, the staircase twisted below to sights unseen. He could not count the steps, but there were many. The steps¡ªa crystal blue¡ªbegan to glow. One by one, leading down, their radiance bloomed.


    Like violets in spring¡­ Though his rags stuck to sting his claw cut flesh, the tension he carried relaxed from his shoulders and he smiled. Beautiful and serene were the steps leading down.


    Annalise had told him what to expect, but to see it for himself¡­


    Hurricane would love this.


    As one anticipating an unexpected blow, he slightly recoiled from the thought. He cared deeply for his sister¡ªshe was all he had¡ªbut since his inheritance, he had consciously kept the thought of her at bay, protective of his focus in this dangerous land. Slowly shaking his head, he could no longer dislodge his sister from his mind.


    She was in Stone Garden¡ªhe, in a land of monsters and mystery. Long did he conclude the futility of wishing otherwise. Only once emerged from the Cell would he be able to turn his focus to her upkeep. His present shook with uncertainty so his thoughts could not fall into a period longed after.


    At least not for too long¡­


    His concept of time was unloosed. It roamed freely; too wild to be tamed. But it could be tracked. Having left his cavern at night, he had travelled three hours into the Marshland. Therein, in whatever secluded lodging he could find, twice had sleep taken him. A shiver crept his spine; he could still hear the howls and the growls of monsters prowling.


    Though he considered returning to his hideaway, there had been much to do. He had treaded with care, tracking the lair where the Buried Strike was hid. Nodding his head, he knew it was worth it. Rough had been the nights on cold stone, but little was the added comfort offered by bloodstained mat left behind. Moreover, wherever he was did nothing to enhance the flavour of the toughened bread and meat strips he had at hand. And so he had stayed little more than two days and a half within the Marshland Cavern.


    She¡¯s a survivor. That won¡¯t change while I¡¯m away.


    He was not sure they still shared the same sky, but it was likely still bright in Stone Garden. While the day-sun was high, there was money to be made ¨C pots to wash, laundry to scrub ¨C Hurricane never shied away from paying work. Their lives had been difficult, but they had always scraped by. More often than not, it was she who held the larger shovel.


    A tepid sigh; It did not suit the grandeur of the sight ahead. But his surroundings were now background to the looming thought of his sister. Her hands shrivelled and raw from the scrubbing and soap. Many times had the scene played out; there was little doubt she was, even now, repeating the performance. But things would change. He would change them.


    Wait a bit longer, sis¡­ He sighed once more.


    A groan from behind, he turned. One of the former thralls began to stir. His broken wings retracted, his cracked scales evaporating from his skin, Aaron pushed himself to his knees. His head swayed from left to right. He moved to one knee, and from a kneel, he then stood.


    Havoc stood watching as Aaron slowly looked around. The former thrall¡¯s eyes glanced over the liberated thrall who had struck with an extending blade. He swiftly moving on. Cold and pointed, they lingered briefly on Lucia. Visible to Havoc was Aaron¡¯s tight lips lifted firm in a snarl. Aaron then fixed his sight on the Selenarian.


    ¡®By the Stewards! Be okay!¡¯ Aaron shouted as he took shaky steps towards the unconscious Selenarian. Limping, he crossed Havoc¡¯s path. His was a brief examination¡ª eyes running up and down¡ªa passing curiosity, it seemed. His passion was clearly for the inhuman girl.


    Reaching the girl, Aaron rested her on his lap. With one arm, he cradled. Cupping her cheek with his other hand, he directed her face towards his.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡®Please¡­ be okay,¡¯ he said, softly, resting his forehead to hers.


    Havoc¡¯s eyebrows lifted slightly. Annalise had said Lucia and Aaron were to be man and wife¡­


    Shouldn¡¯t he be more concerned for his fiancee? Havoc thought. It was true, between the alien girl and Aaron¡¯s bride to be, the Selenarian appeared much worse for wear. Sweltering blisters patched her pale blue skin. It was as though she had sipped from a witch¡¯s cauldron. Her chest rose and fell but there was a crackle and pop as she breathed. Her dress had been dreary before. Covered in muck and blood, if seen in the slums, she would have been pointed out to impoverished children as a lesson on gratitude. With the additional burns, no temple priest could have so thoroughly taught on the wages of sin.


    Havoc could already imagine the gossip¡ªCranky Marge whispering to her sister, the nicer one; together they would intuit the wickedness the Selenarian was engaged with to have been so thoroughly punished.


    ¡®It was probably a boy,¡¯ Havoc had heard them say many times. ¡®Something untoward with a boy,¡¯ they would conclude before shooing him gone. For those sisters, whenever they nattered about some distressed damsel or another, the problem could have only been a boy. A nuisance to all around, but Havoc did not mind their prattling. In fact, he welcomed the advantage. They were fierce competition some days. Hecould not claim to have been undefeated; not every day could he steal home a pasty from their stall before they cried foul. But when those two started talking, really talking. The kind of conversations that could only be had between two women looking down upon a third, his mouth would salivate to the promise of warm meat pies and flaky sausage rolls.


    They did make good pastries, Havoc thought as strained whimpers eked from the skeletal girl so lovingly held. ¡°She could definitely use one.¡± It was an odd thought to have. He caught himself immediately. The girl had leapt into his tangle with the White Temptress and upstaged them both.


    What was that power? He only saw it for a moment. She had held something in hand. One second, a rectangular stone, the next it set alight. Shielded by the Temptress, he was not badly burned. But the heat was imminence. A natural flame, it was not. On impact, it had wrapped around the Temptress, ensnaring only her. The fire died quick but it did its work. As she had been following the attack, she could neither dodge nor deflect his finishing strike.


    Havoc frowned. The Selenarian had told him she was unable to fight. He did not believe she was lying, yet it was clearly not true.


    What else are you hiding?


    ¡®Boy!¡¯ Aaron laid down the Selenarian gently and rose to his feet. He staggered towards Havoc. His eyes were like emeralds, hard and unrelenting. With unmasked aggression, he closed the distance with Havoc¡ªface to furious face. ¡®What have you done to her?¡¯


    Boy? You can¡¯t be more than two years older, Havoc thought. Contempt, disrespect, and the arrogance of those who thought themselves above was not a rare occurrence. Aaron¡¯s navy-blue tailcoat was down to one button on the left and two on the right, but they shone gold. His waistcoat, dirtied as it was, still spoke of his affluence. Like a fine, proper gentleman of high standing, of course he retained his neckcloth.


    Being enslaved by a sadistic abomination is no excuse for poor style, is it, Aaron? What about being set free? Don¡¯t you think that deserves the smallest amount of gratitude? They¡¯re all same¡­


    Aaron moved closer. He gripped Havoc¡¯s collar and pulled him closer still. His tepid breath tickled the nostrils; his pungent scent flavoured the back of Havoc¡¯s throat foul.


    ¡®I shall ask one last time.¡¯ Aaron growled. ¡®What have you done to Naereah!¡¯


    ¡®Get off me!¡¯ Havoc roared back. His hand on Aaron¡¯s chest, he pushed him from his feet. ¡®The only thing I did was save her life! Yours too, actually. If anything, you should be thanking me!¡¯


    Aaron¡¯s eyes went wide and his mouth parted and closed. His face could not have been so flushed had he be slapped across both cheeks. Havoc¡¯s lips twitched as he considered doing just that. But like it or not¡ªhe certainly did not¡ªthey would need to work together.


    He¡¯s just another arrogant bastard, I bet. But he can fight...


    He had proven as much. Even while under the White Temptress¡¯ control, he was formidable.


    His hand lowered. Aaron took hold of his grip and Havoc pulled him from the ground. Aaron brushed his backside and straighten his dirtied, blonde hair. Back straight, shoulders back, he still exuded an air of superiority but gone was the pointed fury in his eyes.


    ¡®What you say is true. There is no conflict between us,¡¯ Aaron said, a deep exhalation followed his words. ¡®I care deeply for my comrades. To see them wounded so¡­ It has shaken me.¡¯


    Havoc could not have guessed Aaron¡¯s relationship with Naereah. He cared for her, that much was obvious. But as he remembered how desperate she had been to leave them to the Temptress¡¯ predations, it was just as clear that she did not feel the same way.


    It seems like some ¡°comrades¡± mean more to you than others. And the one who should mean the most doesn¡¯t seem to matter at all.


    Curious as he was, Havoc had no intentions of interpolating himself into a dynamics of the former thralls¡¯ dynamics. They would serve their purpose and nothing more.


    He looked around. Aaron followed the trail of his sight. They rested on a young man. During the battle, he had wielded an axe. The axe remained loose within his hand, but a deep wound pierced through his centre mass. Without question, he was dead.


    ¡®Though it shames me, we were being controlled. I know you are not to blame for Nathaniel¡¯s death. Even had I been slain, you would have been faultless¡­¡¯ He paused. ¡®Even still, this place harbours more dangers than I could have imagined. The loss of our man is not easily swallowed. I dare say, you showed great aptitude. I trust I can rely on you to fill the vacancy.¡¯


    Havoc waited but there was no apology in Aaron¡¯s request. Nor was there gratitude for the rescue.


    He thinks I¡¯m in his debt, doesn¡¯t he? Outrageous but not unexpected. Aaron did not have to say a word to convey his nobility. There was no question that Havoc¡¯s lack thereof was equally apparent. It simply would not do for one such as I to be indebted to such riff-raff.


    Havoc smiled. The impersonation in his mind was a caricature, but he did not think it inaccurate. Ultimately, it suited him just fine. He had intended on recruiting; being recruited worked just as well.


    ¡®There¡¯s safety in numbers.¡¯ Havoc replied.


    ¡®My good man, that is right, ¡¯ Aaron chuckled as he lightly patted Havoc¡¯s shoulder. A moment later, his laughter died down and his expression turned serious. ¡®I have one misgiving. I took time to ensure familiarity with everyone I work with. You are not from any of our enlisted guilds. Tell me, how is it that you find yourself here? A Dungeon Cell is not entered accidentally. Most assuredly not this one.¡¯ Aaron returned his hand Havoc¡¯s shoulder with a firm grip. He looked into Havoc¡¯s eyes and for a while did not speak a word. As though allowing the silence to punctuate the seriousness of his next words.


    ¡®What has brought you to this place?¡¯ Aaron finally asked.

 Chapter 21: Words Of Ignorance

    Tinder snapped, crackled and popped between several logs stacked in parallel. The warmth of the flames seeped into Havoc¡¯s bones; they chased away a cold which had persistently hounded. The chill of the cave was not unbearable. As a student of unroofed living, he was well discipled against the brisk of the night. Bundle tight, extremities tucked; the streets were a strict mistress. But her lessons did prepare. Thoroughly tested¡ª wet or dry, hot or cold¡ªhe could sleep in any condition. Even still, this was the first time since entering the cave he felt so warm. Arms outstretched, palms rubbing as if a vagabond before a carnivorous feast, he savoured the heat.


    Beneath the shining moss of the Temptress¡¯ lair, they had made camp. Aaron and Lucia sat side by side. Stiff backs, a gap between them.


    Not exactly the image of a happy couple, Havoc thought. The two could barely look at each other. When they did, it was not puppy-love he saw in their expressions. Rolled eyes and tight lips. ¡°More like annoyance or thinly veiled contempt.¡±


    On the opposite side of the flame, Havoc sat next to Naereah. When she had awoken, at Lucia¡¯s instruction, she had summoned a large brown chest. A thick, red mist poured down from the lip of the truck. When it cleared, there remained an assortment of supplies on the ground.


    Havoc had been handed a potion, a bucket, a wash-cloth, and a fresh set of clothes. Having been assured of its effects, he had drank the potion. He snarled at the memory of the greasy substance sliding down his throat. Nose pinched¡ªall in one go¡ªIt was like rotted fish left to liquefy. His vision swam after drinking. He had struggled to keep the foul liquid down. But with his wounds healed shut, on balance, it was worth it.


    When the last of the blood and muck squeezed into the bucket, he had slipped on his new attire.


    Dressed in rags no more¡ªhis loose-fit, white shirt tucked into mustard trousers. The trousers themselves were held up by suspenders and the length of them was stuffed between brown, leather boots. Neatly folded at his right was his tailcoat. From the clavicle curving down to the waist, it was the colour of cream. The remainder of the coat was a contrasting black. A matching cream waistcoat lay atop the tailcoat. Draped over both was a scarlet neckcloth.


    I look like a guard, Havoc sighed. He had kept the thought to himself, nevertheless, it did not fail to attract a quick glance from the girl to his left.


    On her knees looking down, Naereah occasionally stole glances at him. A rapid peek, only to shy away from his returned stare. So close was she, Naereah did all but cling to his arm. He found it strange but not unpleasant. Her hair¡ªwashed through and through¡ªwas a flawless white. Her dress was dreary and grey. Oversized on her malnourished frame, it draped over her but did nothing to cover her alien mystique. Her fragrance was clean¡ªneutral. It was nothing to entice but was enticing nonetheless. A primal intoxicant; on a different night, under different circumstances, he could have gotten drunk on her scent.


    Slowly, he shook his head. He could not allow himself to explore such thoughts. Naereah had risked her life to help him. but he could not forget she was ready to abandon the others.


    I can work with her but she can¡¯t be trusted¡­ None of them can, he silently concluded.


    ¡®What¡¯s the plan, boss?¡¯ Sitting between Aaron and Havoc was the fifth member of their party. Havoc did not believe any parents could be so cruel or farsighted as to name their son ¡°Ugly¡±, so he assumed it was a nickname. Dressed in the same military garb as Havoc, he bore a garish scar cutting diagonally from his forehead to chin. He was the oldest of the group, but marred as he was, Havoc was uncertain of his age. Late-twenties, early-forties, whether through age or trials were his leather features wove, Havoc could not say.


    ¡®Nothing has changed,¡¯ Aaron said. He glanced briefly at Ugly, but his face then turned¡ªfirst towards Naereah, then to Havoc. His lips scowled, his nostrils flared; Aaron seemed not to approve of the seating arrangements. Lucia, by his side, glared at him before directing her own sharp gaze toward Naereah. With a glance at his fianc¨¦e, Aaron returned his attention to the fire.


    ¡®My darling is correct, of course. We simply cannot leave without that for which we have come.¡¯ Lucia said. The twitch in Aaron¡¯s face did not go unnoticed by Havoc when Lucia had called him ¡°Darling¡±. By Lucia¡¯s feline smile, she also seemed to take note. She placed a hand on Aaron¡¯s thigh, which began to tremble. Her hand slowly slid up his leg before he gripped her wrist and stared at her.


    ¡®My love, not in front of company,¡¯ Aaron said sharpy.


    ¡®Heh, don¡¯t mind me,¡¯ Ugly chimed in. ¡®Not seen action in an age. If you two love birds want at it, let me stay and watch. We¡¯ll call it my bonus. Reckon I¡¯ve earned one.¡¯


    ¡®There you have it. The gentleman does not mind and we need not consider the help,¡¯ Lucia said, her eyes fixed on Naereah. ¡®That, I suppose, leaves you. Oh, what was your name, again? Harold, was it?¡¯ Arm forward, palm open, a clear provocation to Havoc, inviting him to correct.


    ¡®Havoc,¡¯ he said flatly.


    ¡®Yes, of course. Havoc. Our mysterious saviour with whom my dear Naereah has become so well acquainted,¡¯ Lucia¡¯s last words were not directed at Havoc, rather she turned to face Aaron who, as though struck, recoiled.


    A brown-haired beauty, Lucia was. She wore a black, long-sleeved, high-necked blouse with a pleated front. The belt around her accentuated waist seamlessly melded with her long, green skirt. Legs crossed, sitting perfectly straight¡ªchest front, shoulders rolled back¡ªshe was possessed of an elegance as plain to see as it was to see through. Grey eyes so clear they shone silver, her appearance seemed mythical. But like the monsters in those tales, Havoc could tell she was dangerous.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Attracting all eyes to himself, Ugly cleared his throat. ¡®Look-see, it¡¯s all well and good sayin¡¯ nothin¡¯s changed, but that ain¡¯t the truth, is it, boss?¡¯ As Ugly spoke, Lucia returned her hand to her lap. Her mystical eyes shuttered to a slit; sharply focused, they were, on Ugly¡¯s bobbing throat. ¡®Been sayin for weeks, ain¡¯t I? Can¡¯t get nowhere without that freaky chit.¡¯


    Annalise¡­ Havoc thought, a creeping buzz tingled his scalp. Every moment, less and less, he saw her as person and more as spider. Web cast far and wide¡­ Just how many of us have you entangled?


    ¡®Our new friend here says he can help us with that,¡¯ Aaron said, gesturing at Havoc.


    ¡®Oh, how wonderful!¡¯ Lucia exclaimed, her arms held open. The pitch of her voice seemed sincere, but her smile failed reach her eyes. ¡®You must tell us, are you, as our sweet Annalise, a seer?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not. But I know where she is¡­ Well, I know where she will be.¡¯  Havoc replied.


    ¡®As do we all, dear Harold.¡¯ Lucia pause. Her fingers hovered over lips, a mocking display of social faux pas. ¡®Sorry, it was Havoc. Such a peculiar name, so strange to speak aloud. Nevertheless, we know where lies our sweet Annalise. Such a pitiable affair. She is no longer of this world.¡¯


    They think she¡¯s dead?  It was not difficult for Havoc to see why. So lively was Annalise in the Fair Lady¡¯s Teapot, it was easy to forget how he saw her first¡ªcaked in blood, pulsating, green veins, buried to her neck in stone¡ªa miserable sight even prudence would abandon.


    ¡®Saw it m¡¯self, kid. Ain¡¯t no way she¡¯s still kickin¡¯. Real shame too. Pretty thing like her; what a waste,¡¯ Ugly interjected, his head swaying left to right. ¡®Thing came out of nowhere, it¡¯s a miracle any one of us still ere.¡¯


    Straightening his back, Havoc¡¯s eyes flashed briefly wide. They¡¯ve seen the abominable spirit¡­ Like a scholar in the desert, he thirst for knowledge. Annalise had told him bits and pieces, but wary of the Dungeon¡¯s will, she could only say so much¡­ Enough to serve her purpose. The others were different. Each one was a Servant Inheritor. The aid they could provide would not exceed the Dungeon¡¯s expectations. I saved their lives. They owe me,  Havoc need not hold back in questioning them.


    ¡®She¡¯s still alive,¡¯ Havoc said. He paused, looking around¡ªface by face¡ªhe measured each reaction. Lucia¡¯s brows raised; she was not convinced. Doubt weighed in Aaron¡¯s eyes. While the others were unconscious, they had spoken before. Wary was Aaron, but not dismissive. Ugly¡¯s weathered face held an unsightly grin. It¡¯s breadth widened as Havoc¡¯s eyes locked with his. Only Naereah showed no response. Eyes cast downwards, her shoulders folded in. As if in the presence of untamed beasts, it seemed an attempt to placate. Tucked away, as minute as she could be, her posture was defensive, minimised; hers was a diminished presence.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a threat.¡± Havoc read the silent words in her demeanour.


    ¡®Bollocks, mate,¡¯ Ugly said, breaking the silence. His tone a tinged with amusement.


    ¡®I must admit, it does seem far-fetched,¡¯ Lucia added, her voice carrying a polite disinterest.


    ¡®Let us hear the man out,¡¯ Aaron said, His hand raised to quell the rising bickering. When the crackle of wood was the only sound left, he gestured for Havoc to speak.


    Forward leaned, Havoc met Lucia¡¯s impatient stare. The whole time, he had studied them. While leadership de jure was held by Aaron, Lucia was the one to carry real authority in their group. Havoc needed their help, but they needed his just as much. There was room to negotiate. It would be a battle off wits, and he held the high ground. Still, he was sure, Lucia was well skilled in attacking from below.


    I¡¯ll only have one chance at this¡­ Havoc thought. It all came down to who needed who more. What did she call it?  His mind raced back to Annalise¡¯s closing words. Remember to mention¡­


    ¡®The Tears of Desire.¡¯ Havoc said, the words passing unchecked from his lips. ¡®That¡¯s what you¡¯re looking for, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ Replaced was the expression of irritated boredom from Lucia''s face. Hearing Havoc¡¯s words, her mouth went wide in genuine shock. She gave Aaron a look, eyes promising restless times to come, but she rapidly regained her composure.


    ''You would seem well informed. Yes, we are here seeking the Tears.¡¯ Lucia said with a sigh. At her confirmation, Ugly titled forward, as though he would gain closer insight by being nearer to her voice.


    So they didn¡¯t tell him¡­ Wait, there¡¯s something else... Havoc noted as Ugly¡¯s expression of shock stiffened and his nose flared with anger.


    ¡®Your lady¡¯s bein¡¯ funny, boss,¡¯ Ugly said, menace undergirding his lowered tone. ¡®If you¡¯re ere for the Tears, that¡¯d make this Cell, The Forest of Desire, and I know that ain¡¯t where you bringed me.¡¯


    ¡®Well the secret is out. Yes, we are in The Forest of Desire,¡¯ Lucia said, her carefree shrug scorching Ugly¡¯s scarred face red.


    Havoc did not understand the significance but he did not need to. Lucia understood, that is what mattered. To his benefit, she would haggle against her own preconceptions. From Ugly¡¯s reaction, the revelation was significant. Whatever the Tears were, it was important enough and secret enough that Lucia and Aaron would keep it from their man. From Ugly¡¯s reaction, there would be danger.


    But what does that change? They¡¯ll do anything for it, that¡¯s all that matters. With a slight smile, Havoc allowed silence to linger, setting the stage to open negotiations. Seconds passed, he counted them. When a quarter minute went by, he parted his lips to begin.


    He never had the chance.


    ¡®You mad bitch!¡¯ Ugly spat, the specks of his saliva frizzling in the campfire. Standing to his feet, he shuffled backwards, drawing distance with the rest of the group. Pointed at Lucia, a sword formed in his palm. His blade extended downwards propelled at speed. Lucia did not flinch, and the lethal thrust never pierced the malignant beauty. Mere inches from her neck was the tip but it could move no further. Within Aaron¡¯s scaled grip, the sword was held. A whine of tortured metal but the sword could move no further.


    Havoc, already on his feet, held the Buried Strike in both hands. Naereah scuttled to his side.


    ¡®There is no need for alarm nor bloodshed this night,¡¯ Aaron said. Still with the point of the extended blade firm in his grip, Aaron rose to his feet.


    ¡®Wait your turn, fribble. You¡¯re next,¡¯ Ugly growled, his wide and wild eyes flashing at Aaron before returning his fury at Lucia.


    What the hell is happening?  Havoc thought. Not for the first time, he lamented his ignorance concerning the world of Inheritors. Palpable; that is how he described the tension when they gathered around the fireplace. Palpable but manageable. As though hanging on rope many threads bare, he knew they had been dangling on edge. But four words?  Four words of ignorance and the last thread was cut.


    Grunting his exertion, sweat steaming to his eyes, Ugly turned his face to Havoc. ¡®You¡¯ve haven¡¯t the foggies what¡¯s happenin, do ya? Wager you don¡¯t even know where we are.¡¯


    ¡®Not another word!¡¯ Aaron said as his forward march forced Ugly¡¯s retreat.


    ¡®This ¡®ere¡¯s The Forest of Desire,¡¯ Ugly continued.


    ¡®I said be silent!¡¯ Aaron said firmly.


    ¡®Takes thirty souls to get inside.¡¯ Ugly growled ¡®These bastard led twenty of my best men. With the other guilds, there a total of sixty.¡¯


    ¡®This is your final warning!¡¯ Each of Aaron¡¯s words as sharp as a butcher¡¯s knife. He gripped Ugly¡¯s sword tighter; cracks etched the steel.


    ¡®Sixty damned souls!¡¯ Ugly shouted this time. ¡®But only four can ever leave!¡¯

 Chapter 22: Aaron

    Golden streams of light from the day-sun illuminated the field in which Aaron stood. The grass, a vibrant green, perfumed the air. Perfectly manicured, no patch devoid of life. Nothing less would befit the Crest household. An estate was a representation of one¡¯s manner; scored would be the gardener who leaves a single blade out of place during his father¡¯s absence.


    Aaron¡¯s loose fitted shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, but missing from his form was his waistcoat and tailcoat. With a glance to his left, he confirmed their proper treatment. Folded neatly, hung over Gerald¡¯s arms, neither speck nor crease would be accepted this day. Not on the day of his father¡¯s return.


    He shall see for himself that I am ready, Aaron reassured himself, his left hand tightening to a fist.


    One year prior did he take his third step as a servant Inheritor, yet he was not permitted to progress. He did not believe his request to be unreasonable. Talented, he so obviously was. It was the rare youth who could reach the third step within a year of Inheriting. He was ready for a Dungeon Cell, ready to join his bothers in the Vanguard territories.


    It would not be long now. The great Douglas Crest was many things, but tardy was not among them. His word once given could be traded for gold. He would not fail to honour his son¡¯s request.


    ¡®Gerald, my man. Give me the time,¡¯ Aaron asked, tilting his head, permitting his manservant to enter his sight. Faintly, registering the click of a pocket watch, he patiently awaited the hour.


    ¡®The master of the manor is to arrive in ten minutes, sir.¡¯ Aaron¡¯s man replied.


    ¡®Excellent.¡¯ Aaron said, a jolt of nervous energy palpitating the rhythm of his heart. ¡®Signal for the guards.¡¯


    The training field was enclosed by the high manor walls of the Crest estate. On the far side of where Aaron stood, grand oak, double doors peeled open. Marching in formation, the guards emerged. Each man wore the well-fitted, scarlet ,heavy wool coat of a Crest family infantryman. Their trousers¡ªwaist high¡ª were tight as they ought be. Collars, lapels, and cuffs, without wrinkle. Suitable opponents to demonstrate Aaron¡¯s prowess.


    ¡®As you instructed, sir, not one of the guards¡¯ Harmonic purity is beneath sixty-percent. Furthermore, they have had their pick of the armoury, and have been granted temporary use of Crest legacy Remnants,¡¯ Gerald¡¯s tone¡ªprofessionally soft¡ªwell suited for his station. The man was a Soldier ranked Inheritor, but he knew his place. Neither shrinking nor haughty¡ªa man fit to serve.


    ¡®Very good, Gerald.¡¯ Aaron said as the Crest family guards formed a line opposite. ¡®Once granted leave to the Vanguard, I will be sure to have you accompany me. That would please you, would it not?¡¯


    ¡®Very much, sir¡¯ Gerald replied.


    It will not be long now, Aaron thought. He clasped a wrist in a hand to steady his trembling. I have waited a full year for this, there can be no mistakes.


    His father was a busy man. There would not come soon another chance to impress.


    The Black Drake Guild claimed land across five floors of the Vanguard. His father, heir to the Crest family patriarch, was responsible for the Guild territories held within the Sulphuric Desert¡ªa vast expanse on the nineteenth floor of the Dungeon. Described by his father as a ¡°hellacious nightmare swarmed with demons,¡± the desert was more than just scalding sands and volcanic peaks flush with the ground. Buried within these infernal mountains lay treasures capable of establishing lineages. Even the remnants chained to Aaron¡¯s anchor were forged from the Primes located therein.


    Droplets of sweat formed across Aaron¡¯s brow. He turned to his manservant¡ªcloth already in hand¡ª and allowed for Gerald to dab his face dry.


    ¡®It would seem your father is soon to arrive, sir,¡¯ Gerald said. His words a formality, Aaron could hotly feel his father¡¯s presence. So great was his influence that a brisk winter¡¯s night would heat parching on his arrival.


    Aaron looked to the sky. In the distance, drawing near, a streak of fire roared forward. The clouds of the domed heavens burst to vanish as the flame pierced through. Waves of visible heat drifted above the courtyard. Aaron raised a palm to his servant, further dabbing would do not to keep the salty sting from his eyes.


    He does so like to make an entrance, Aaron thought as the fire dispersed to reveal his father held high by the span of his black, leathered wings.


    Aaron¡¯s long, blonde hair whipped in the wind of his father¡¯s beating wings. Overhead, Douglas Crest¡ªslayer of the Many-Faced Giant, leader of the Black Drake Guild, conquering heir to the Black Dragon, the Vanquishing Drake¡ªlooked down.


    On one knee, Aaron went as his father descended.


    ¡®You may all stand,¡¯ Douglas¡¯ sonorous voice carried an unquestionable authority. So deep as to feel it in ones bones, its pull, like gravity, was inescapable. The moment his father had spoken, Aaron felt himself rise as though pulled by the arms.


    His shoulders broad, Douglas was fully clad in armour of black, impenetrable scales. Standing six feet seven in height, he struck an imposing figure. Aaron¡¯s heart thud to his throat as his father stepped near.


    Will I ever be as you, father? Aaron asked himself, his fists clenched, his teeth grit. Slowly, he shook his head. No. The day will come when I surpass you. Even the Black Dragon shall fail to be my equal.


    ¡®I trust you have good cause to request my presence,¡¯ Aaron¡¯s father said, now stood an arm¡¯s length away.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡®F-father,¡¯ Sucking down a deep breath, Aaron looked up from his father¡¯s chest into his blood-red vertical eyes. ¡®I have mastered the Servant Remnants of our Crest family Set. Long have I reached the third step. Father!¡¯ Aaron said, raising his fist to his chest. ¡®Permit me leave to challenge a Dungeon Cell; I am ready to claim a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance!¡¯


    ¡®Is that all?¡¯ The Vanquishing Drake replied flatly, sinking Aaron¡¯s heart to his stomach.


    ¡®I-I have prepared a demonstration.¡¯ Aaron said, forcing a smile.


    ¡®It is unnecessary. My answer will not change. You will wed the Desmond girl and bind our families as one. Only when she has birthed you an heir will you be permitted within a Cell. Until that moment, your life cannot be risked.¡¯


    If his father¡¯s rejection was like a grip on his heart, his insistence that Aaron marry that dastardly girl was the dislocating wrench. By his name, he hated her. He had always hated her. From the sway of her step to the sickly sound of her voice, she was loathsome.


    It was not that she was unsightly, tragically, she was beautiful. Aaron almost wished it was otherwise. Life would be far simpler¡ªhis plight more sympathetic. A martyr so clearly identified could shut his eyes and think on duty. The people would recognise his sacrifice... He could find comfort that. As things were, he was the envy of his peers; ignorant, they were, of Lucia¡¯s epicardial repugnance.


    For the girl, there was nothing sacred. All time was play¡ªnot to be enjoyed. There was no solace in her company; resting one''s head upon her lap only made the throat an easier target. Altogether ugly to all senses but sight.


    I will not marry her, Aaron¡¯s heart¡¯s resolve did not reach his face. Before his father, he could only nod in apparent submission.


    Douglas placed a hand on Aaron¡¯s shoulders and knelt to meet his eyes.


    ¡®You serve the Crest family well.¡¯ Douglas said, his voice tender. Aaron had long dreamed of the very words from his father¡¯s mouth but now he had heard them, they were not enough¡ªnot any longer. Gone were the little hopes of childhood, his dreams were greater now; too great to be held down by the chains of, honour, duty...


    Or matrimony, he thought, doing what all he could to keep his welling disgust from his expression.


    Forgive me father but I cannot do as you ask, he determined. He would meet with the girl. Annalise¡­ Yes, that was her name.


    ***


    Light from the glowing moss mingled with the soft flicker of the campfire. A stark solace, it was, to the revelation still resounding. Havoc stood, Buried Strike in hand, his muscles tensed, coiled like a snake, ready to strike. To his left stood Ugly, his long-reaching sword extended towards the smirk affixed upon Lucia¡¯s lips. With his hands morphed into black, scaled claws, Aaron held back Ugly¡¯s blade at the tip. Though heads shorter than Ugly¡¯s muscled frame, not a sweat of exertion dripped from Aaron¡¯s his brow.


    Only four can escape this place¡­ Havoc¡¯s mind churned to digest the news. There were five already in the Temptress¡¯ lair. y Ugly¡¯s words, sixty others had entered the Cell. Even if half had perished, the odds were stacked against. Posed as allies, he could now only frame them as foes¡ªcompetition in the tapestry . The picture of bloodshed, the Forest of Desire would be.


    It¡¯s inevitable.


    Whether sooner or held back to later, their interests were opposed. His grip tight on the pole of his spear, his eyes point focused on the sharp tips of Aaron¡¯s scaled hand.


    ¡®How¡¯d you get ¡®ere in the first place?¡¯ Ugly said, disrupting Havoc¡¯s thoughts. Pushing to thrust his sword past Aaron¡¯s grip, grunting from the effort, Ugly¡¯s face¡ªteeth grit, sweat drenched¡ªturned towards Havoc.


    Havoc¡¯s pupils ran up and down the scarred man. Feeling wild yet restrained, as though a carnivorous beast uncertain of the kill, he froze. His own breaths were harrowing to his ears. Too heavy, they were, to be held by conscience¡ªa voracious growl even to himself. Doing his best to control his ravenous hunger to survive, he shifted his gaze to Lucia as she began to speak.


    ¡®Oh, that is good question. I had been meaning to ask myself,¡¯ Lucia said. Seated and unmoved, seemingly unfazed by the murderous point of Ugly¡¯s blade, she beamed a wolfish grin. With the campfire dancing the glint of her eyes, to Havoc, her soft tone and playful demeanour was nothing short of menacing.


    ¡®Shut it, wench. Didn¡¯t ask for your ¡®elp,¡¯ Ugly spat to Lucia¡¯s broadening grin. With a final grunt, he loosed his hold on his hilt and his sword shimmered from existence.


    ¡®Are you quite finished with your tantrum?¡¯ Aaron asked. Kissing his teeth in response, Ugly spat into the sizzling the fire and returned to his place around the campfire.


    ¡®Know when I¡¯m outmatched, is all. ¡®Sides...¡¯ Craning his neck, Ugly directed his focus to Havoc. ¡®I wanna ¡®ere his story.¡¯


    His spear in hand, Havoc glanced around. He watched as the scale armour evaporated from Aaron¡¯s hand leaving all those around him, for the moment, defenceless.


    I¡¯m already a killer¡­ The thought was intrusive yet undeniably his. The owner reclaiming a house long rented¡ªmore at home was he with a killer¡¯s impulse. Whether it had always been rooted or the seed had been buried upon avenging his sister, he could no longer deny a darkness had sprouted within. Still yet to fruit, he did not want to harm without cause. But... If only four could ever leave...


    I won¡¯t be their sacrifice.


    Adrenaline flooded his veins; The Buried Strike quivered in his hold. Already could he feel the squelch of blade plunging flesh.


    Aaron first. Ugly next. It¡¯ll be easy after that, he mused, sizing his quarry with a glimpse. There was not time abundant. With curious glances flashed his way, he knew the others had not failed to register his reluctance to disarm. There were seconds, maybe¡ªnot much longer¡ªnot much more before deniability¡¯s death and he would lose the initiative.


    Not yet! There¡¯s too much I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Like a friend from behind upon a high place, the thought pulled him from the edge. He repeated it in his mind over and over. Timing his breaths with the rhythm of his conclusion, he allowed the beat of his heart to slow. Eyes closed, he took a calming breath and dismissed his Remnant to his core.


    With lingering doubt, he returned to his imprint on the moss squished flat. A neigh-inaudible sigh broke from his side, and Naereah retook her place seated next to Havoc.


    ¡®


    ¡®


    ¡®Before I say anything, I need to know more about this Dungeon Cell.¡¯ Havoc finally said.


    ¡®That¡¯s all fair and good, but if this ¡®appens to be your trial of inheritance, there might be another way outta ¡®ere. I¡¯d say that¡¯s more pressin¡¯ than any question you might ¡®ave.¡¯ Ugly said. He disguised it well behind his gruff exterior, but in the glow of the firelight, he was unable conceal the glint of hope from his eyes. The hope that said, ¡°We might not have to die.¡± Although, Havoc could read something deeper in the sentiment for he felt the same. To him, Ugly¡¯s underlying message read:


    ¡°Maybe I won¡¯t have to kill you¡±

 Chapter 23: Rest

    Bundled in thick, warm fur pulled up to his chin, Havoc lay beneath the moss-draped heavens of the Temptress¡¯ lair. Though swaddled in a welcome comfort, he could not allow the tension he shouldered to relax. The gentle breaths of his resting compatriots did not compare to the bestial sounds which had been his haunting lullaby within the main chamber of the Marshland Cavern; the growls of a beast were forthcoming. Flesh, blood, marrow, and bone¡ªhis new companions wanted the same, but where they lacked in candour, they surely excelled in cunning.


    Suffice to say, Havoc could not sleep.


    Tracing the swirling patterns of the glowing moss upon the ceiling, his mind scrambled. Topic to topic, plot to plan; the velvety fur tickled his neck as he shifted and shuffled in his bedroll. He scrunched his way deeper into his sleeping sack and flipped himself onto his stomach. His feet pressed into the end of the sack. The sack could not resist the thrust of his legs¡ªnow an Inheritor¡ªhe had to restrain his full expansion as he pushed himself up then rested his head atop his folded arms.


    ¡®I still can¡¯t relax,¡¯ he mumbled beneath his breath. Even had he not feared the plunging stick of his companions¡¯ knives in his back, his mind would not still. Too active was its reflection on the night¡¯s events.


    One thing at a time, Havoc decided. Against the urge to parse through his revelations and gains, he had succumb. But he would not do so without conditions. His was to be an orderly obsession. No longer would his mind scatter to gather, he would address each topic piece by piece to then admire the whole. Only by his terms would he allow even his own mind to determine his actions. As for the business with Annalise and her puppet-master manipulations, as sovereign over self, he chose not to think on the matter.


    The Forest of desire¡­


    Of all the revelations weighing on his thoughts, it was the most pressing. Crushing was it to learn that only four could leave the forest. Though Ugly had lessened the pressure of the knowledge, illuminating despair¡¯s drowning depths with the hope of another way, Havoc had little confidence in the promised alternative.


    By Ugly¡¯s words, they could all be saved. A trial of Inheritance was unlike any other excursion into a Cell. Unlike the others, Havoc had not trailed months across baron wastelands. Nor had he navigated ancient ruins to reach the forest. Through an open door he had arrived. He was a guest not an intruder; to the will of their world, it was a vast distinction.


    Or so Ugly said¡­


    Outmatched by Aaron, Ugly could not contend directly. ¡°What wouldn¡¯t I say in that situation?


    To live to fight another day, I¡¯d say anything. I¡¯d make them believe it too. I can¡¯t rule out the chance it¡¯s all lies¡­ No¡­ It¡¯s better to just think they are and act accordingly.¡±


    Even if Ugly¡¯s honour could be presumed, there was every possibility he could be mistaken. He had already admitted the forest was unique among Dungeon Cells. Who was to say whether that uniqueness barred his proposed escape?


    ¡®Finish yer trial and we¡¯ll hitch yer ride out,¡¯ Ugly had said. He was compelling, convincing even, but Havoc was not convinced.


    Then there¡¯s my trial¡­ It could already be over.


    Through her machinations, Annalise changed Havoc¡¯s fate. Bending the will of their world, she had recruited him into her mission to end it. Whatever she meant by that.


    Scrunching his face as if recoiling from a noxious stench, Havoc silently cursed.


    I really didn¡¯t want to think about her.


    It was not a pleasant thought but he could not deny Annalise¡¯s controlling influence in his trial. From what she had said, had they never crossed paths, he would have emerged from the Cell the day he had entered the cave, the Dungeon¡¯s will satisfied; his tribulations overcome.


    A trial of Inheritance was not a trivial affair but neither was it meant to be so unreasonable. Around the campfire while it still flickered, the group had shared their own experiences and Havoc had come to learn just how aberrant his had become.


    It was true, he was not like Aaron and Lucia. As citizen living beyond the bereft partitions of the city, they were akin to infant gods, the likes of which Havoc was not permitted to look upon. Even when their kind were to descend from on high, attended as they were by the city guards, they remained unapproachable. Notwithstanding, they too hailed from Stone Garden.


    They too had raced against the dying stars within the Chamber of Inheritance. They had bound to themselves their anchor and had left through titan door into a Dungeon Cell. However, while they also battled against Dungeon Spawn, they face nothing as harrowing as the monsters of Havoc¡¯s trials. Blissful their ignorance must have been to have never felt the crunch of their bones at the annihilating swat of stone giant.


    Ugly hailed from a port city on the ninth floor. A commercial hub, he had spoken of an emerald waterfall with rising currents. Defying gravity, the ascending rapids rose into the clouds, joining the ninth floor with the eighth. His city was unlike Stone Garden, there was no barrier between the bereft and Inheritors. Theirs was a home under threat of Invasion; an attack from the Dungeon spawn was not uncommon. Indeed, by Ugly¡¯s account, it was Stone Garden¡¯s peace which stood out of place.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Havoc did not know why, but on the settled floors of the Dungeon, spawn of the Servant rank were common. Soldiers were rare, and anything greater was not to be found. Compared to the Vanguard, the settled floors were a safe haven for humanity. Though tyrannical to the bereft, Servant spawn could be challenged by mortal arms. All fighting aged men in Ugly¡¯s city were charged with its defence. Coin exchanged for the lives of the spawn, Ugly had coveted Inheritance.


    They had no grand chamber, nor was Ugly whisked away into a Dungeon Cell. For the Bereft of his city seeking Inheritance, had they the funds and good fortune, they could purchase a chance. In an arena across the waves, outside their city walls, they would face a trial by combat. The outbound journey was the greatest challenge, with the men they could hire, they would sail tumultuous seas from their homes to the arena. Should they succeed and Inherit, together with their companions, the Dungeon would return them to the city in an instant.


    Naereah was an outlier. Her trial was not of the Dungeon. Gathered in a ceremonial hall, the grand elders of her city circled. Each reaching out a hand, they had triggered her Inheritance.


    ¡®The profundity,¡¯ Naereah whispered under the pointed gaze of Lucia. For Naereah, It was not to be understood, but when complete, she was bound to her Anchor.


    With the inhuman girl the exception, the group¡¯s collective experiences supported Ugly¡¯s claim. Still, the weight of the consequences for being deceived was not easy to balance. His head buried in his face shifted slowly from left to right between his arms. He would not believe such convenient salvation.


    He directed his thoughts towards his gains. They were not few. From the group, he had learned many things. If Annalise had taught an introductory course on Inheritance, Aaron¡¯s lessons were an advanced class.


    Aaron had spoken casually, freely, entirely ignorant of the value of his words. To him, the knowledge that most Remnants were not unique but rather copies of prime Remnants was something to be mentioned in passing. It was a detail¡ªhardly noticed¡ªa footnote in the tome of the legend of the House of Crest. His family possessed numerous prime Remnants. With them, they had established a formidable presence across five floors of the Vanguard Territories. Without a doubt, Havoc had gained much from Aaron¡¯s story, but from the glint he had caught in Aaron¡¯s eye, Havoc knew that it had satisfied Aaron more to have spoken than it did for Havoc to have heard.


    Aaron¡¯s ignorance was no less than Havoc¡¯s. Neither of them truly understood how the world really worked. What was common sense to one was a tightly clenched secret held distant from the other. Havoc could not have expected one who could hold back the edge of a sword with one hand to have such a loose grip. Like a scavenging raptor, Havoc had waited for the opportunity to swoop low. With bated breath, he had eyed his targets. With any lapse of attention, he had planned to feast. In the end, his caution was not needed. Like an overfed beast, Aaron considered what he thought of as scraps unworthy of guarding.


    Rustling inside his bedroll, Havoc returned to his back. He lifted an arm up and inspected his palm. Feeling the tendons in his forearm tense and relax, he clenched and unclenched his fist.


    He was stronger, far stronger than a mortal man had any right to be. In his arms, back and legs he felt the might to wrestle a bear to the ground. Physically, he would grow stronger still, but not by much. It was Ugly who had mentioned the physical limits of Inheritance. Upon attaining a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance, the body would be perfected. No further could one¡¯s strength be increased without Remnants. Not that it mattered.


    In an unexpected moment of assertiveness, under the pointed gaze of her mistress, without prior insistence, Naereah spoke. At first she could not be heard, but then she glanced at Havoc. He had not disguised his interest in her words. Seemingly as a result, she began to speak them boldly.


    Physical might was not altogether meaningless, but to Inheritors it was secondary to the will of the Dungeon. Inheritors and monsters alike served the will of their world, and only by penetrating its will could they be harmed. At the Servant rank, the world placed little value on one¡¯s life; as such, mortal creatures could do them harm. To non-Inheritors, a Soldier was all but invincible. Had a man the power to hurl boulders, he could do little to hold a Soldier in place. Against a Champion¡ªthe third stage of Inheritance¡ªa Servant could barely cut; a mortal with the strength to crush mountains would not even leave a mark.


    Outside of the cave, in the Forest Below, both spawn of the Soldier rank and of the Champion roamed.


    Cold sweat coated Havoc¡¯s back.


    The Forest Below was where his companions had come from and where they meant to return.


    Hazardous, but not impassable, Aaron had said. A strong enough Servant wielding the most powerful Remnants of their rank could contend with a Soldier. Even against a Champion, with perfect coordination, they were not altogether helpless.


    In aid of the group¡¯s mutual survival, Havoc was gifted new Remnants. From the crimson mist of Naereah¡¯s trunk came a selection of weapons, armours, charms, and artefacts. A bronze staff promised to slow his enemies; against its power, their every step would be as if trudging thick mire. Although a tempting offer, it was ultimately rejected. A straw doll had whispered its ability to substitute itself for its master. Should one receive a fatal strike, the doll would take the damage, and his assailant would be cursed. For Havoc, the eerie effigy had not the versatility he needed.


    The Remnants presented to him had a common theme¡ªutility or defence. There was armour that could reorient one¡¯s relative gravity to walk upon a wall or ceiling as though striding across ground. A charm which would allow the wearer to see through illusions and tricks of the mind was also present. Aaron attempted to nudge Havoc towards a shield which fortified the body and would grant the ability to switch positions with an ally. Lucia suggested an ivory lyre with the power to cause one¡¯s foe to grow drowsy; such a beautiful thing in her eyes, she did not seem to consider how impractical its power was. Naereah had groaned a word never born, too quickly aborted by Lucia¡¯s warning glare. As for ugly, he merely glanced at Havoc and smirked. Without saying anything, Ugly affirmed Havoc¡¯s conclusion...


    They¡¯re trying to disarm me, he thought, tussling against the edges of his bedroll. He did not blame them. Nearly single-handedly, he had slain the Abomination which had enthralled them.


    Too great an asset to discard before time, too dangerous a threat to properly equip. A masterful strategy, and he was impressed. Under the guise of a well-balanced party, with smiles which never reached their eyes, they celebrated as he accepted their invitation to helplessness. For he had accepted their offer, and he considered it gain.


    When dislodged from his Spirit Chains, the Buried Strike and the Cloak of Mirrors turned to dust. In their place, Havoc bound to himself a charm and an artefact.


    The charm¡ªa human eye with the back encased in silver¡ªgranted Havoc three-hundred and sixty degree vision when active. With its power, he had no blind spots. The artefact was a statue. When first laid before him, it could fit in the palm of his hand. Now bound, when summoned, it stood seven feet tall. Back straight, it held a shield high, and within a radius of around thirty feet from the statue, Havoc could summon small barriers ethereal light.


    Relief was apparent on Aaron¡¯s face; humour had danced in Lucia¡¯s eye. Both praised Havoc¡¯s ability to bind the artefact, it spoke well of his Harmonic purity. It spoke better of their prospects of disposing of him when the time was right.


    A shield with no sword is no threat to the likes of you, is it? Havoc mused, a smile carved into his lips.


    Remaining in his sleeping sack, he summoned the Dark Guardsman. The chaos of his dualistic Harmony flooded his Spirit Chain holding the artefact. He lifted an arm from the fur so that it was held above his head. In his clenched fist, ethereal light gathered and moulded into a sword.

 Chapter 24: Beneath The Temptress Lair

    With the cave¡¯s ceiling as his only horizon, Havoc could not tell if it was day or night when he awoke. As he unbundled himself from his fur bedroll, he noticed the others were already awake. They sat around the restored flames of their campfire, pausing their muted talk as he packed his sleeping mat into a tight roll. Suspended above the flames was a copper pot, with the fire tonguing its bottom. From the uncovered top, savoury steam wafted. Havoc¡¯s stomach growled. After days of subsisting on nothing but flavourless biscuits and strips of meat, he would have been horrified, but not surprised, had his ravenous appetite clawed through his flesh to pounce upon the first decent meal encountered since his trials began. Caution and restraint were reserved for well-fed beasts. As though tugged by a leash, he walked towards the group.


    ¡®I hope you find yourself well rested, we will be leaving this foul place the moment after we fill our stomachs,¡¯ Aaron said.


    Naereah glanced at Havoc. The momentary movement attracted a glance from Aaron and she hastily refocused her flustered attention to the pot. With wooden ladle in hand, she gently stirred the thick, brown stew simmering above the fire. She lifted the ladle and gently dabbed it on her palm. Raising her hand to her mouth, she licked the stew from her hand then returned the ladle to the pot.


    ¡®The stew is ready, my lady,¡¯ Naereah said, her tone subdued. She looked up at Lucia before quickly lowering her gaze.


    ¡®That is wonderful, pet. Be a good girl for me and go fetch the bowls.¡¯ Lucia said. Havoc could read some form of satisfaction in Lucia¡¯s smile, but blank was her expression of any markings of joy. Cruelty masking jealously, that is what Havoc saw. He had not known the brown haired beauty for long, but from their short interactions he had concluded his judgement.


    Malignant.


    In the slums of Stone Haven, there was no shortage of such people. Those for whom the greatest pleasure¡ªtheir only pleasure¡ªwas derived from the degradation of others.


    Naereah stood from the log on which she sat and walked a distance towards a chest. The lid opened, pouring crimson mist upon the moss-draped ground. When the smog cleared, five wooden bowls sat stacked atop one another. In the top bowl, there were five spoons. She returned to the fire. Taking the ladle from the pot, she filled the bowls one by one, passing them to the gathered party. The last of the stew was hers. Scraping the bottom of the pot, she could only fill her bowl to far less than half-full. Having taken her meagre portion, she stood and bowed her head towards her mistress before retreating a distance from the group to sit alone.


    Stew seeped from the lip of Havoc¡¯s bowl. Its meaty fragrance filled his nostrils. Salivating like a vagrant before an unwatched pie, he wanted nothing more than to shovel the contents of his dish into his mouth and lick the bowl clean.


    ¡®Excuse me.¡¯ Havoc said to the others gathered around the fire. Cupping the wooden bowl in both hands, he walked to Naereah. Wide eyed, she glanced. Her lips parted and closed as she croaked unformed words.


    ¡®My lord?¡¯ She finally managed to say. But before she could speak further, Havoc took his seat opposite her.


    ¡®Hold out your bowl,¡¯ Havoc said. Naereah looked into her stew, her pitch-black eyes wavering, then extended her bowl towards him.


    ¡®If I was being too greedy¡ª¡± Naereah said. Before she could finish her sentence, Havoc tipped his stew into her bowl until both his and hers were level. Her eyes and her mouth widened. Hers was not the momentary gasp of mild surprise. Rather, the pale-blue face of the otherworldly girl silently shouted true astonishment. It was as though the smallest gesture of kindness was alien to her. She tried to resist the invasion of seemingly foreign emotions. Havoc could see her efforts clearly¡ªteeth biting down on her corner lip, eyes opened then shut, blinking away her budding tears¡ªbut nothing she did could disguise her feelings. She was moved.


    Far too moved for such a small gesture¡­ How much have you suffered? He asked himself not for the first time.


    ¡®Don¡¯t waste yer meal on ¡®er. Can¡¯t fight, that one.¡¯ Ugly shouted from behind, humour carrying in his tone. ¡®Girl¡¯s about ¡®alf as useful as a healin¡¯ potion.¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s right,¡¯ Naereah whispered. Face low, the drips and ripples of her stew betrayed any attempt at concealing her tears.


    Havoc¡¯s eyes rolled down Naereah¡¯s skeletal frame.


    She¡¯s fed just enough to keep her moving.


    Initially, he thought her emaciated state was the result of the White Temptress¡¯ neglect; without question, the time spent as the Abomination¡¯s thrall would not have aided in her upkeep, but her mistreatment had begun long before she fell victim to that serpent¡¯s predations.


    ¡®If it¡¯s too much, throw the rest away,¡¯ Havoc did not wait for her response before dipping his spoon into the stew and drawing a chuck of meat from the bowl. Tears streaking her cheek, Naereah looked to Havoc. With a sleeve of her oversized, grey dress, she wiped the tears from her eyes and began to eat. Having swallowed her first spoonful, she returned her lightless eyes to Havoc, her lips lifting into a smile. Reserved but sincere, she bore the countenance of a wilting violet tended and treated¡ªsunken but beautiful. With a little more care, she would be radiant.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ She said, her voice quivering.


    ¡®Just eat,¡¯ Havoc replied as he scooped another mouthful.


    Sitting in silence and stolen glances, the two continued to eat. When both bowls emptied, Havoc stood. Reaching down a hand, he lifted the Selenarian to her feet and they re-joined the party. Naereah gathered the dishes and washed them in a bucket of water pulled from her chest. Her task completed, she returned the cutlery to the scarlet mist and the chest fizzled from existence.


    ¡®As we had decided last night, we shall choose to trust in our new friend.¡¯ Aaron said, gesturing towards Havoc. ¡®He says our seer lives, and I mean to assist in her rescue.¡¯


    Standing opposite Aaron, Ugly scratched the back of his head. He pulled something from his hair and rubbed his thumb between his fingers, sprinkling dust to the ground. ¡®Find it ¡®ard to believe, myself. How many people you know surviving that thing?¡¯


    When Ugly had shared the tale the night prior, Havoc began to doubt his own experiences. Had his only meeting with Annalise been within the opulent teahouse, he might have dismissed her as a vivid apparition. But he had seen her alive. Bloodied and unsightly, entombed in stone and infested with vines, but alive.


    Separated from the larger teams of mercenaries, Annalise had led a group of twenty, fleeing into the cave. Two weeks did they travel to reach the top of the cave. The forest above promised safety;¡¯ therein they could rest, regroup, and contemplate their return below... Not one was willing to surrender the Tears of Desire.


    As close as they were to the exit, they lowered their guard. Nothing truly dreadful spawned within the cave¡¯s peak. Even as a new Inheritor, barely did Havoc struggle against the fiends he had encountered therein. It was no surprise a group as powerful as theirs would become complacent; what had they to fear from slashers and scratchers?


    Havoc could still see the lingering horror in Ugly¡¯s face from when he described the Abomination. Aaron had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even Lucia¡¯s devilish smile quivered. Oddly, the only member of the party who had shown no reaction was Naereah¡­ Havoc could only guess at the nightmares she had to compare with.


    From Ugly¡¯s rendition, as soon as one blinked their eyes was, the chamber covered by them. Suffused to the walls, ceiling, and floor countless eyes stared. Horizontal, blood-filled, and lifeless, the eyes moved where they moved. From between the gaps of the ocular organs, fleshly, green vines sprouted. In a spiral running from the base of the vines to their tips were rows of jagged teeth. They formed unholy mouths from which the creature spoke.


    ¡®Blasphemy!¡¯


    ¡®Blasphemy!¡¯


    ¡®Blasphemy!¡¯


    As Aaron described it, from many mouths, they spoke with one voice, condemning the ones who would usurp the thrones of the only true gods.


    ¡°The Sentinels of Perdition.¡±


    The group ran to escape. Seventeen fled in the direction of the cave¡¯s exit, four sprinted backwards. Spared were the four as the Abominable Spirit spread to pursue the larger group.


    ¡®It ain¡¯t likely is all I¡¯m sayin¡¯,¡¯ Ugly said, snapping Havoc from the same dark reverie he could still see in the wide and quivering eyes of Aaron and Lucia.


    Shaking his head before clearing his throat, Aaron regained his composure. ¡®Our friend has told us he has met with Annalise and that she has devised a means of her rescue. This Cell is too dangerous to traverse absent a seer. There is no better plan than to assist in her recovery,¡¯ Aaron said.


    ¡®Darling has has decided, so there is nothing to gain by dawdling,¡¯ Lucia said in a playful tone, wrapping herself around Aaron¡¯s arm. By the scrunch of his face, being so close to the undeniably beautiful girl aroused only his discomfort and contempt.


    Having recovered his satchel of dried biscuits and meat from the tunnel he had entered the White Temptress¡¯ lair through the night before, now safely stored within Naereah¡¯s trunk, Havoc¡¯s only act of preparation was completing his attire. He pulled the braces latched to his mustard-coloured trousers over his loose-fit, white shirt, donned his borrowed tail-coat, and tucked his scarlet neckcloth into place.


    Must be careful, someone might mistake me for a respectable young man, he quietly mocked. Immediately following the slaying of the serpentine Abomination, he had absorbed its glowing remains and strengthened his core. Naught left to do but leave, he offered no resistance as Aaron led the party towards the sapphire staircase spiralling down from the centre of the lair.


    ****


    Shoulders back, right leg crossed over her left, Annalise sat upon her white and elegant bistro chair. Her face serene, she lifted a crystal tea-cup to her lips and sighed. The warmth of the amber liquid spread across her tongue and flowed down her throat. Returning the cup to its saucer, she sighed once more. Restrained as it was, there was no shortage of bitterness in her tepid breath; even in her memories, she could not enjoy the flavour.


    Within the Grandfather¡¯s Cell, she had lost her sense of taste. Sacrificed to the god of that world, she had reaped a bounty of nothing. There were other pleasures in life¡ªthe guilty rapture at having survived that hell was not to be looked down upon, the power she felt having emerged a Soldier was delightful, and little could compete with the knowledge that the quiet fury burning inside would one day ignite the whole cursed world¡ªbut on days such as this, she truly missed the simple comfort of a fragrant cup of tea.


    As the lavish teahouse of her imagination began to quake, and dust poured down from the jingling, crystal chandeliers above, she would have taken any comfort on offer.


    There was not much time. She was alive only because the Abominable Spirit could not find her. Though her body was invaded, she had withdrawn into the battlements of her mind through the power of her Remnant. For now, she was safe, but her body was being dragged down through the stone of the cave. The closer she went towards the Abominable master of the labyrinth, the harder it would be to remain hidden.


    The teahouse ceased its rumbling; she had evaded detection. Heart quickening in her chest, she waited. The Abomination had likely ended it search, but she was always cautious of peeking into the real world moments after its activity. When enough time passed that she was confident that the Abominable Spirit had given up for the day, she closed her eyes to look into the world through the All-Seeing Owl.


    ¡®Oh, well done,¡¯ Annalise said, watching from above as Havoc and his companions descended from a sapphire staircase.


    Perched atop the desolate remains of a building, she inspected the surroundings. In her ascent to the top of the cave, she had not come across the chamber. A vast ruin, crumbled structures and mounds of rubble were scattered as far as she could see.


    Rather bleak, I would say.


    Perhaps once a thriving subterranean civilisation, the chamber she watched Havoc stride deeper within was laid to waste. Gravelled was the ground in the stone of the decimated architecture. Though patches of brown vegetation somehow poked from the stone, Annalise could not mistake the scene for vibrant.


    Through her raptor¡¯s ears, she heard the crunch of boots grinding forward. That pitiable Crest boy led the way deeper into the chamber. They were careful, slow to move, they scrutinised their surroundings. Could they see from below what Annalise saw from above, they would have been more cautious still. Had they her sight, they would never have approached the wreckage of the mausoleum of which they were now so close. For beneath the collapsed roof the monument, a sleeping horror stirred.

 Chapter 25: Cradlefiend

    ¡®Back! Back I say!¡¯ Swinging his arm behind him, Aaron shouted the words as he too bid a hasty retreat.


    The gravelled stones¡ªthe crumbled remains of the devastated subterranean city¡ªrattled against one another as the ground trembled. An explosion of dust clouded the surroundings as the caved roof of the mausoleum crashed down completely.


    Coughing into his arm, Havoc covered his face with his sleeve, clenched his eyes shut, and continued in his retreat. His foot caught on loose stone, causing him to stagger, but he did not slow in his blinded, backward paces; the guttural, buzzing whines from the still-collapsing mausoleum drove him to keep moving.


    ¡®Aaron!¡¯ Lucia¡¯s voice called from within the cloud.


    ¡®I know!¡¯ Aaron yelled back.


    A powerful gust of wind thrashed from behind, uncovering the blanket of dust. With a backwards glance, Havoc saw Aaron¡¯s black and leathery wings beating back the storm. He rubbed the grit from his watery eyes, and when they opened, his sight was clear.


    Complete was the fall of the mausoleum. Not a stone lay atop another. From the clearing of its demolition, a creature stood.


    Light-green veins bulged from its sickly grey skin. The monster stood no less than twenty feet tall, its hollowed eyes blankly staring a pale-blue. Its legs were like trunks¡ªstumpy and thick; its arms were pudgy and wide. With claw-like fingers, the monster scratched its translucent, potted belly and tilted its bulbous, infantile head down towards the party, beginning to wail once more.


    ¡®Run?¡¯ Ugly asked. Despite the nightmare before him, his tone was blunt. It carried only professional inquiry, holding none of the dread one would expect from the monstrous sight. To Havoc, it was reassuring.


    Nothing too concerning then... Havoc¡¯s slowing heart quickened again. Stoic as Ugly¡¯s voice had been, his face was ashen.


    ¡®There stands only one. This creature will fall,¡¯ Aaron said, shifting backward even as his hands morphed into claws and scaled armour shimmered across his chest.


    A further three grating screech cut through the air. The first two cries of the infantile creature were harrowing; wordlessly, they communicated malice and violence in their piercing tones. But the third sounded intent.


    There¡¯s no more time.


    Havoc channelled Harmony to the Stone Guardsman. The world shimmered; from that distortion, a stone statue slowly manifested. From its feet to its shins, painful seconds past. After another three seconds, its knees could be seen. The Stone Guardsman was a powerful artefact, but in exchange, it was slow to form. Monsters¡ªunrecognised for their patience¡ªwould not wait. The infant corpse charged.


    If his heart was not thumping a storm between his ribs, the creature¡¯s advance would have been a humorous sight. Stumbling and unbalanced, the monster walked¡ªarms swaying to its side¡ªin a forward wobble. The crumbled remains of the stone mausoleum crunched beneath its wide feet, its forward impression marked upon the ground.


    ¡®Ugly, Lucia, attack from the flank. Havoc, be ready to defend,¡¯ Aaron ordered, running to meet the encroaching threat.


    Focused on the sluggish manifestation of the Stone Guardsman, Havoc did not notice when Naereah had taken to his side, but there she was. Her hand gripped his arm, and he felt her trembling.


    ¡®Wh¡ªwhat should I do?¡¯ Naereah asked. her mouse-like whispers barely audible above the thumping of his heart in his ears. Barely turning his head he instructed her to stay close.


    The creature swung a pudgy arm down at Aaron. Just as the young man was to be smeared onto the rubble, he extended his wings and flew backward. In a continued motion, he took to the sky. He soared to the monster¡¯s peak, reaching eye-level with the beast, and breathed a stream of flames. So hot were the flames, waves of sweltering heat washed over Havoc.


    The creature raised an arm against the flames. The acrid smell of rotting flesh mingled with the heat, wafting a stench unsettling to the stomach as the monster¡¯s pallid skin blistered and bubbled. But almost as quickly as its flesh was being destroyed, it regenerated. As though made of living clay, the monster¡¯s arm writhed to remould itself, clumping together to become whole again. With a sweep of it hand, it swiped at Aaron, bursting the torrent of his flames, pushing him into a graceless retreat.


    Though his attack was ineffective, it distracted the monster long enough for Lucia and Ugly to position themselves on either side of the creature. From the left, Ugly launched his extending sword into the monster¡¯s ribs, piercing its flesh and releasing a noxious fume from the incision. On the beast¡¯s right, Lucia held two paper talismans between her finger. She threw the talismans to the creature. Morphing in flight, the paper shifted and rippled, each forming a wolf¡ªone red, the other blue. The wolves stood six-foot tall on four legs, their muscular hinds bulged with strength. From Havoc¡¯s vantage, he could see only their backs, but their claws jutted outward like sharpened knives.


    At Lucia¡¯s command, the wolves charged without hesitation. Their dagger-like claws tore through grey flesh, spilling rancid blood below.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Relief washed over Havoc as the Stone Guardsman manifested in full. Standing seven-foot tall, the coarse, grey statue, planted firmly with its shield raised above its head as if ready to defend. As if he had developed a new sense, Havoc felt the boundaries of the Guardsman¡¯s power. Within a thirty-foot radius, he could create barriers of ethereal light.


    No sooner did his power manifest before being forced to put it to use. Ignoring the wolves tearing at its regenerating side and Ugly¡¯s long blade pushing deeper between its ribs, the monster dug its pointed fingers into its palm to form a fist. Thrusting its fist, aiming to splatter Aaron as he struggled to regain control of his flight, the monster¡¯s devastating strike collided with a barrier erupting a concussive boom.


    Eyes wide, Aaron glanced at Havoc. He shook his head, seeming to regain his composure. With a thrust of his wings, he distanced himself from the monster before breathing another stream of immolating fire into the creatures face.


    ¡®Give no quarter, It cannot regenerate indefinitely!¡¯ Aaron barked, his voice wavering yet still bearing defiance and authority in its tone.


    As though finally noticing the clawing at its side, the creature glanced below¡ªits eyes curious and wondering¡ªand swatted Lucia¡¯s wolves, tossing them backward in a whimpering roll.


    Lucia threw herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding the crushing weight of her tamed beast. Grunting, she returned to her feet, turning to face Naereah.


    ¡®Make yourself useful, will you!¡¯ Lucia spat, her tone grating. ¡®Fire fragment! Now!¡¯ She screamed.


    ¡®No!¡¯ Aaron yelled, ducking below the creature¡¯s grasp. ¡®They will be of more use later!¡¯ Sparing no further word, he swooped above and dived behind the monster, breathing plumes of fire down its back before righting himself in retreat.


    Snorting, Lucia glared Naereah¡¯s way, her lips scrunched tight in a sneer.


    Worthless thing,¡± Lucia muttered. Without another word, she lightly slapped her cheeks, restoring the smile that declared all life a game. Her gaze lingered for a moment before returning her focus to the creature. Then, with a pointed finger, she spurred her wolves into a renewed assault.


    The battle was nothing Havoc could call easy. Every moment was suffused with peril; each beat of the heart heralded the possibility of the last for at least one of the group. At times there were mere inches between a brush with death, and the life severing swipe of the reaper¡¯s scythe, but through growing coordination, relentless attacks, and no shortage of luck, the party kept the monster pinned.


    Entering a rhythm of attacking, defending, and tactically retreating, the party clawed, scorched and pierced the creature, wetting the ground in its sickly green blood. Though the beast continued to regenerate, it was doing so far slower¡ªtoo slow to keep pace with its mounting afflictions. The creature did what it could¡ªlashing out, it gurgled a furious battle cry¡ªbut its efforts were in vain. When Aaron flew too close to retreat, a protective wall of light would be there, guarding against the monster¡¯s retribution. When Ugly moved too slowly to escape a crushing stomp, an arc of light appeared, protecting him from certain death.


    Sweat stung his eyes, but Havoc could not lose focus; their dance with death demanded sharp chorography.


    Forming a barrier between the lacerating, downward cut of the beast and Ugly¡¯s head, Havoc smiled. Exhilaration was not a feeling he had expected when the battle began, but now it thrummed through him, undeniable and irresistible.


    I¡¯ve clawed my way from nothing to this, he thought, his grin widening even as sweat streaked down his face.


    Powerless no more, even as the battle raged, he could feel his growth. Anticipating both the monster¡¯s movements and that of his companions, from a distance, he orchestrated the symphony of conflict; both friend and foe danced to his tune. His barriers were wordless directives; his party moved in step, following his silent command.


    He could do more with the Guardsman, he felt it. When Aaron offered the Remnant, he explained that its powers were purely defensive, but Havoc knew better. Having first laid eyes upon the statue, It had called out to him, whispering its secrets into his soul.


    ¡°Unmoveable shield, irresistible spear; we shall wield life and death over the battlefield.¡±


    With a thought, he could shape his barriers into blades of phantom light. Lost in the thrill of bloodshed, he quivered with anticipation, the urge to unleash his power stirring his gut, coursing shivers down his spine.


    Look at me now, he thought, grin wide, dualistic power surging his spirit chain. He reached out a trembling hand to shape the phantom blades, but paused.


    Intoxicated with his power, he had edged toward foolishness. Looking to his companions as they unleashed the might of their Remnants, he was reminded that dungeon-spawn and Abominations were not his only foes.


    They need to underestimate me when the time comes, he scolded.


    Fist clenched in tight ball, he restrained the impulse to strike out with his power. No, his role in this theatre was to be gullible and meek, he was determined to play his part well. With a thought, he could have slayed the creature, instead, he positioned Aaron in the spotlight, perfectly placed for the finishing blow.


    The monster collapsed to its knees, its cadaverous flesh torn, seared and pierced. In the moment¡¯s reprieve, the reek of the creatures burned and rotten meat could no longer be ignored, it reached down Havoc¡¯s throat, and he gagged on stench.


    ¡®Do you wait for an invitation, darling? Make haste and do away with the wretched thing,¡¯ Lucia said, neck craned upward to Aaron. Turning towards Naereah, her smile broadened. ¡®Worry not, pet. I am referring to the cradlefiend,¡¯ Lucia chuckled, watching as Naereah shrank back.


    ¡®You don¡¯t have to treat her like that,¡¯ Havoc said, surprising himself with his words. He was not heartless, but he had enough to be concerned with¡ªhe did not intend to involve himself in the group¡¯s petty dynamics. But as he spoke, his temper rose. Cruelty for its own sake...


    I¡¯m sick of it.


    ¡®I do apologise,¡¯ Lucia said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity as she lifted her skirt in an exaggerated bow. ¡®Had I known you lacked any sense of humour, I certainly would not have joked.¡¯


    Havoc stepped forward, but Aaron cut him off, landing between them in a blur of motion. Arms outstretched, he held them apart.


    ¡®This need not go any furth¡ª¡® Aaron did not finish the sentence. Before he could say another word, the kneeling cradlefiend gargled a tortured cry. At first, it was met by silence. The silence did not linger.


    Answering its call, thunderous roars boomed from the distance. The first roar was followed by a second in the opposite direction, and the second was followed by a third and a fourth.


    The ground quaked, rattling Havoc¡¯s bones. On the horizon, he could see them. Rising from the ground in every direction he turned, pallid, grey arms tore through the ground reaching up like towers. Slamming down, they gripped the rocky foundation, shaking the vast city-scape as they pushed themselves upward, unearthing colossal heads. The towering, corpse-like creatures continued their ascent, rising up like mountains, pulling themselves up to their chests. Their deep blue eyes focused on Havoc¡¯s position. At first, it was as though they were gazing through him¡ªtheir expressions vacant. But as the cradlefiend cried out again, their eyes narrowed. Fury, unstrained fury radiated from their stare as they bellowed a world shaking roar.


    ¡®Run?¡¯ Ugly asked. There was no hiding the panic in his quivering voice.


    ¡®That would be wise,¡¯ Aaron replied, his voice trembling.

 Chapter 26: End Of Days

    The world was over. Havoc was there to watch it end. Never having given much thought to the apocalypse, the most surprising part was how perfectly it mirrored his brief musings on the topic: earth shaking, sky falling, monstrous demons tearing through the ground, arms raised, reaching to eat the sun.


    And Hurricane said we¡¯d go out with a whimper, he recalled, chuckling at the thought, reaping grim satisfaction over the small triumph against his sister¡¯s memory. He did not want to die, but as the ground trembled and cracked around him, he did not see he had much of a choice.


    I did my best. I can live with that. Though, apparently, not for long he thought, his laughter growing. There was nothing left to be done so Havoc was content to do nothing.


    As the towering creatures continued to rise from the ground, an explosions of rock, dust, and debris shrouding around their torsos, Havoc sat, crossing his legs on the jagged stone floor. He looked toward the horizon, ignoring the surrounding demands that he stand.


    Aaron had told them to flee, but there was nowhere to run. No matter the direction, death was certain. The world-eating giants may have been far off, but judging by their size, once fully emerged, they would cover the distance in a few short steps.


    ¡®We must flee!¡¯ Aaron shouted, his voice steeped in panic. Momentarily drawing his focus from a distant giant, Havoc glanced at the frantic youth before returning his gaze to the rising behemoth. Without paying Aaron any further attention, he raised an arm and pointed backward.


    ¡®Take a look back there. Maybe you¡¯ll notice something missing,¡¯ Havoc said, with a faint condescending smile. The sapphire staircase that had led to the ruined city was gone. Even in the midst of the chaos surrounding, Havoc had noted its disappearance. At the time, he was not too concerned. Their goal was to press onward. He had not considered retreat. It would have made a fine escape, but there was nothing to be gained by considering it now.


    Despite the end of days, Havoc was calm. Not since being walked to the gallows had he been so serene. There was nothing to fight against, no struggle to overcome; he need only surrender. If there was a chance, any chance, he would crawl over broken glass to clutch at whatever hope he could find. But it was hopeless. There was freedom in despair.


    Continuing to free themselves, the titans rose higher. Thundering cracks battered the air as a titan leg was exhumed from the ground.


    Won¡¯t be long now, Havoc thought with a smile.


    Violent vibrations shuddered his bones. He shut his eyes, and focused on the sensation¡ªharsh but not altogether unpleasant. Today was not a good day, but he was determined to enjoy it to its last.


    In the midst of roars, rumbling, shouts, and cries, there was another noise. Like the rushing of water down a steep cliff, a swoosh of turbulence overwhelmed the clamour. Opening his eyes, wider and wider, Havoc¡¯s mouth parted and his heart thrummed as streams of ink-black liquid burst from below, surrounding the giants.


    The mountainous geysers of ebony fluid split, and wrapped around themselves, forming lightless chains. From their legs snaking up, link by link, dark bonds constricted the titans.


    The links continued to rise, looping around colossal limbs. The titans wrestled with the chains¡ªmassive arms pulling at the constraints¡ªbut it was futile. The bonds would not break. A detonation of explosive roaring resounded as the chains began to constrict, pulling the titans inexorably down toward the earth.


    The roars became a whimper. The titans sank deeper. No longer thrashing, they seemed to have accepted their fate. The irony was not lost on Havoc¡ªrenouncing his surrender, the scorching flames of hope reigniting in his chest.


    Each of Havoc¡¯s companions bore the same look of relief he still wrestled with. Still in disbelief, tension drained from his body. Even as monstrous wailing continued to surround, he could have drifted to sleep, soothed by the rattle of shifting stone, parting to reclaim the monsters below.


    The whimpering persisted for a while longer, but then it stopped, replaced by wet, throaty gargles. The titans¡¯ throats bulged, something forcing its way up from deep within.. Squirming its way out from the mouth of a titan, Havoc could see a grey, fleshy sphere. As though launched from a catapult, the bound giant ejected the mound of flesh. Hurled through the air, with a wet splat, it landed mere feet behind him.


    Havoc stood, his pulse racing. Turning, he scrutinised the ball of grey, squirming tissue. Thick veins trailed the sphere, they pulsed a sickly green; worming the shape, they formed criss-crossed patterns upon its surface.


    Pointed fingers pushed from inside the mound. They stretched the gristly membrane, poking through, spilling emerald fluid, puddling on the ground.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Without time to reflect, a second splat demanded his focus. Then a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth¡ªvisceral eggs rained down from the above.


    A warped sound, like a knife scraping glass, escaped the bloodied cradlefiend as it started to giggle. Silencing its laughter, Ugly extended his sword, piercing its throat through.


    ¡®Time to go, boss,¡¯ Ugly said, curtly. Not waiting on approval, he pulled away from the egg. As the nearest fleshy sphere tore open, and the bulbous head of a cradlefiend poked outside, Havoc joined Ugly in his flight, followed close by the rest of the group.


    With no destination in mind, they ran, the crunch of crumbled stone marking their pace. It took all of them to contend with one cradlefiend, now they were raining down upon them. Havoc had grown stronger. The heritage of the prince of war had shown its worth. Iron sharpening iron, within the crucible of the Dungeon Cell, he had far surpassed his most daring expectations. But he was no fool. Alone against the infantile monsters, he would be pulled limb from limb. Against the numbering brood? He would not stand a chance.


    All around, the sacs of meat and monsters continued to fall, a moist squish announcing their landing. The first of the cradlefiends seemed to fully emerge. He was not about to turn and check, but the piercing screech and rumbling stomps told him it was coming their way.


    The decimated city rushed by as Havoc hurried his pace. Were it not for his burning lungs, strained legs, and frantic breaths, he would have been certain he were dead. Condemned for murder, cast down into Hell¡ªmagnitudes more believable than this nightmare being life. Life, real life, was harsh at times, Havoc knew that more than most. But never had it been so absurd. He could accept many things, but as a waddling horror crashed through the depilated remains of a building to his right, giggling a twisted sound, its arms reaching forward like an excited babe, Havoc struggled to admit it was really happening.


    ¡®We cannot slow!¡¯ Aaron shouted, his breaths heavy, his feet a blur as he picked up pace, doubtlessly spurred by the encroaching shudders and chillingly playful laughter.


    In the corner of his eye, Havoc could see Naereah lagging behind the rest. Panting deeply, her gasps laboured, interspersed with pitiable whines. She could not maintain their mad flight for long. But she would have to. The only respite to be found was in death.


    By the corpse of a toppled wall ahead, one of the membranous eggs slapped down, tearing as it hit the wall¡¯s sharp stone, allowing the creature inside to swiftly emerge.


    ¡®By the hosts, turn!¡¯ Veering down an alley to the right, Aaron did not look back to see if he was followed. Hastily, he leapt over tall, obstructing debris, crunching the gravelled, stone street on landing, continuing further down. Havoc followed toward the alley. In the moment, he did not consider the potential folly in passing through narrow paths while demons showered down. It was a direction, not a decision; like a lamb, he followed.


    Shit! On brief reflection, the instinctive curse did not quite capture the intensity of horror, Havoc felt squeezing his chest as a cradlefiend stepped into sight, blocking off the alley¡¯s narrow end.


    Shrill giggles from behind spoke of no turning back, but the cradlefiend¡¯s toothless grin did not allow further progress.


    They were trapped.


    ****


    ¡®No, no! Why would you go down there?¡¯ Seated in her elegant, white chair, Annalise could not help but wonder to herself whether it was truly possible to find good help. When she enlisted Havoc¡¯s services, even she had not foreseen he would demand such hand holding. It was almost as if he was not aware of how much trouble he was causing for her.


    She was a Soldier Inheritor, but that did not mean her Harmony reserves were endless. Sure, she had come prepared, stockpiling fragments of renewal for her lengthy detainment, but she very much doubted Havoc would cover the cost.


    ¡®It¡¯s inconsiderate, plain and simple,¡¯ she said, punctuating each syllable. She wasn¡¯t ignorant to the irony of being frustrated by the performance she had strong-armed Havoc into¡ªshe just did not care. She had put him to task, and that was the end of it.


    With a shallow sigh, a shake of her head, a four good tuts of her teeth, she closed her eyes, extending her sight though the All-Seeing Owl.


    Having watched over Havoc from above, she was well aware of present peril. Cradlefiends continued to rain down upon the ruined city, and he was pincered between two with so many more marching his way.


    There was only one over there, they really should have pressed forward. She thought to herself. I can understand with all the hustle and bustle, but such a narrow path? Inexcusable! Still, I¡¯ve wagered too much to cut any loses.


    ¡®Here we go again, bailing you out,¡¯ she whispered, commanding her owl to swoop low.


    Rescuing the help from the enclosing cradlefiends was easy enough. With a mental command, her familiar landed on the scalp of one the creature guarding the exit. With the connection made, it was child¡¯s play to scramble its mind. Honestly, it was a little beneath her. It may have also been at the rank of Soldier, but its greater strength and fortifications did not extend to its mind. Without the Dungeon¡¯s passive support, she cut through its psychic defences like scissors through string. It¡¯s nascent impulse to kill and destroy were powerful, but easily overwhelmed by her mentally projected, piercing screams. It was not long before the cradlefiend collapsed to its knees, clutching its head.


    Follow me, I suppose. She thought, directing the owl to hover before Havoc, slowly leading him from the alley.


    Annalise took to the air. The subterranean city was vast, so she had not explored it reaches. Still, flying ahead, she knew where to guide them.


    Scouting the landscape, the All-Seeing Owl flew at a measured pace. Down winding streets, swooping beneath dilapidated architecture, she made certain that Havoc and his companions could avoid the cradlefiend¡¯s hollow eyed search. Brimming with danger was the city¡ªthe great beast bound by chains had done their work well. From Annalise¡¯s vantage, she could see far and wide; the pot-bellied monsters had all hatched. Roaming aimlessly though nearly every city block, any false step would lead to ruin.


    It¡¯s all so exciting, she thought from the safety of her teapot. Still, much rather them than me.


    A little in the distance, she could see the wreckage of a building. By the symbols carved into the stone edifice, and the toppled statues surrounding, she knew the place to be the vestiges of an ancient temple. Though the both ends of building had fallen, supported only by both side having crashed into the other, a small gap remained though which someone could enter.


    She circled Havoc then dived through ingress, gliding past rotted pews, landing on a stone alter.


    ¡®Ah, here we are,¡¯ she whispered, shifting her sight to one the eyes on her owl¡¯s back, peering behind to see her helpers follow her inside.


    She opened her eyes, severing the connection with the owl. Sitting straight on her chair, she lifted a steaming cup of amber tea to her lips.


    Well, if they can¡¯t take it from here, they¡¯re utterly hopeless.

 Chapter 27: Found

    Wooden pews lay splintered and rotten within the nave of the ancient temple. The air¡ªmusty and dense¡ªwas clouded in a fog of dust, spread through the hall by its recent disturbance. Moss clinging to every surface illuminated the interior in a lacklustre glow. Needless to say, the temple had seen better days.


    How is it even still standing, Havoc wondered as he turned on the sport, scrutinising the surroundings. Like webs craved deep into stone, each wall was veined with intricate cracks, spreading out from their centre. Toppled pillars lay scattered around, jaggedly broken, as though carelessly partitioned by a greedy child. Some chunks were large¡ªothers much smaller¡ªand still others so minute that only their proximity hinted at their connection to the whole.


    Stepping forward, Havoc¡¯s boots scraped across mounds of stone debris, the crackling pop of fragmented rocks calling out his movement.


    Shards of cutting glass painted the ground below the distant walls. In times long past, they would have shone vibrant blues, green, reds, and yellows, but now discarded, their colours had long faded.


    Havoc could only imagine what the temple would have been like in its time. Though only a shadow of splendour survived, there remained hints of its former glory. The nave was vast, in its day, it could have seated hundreds upon its pews. Though strewn across the floor, bended, broken, and buried by rubble, there was an assortment of precious metals: golden plates, silver bowls, brass and copper candelabras. Despite the blood-chilling cries piercing into the temple from the cradlefiends echoing outside, a voracious greed gnawed away, threatening to consume Havoc¡¯s common sense and instincts toward self-preservation.


    Glancing upward, he inspected the caved ceiling. Every bit as damaged as the wall, the roof bore an image upon its stone. Cloaked in billowing dark, a figure stood tall within the painting. Its features were obscured, all that could be seen were two scarlet eyes. Lofty and proud, the frozen gaze seemed to look down upon Havoc as if staring directly into his soul.


    The figure, wreathed in chains, was eerily familiar, and by magnitudes too real. The longer he stared, the harder it was to look away. He could not, it would not allow him.


    From his temple to his back, he broke out in a cold sweat. Soon, all that existed was the image. His companions and circumstances faded to irrelevance¡ªhow could they be of any importance before he for whom the world was shaped?


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯ve found you,¡± a voice resounded in Havoc¡¯s mind. Laced with superiority and pride, it spoke with the casual authority of a lion addressing its cornered prey.


    Rasped croaks escaped in place of words; Havoc was not permitted to speak. It had granted him an audience but his participation was irrelevant.


    ¡°Do not forget what you owe me,¡± the voice continued.


    For a drop of water to wet his crusted throat, Havoc would have killed. Whatever entity had grasped him within the Chamber of Inheritance had finally revealed itself to be more than a half-remembered, delirious memory conjured by pain and fear, and presumably magic.


    He had known it was real, but it was easy to forget. Whatever had happened when he was spirited beyond time and space in the chamber had aided in his amnesia. They were collaborators, working in consort with unrelenting trials, together they had displaced the memory¡ªencouraging Havoc to bury it down deep into the realm of a future concern. It was far too real for that now, far too present, too pressing, too all-consuming to ignore.


    Offered a choice between two options, knowing the second was death, he was still alive¡­ Whatever bargain he struck, he needed to know.


    Sinister cackling reverberated in his mind, as Havoc¡¯s throat frothed from the effort to speak. Were he able to move even a single muscle, he would have clawed through his neck to allow even a single word free. Somehow he knew, to the being for whom all will bow, his struggle was amusing. Havoc¡¯s shrinking pride did not want to give the entity the satisfaction, but against a god among gods, Havoc¡¯s will was meaningless¡ªhe would do as his lord and slaver desired.


    ¡°Bring to me the heretic''s soul,¡± the voice commanded. Seconds passed in deafening silence. Buried under unbearable pressure, Havoc felt his knees buckle, but he was unable to fall. Paralysed in a timeless haze, he could not tell if seconds, minutes, hours, or aeons had passed before the anticipation of his master¡¯s voice pressed down upon him.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°With the heretic''s spirit, you may do as you wish,¡± the voice finally said.


    All at once, the malicious presence forsook the temple, and Havoc fell to his knees, trembling. Drenched in sweat, his shirt clung to his back. His chattering teeth rattled the stillness of the hall¡ªhis rapid and shallow breaths overwhelmed even the screeching outside.


    ¡®Steady your nerve, lad. We¡¯re ain¡¯t through it yet,¡¯ Ugly said, crunching the ground as he approached to place a heavy palm on Havoc¡¯s shoulder.


    He didn¡¯t feel it¡­ Havoc concluded. If he had, he could not have remained so composed. His mind reeled. Beyond the menacing encounter with that thing, his brain scrambled to make sense of its command. He was directed to secure the soul of a heretic, but its spirit was his?


    Was there a difference between the spirit and soul? Havoc did not know. Until now, he was not convinced there was a soul. Had he not just felt it quiver, he would have dismissed such thing as wishful thinking. Though now he wondered whether his disregard for such concept was rather wishful. He was a liar, a thief, and a killer. So much simpler it would be if his were the actions of his flesh alone¡ªthere was no moral weight in a wolf¡¯s ravenous bite. Doing only what was necessary to survive, there were no greater consequences beyond the moment¡¯s need and his ability to escape.


    ¡®Up you get, lad. All hands on deck till we figure a way outta this mess,¡¯ Not waiting for a response, ugly hooked his hand below Havoc¡¯s arms and hauled him to his feet, giving him a firm pat on the back as he stood. ¡®You good, kid? Don¡¯t wanna get all hard love on ya, but now ain¡¯t the moment for soft spines,¡¯ Ugly did well to disguise the fear in his eyes behind a forced grin and stern¡ªalmost fatherly¡ª tone, but Havoc saw through it. They were abandoned in a city of monsters; fearlessness was foolishness.


    Havoc took a steady breath, settling his mind. He could not ignore the existence of that entity forever. After his experience, he doubted it would allow him. But for now, he had¡ªif not greater then at least more immediate¡ª concerns.


    ¡®So what¡¯s the plan, boss?¡¯ Ugly asked, turning toward Aaron.


    ¡®I¡­¡¯ Aaron¡¯s mouth hung open as he hesitated. He glanced absently to the side, breaking eye contact with Ugly, as if ashamed, before raising his head. Determination hardened his features as he spoke. ¡®The Dungeon is perilous but fair. There will be a way from this place. We need only find it,¡¯ he said, his voice bearing a weight of confidence their circumstances could not support.


    ¡®If you know of a way out, now is the time to tell us, darling,¡¯ Lucia spat sharply, her usual playful mockery replaced with something far more biting.


    Aaron looked to his side, as though he could find the answers to Lucia¡¯s accusation hidden atop the shattered pews, but then his gaze settled on Havoc.


    ¡®You!¡¯ Aaron exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Havoc. ¡®You led us here. You must have had cause!¡¯


    Led you here? Havoc silently questioned.


    ¡®I just followed the owl,¡¯ Havoc said, raising his hand in an innocent gesture, as though denying a crime.


    ¡®Do you now speak in riddles, or have you simply taken mad?¡¯ Lucia asked, her tone drenched in a foul concoction of equal parts panic and disdain.


    ¡®She¡¯s right, kid. Didn¡¯t see no owl. We was just followin¡¯ yous,¡¯ Ugly said bluntly.


    ¡®What are you talking about, its right there!¡¯ Pointing towards a stone slab at the front of the hall, Havoc begun walking toward the owl perched atop.


    They don¡¯t see it¡­


    Unhidden and unmistakable among the wreckage of the temple, the owl hopped upon the altar as if to say, ¡°Over here, you buffoon.¡±


    As he approached, the All-Seeing Owl batted its wings, speeding toward the temple¡¯s entrance, forcing Havoc¡¯s recoil as it flew out into the night.


    Regaining his balance, he examined the slab, questions pounding like a drum in his mind. Clearly Annalise did not want the others to know about the owl, he could think of no other explanation for why he alone could see it. Did she not trust them? It made sense¡ªHavoc did not trust them either. To his credit, his lack of faith in his companions was not mere cynicism. Admittedly, it would be a lie to say his general mistrust in the goodness of man did not play a role in his doubt. However, he did not trust them for one very simple reason.


    They¡¯re going to betray me.


    He held no bitterness against their schemes¡ªhe was not so hypocritical¡ªhe planned on betraying them as well. But then, he could not understand why she would reveal the owl to him. Only four could leave the Forest of Desire. If it came down to it, he would betray her just as soon.


    Snatching back his attention, Havoc felt a tug on his sleeve from behind. Turning, Naereah stood, her austere apparel dirtied, her pale blue face smeared with grime. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Their escape into the temple had been trying, but for none more than Naereah. With her skin clung tight to her bones, her emaciated frame was not suited to the extremes of their flight. Havoc had been worried she would trip, fall, and whatever value Annalise saw in her would be lost forever. But he had been in no less danger than she, it was all he could do to survive himself¡ªshe had been on her own.


    ¡®She told me not to mention the owl,¡¯ Naereah whispered. Standing so close, the warmth of her breath tickled Havoc¡¯s ear. ¡®The seer, I mean.¡¯


    ¡®You saw it?¡¯ Havoc asked, surprise raising the sound of his voice.


    ¡®Not so loud,¡¯ Naereah shushed. ¡®She told me we¡¯d be okay, that someone would come and we¡¯d be okay. I¡­ I didn¡¯t believe her at first, but¡­ It¡¯ll be me, you, and her. We¡¯re the ones who¡¯ll make it out of the forest.¡¯


    Havoc faced her, taking grip of her shoulders, his heart spiking.


    So many damned questions¡ªI might finally get some answers.


    ¡®What else did she tell you?¡¯ He asked, his voice hushed but urgent.


    ¡®Not now,¡¯ Naereah replied softly, slightly shaking in his hold. ¡®I¡¯ll tell you everything, just¡­ not now.¡¯


    ¡®What could you two possibly have to discuss that is more important than escaping this dreadful place?¡¯ Lucia snapped, causing Havoc to loosen his hold on the Selenarian so that she could slip from his grip.


    Havoc glanced at Lucia before turning back to the lithe, otherworldly girl. ¡®It can wait for now, but you¡¯re going to tell me everything,¡¯ he whispered sharpy.


    ¡®I will,¡¯ Naereah replied without hesitation. ¡®I swear it!¡¯ Naereah¡¯s pitch-black eyes seemed to both harden with resolve yet soften with warmth. Havoc could not guess at what she was feeling, but for reasons he could not fathom, he may not have trusted her, but he wanted to.


    Taking a step backward, he examined the altar. Though the stone was heavily worn, it remained in one piece. Runic symbols were grooved deep into the slab. The shapes were familiar, but he could not claim to understand them. Still, they bore an impression into his mind. He could not say how he knew, but he simply did. This was their salvation¡ªto decipher the mystery of the altar.

 Chapter 28: City Of Monsters

    Crouched before the stone alter, Aaron scrutinised the runic carvings upon its weathered stone. As a scion of the Crest household, he was schooled in the language of the Dungeon. He could read the script, but it was not so simple to understand. The Dungeon was a living being¡ªever changing and adapting¡ªeven its words dug deep in stone would not remain static. Perceiving the runes, even a commoner was capable of such feat, but to synchronise oneself to the vital beat of the Dungeon¡¯s animate will, that demanded nobility.


    The runic symbols pulsated upon the stone. As though teasingly¡ªmockingly¡ªconcealing themselves, the runes scurried in and out of perception. They whispered their secrets¡ªlike a hint of dew caught by the breeze¡ªinto Aaron¡¯s mind before retreating in a swirling mass of shifting letters. Deciphering the alter was akin to a childish game he did not want to play. The process tightened his jaw with gritted teeth, but progress was, nonetheless, steady.


    Had father permitted this excursion, I would not be reduced to the role of a scribbler, Aaron thought, snorting an indignant gust. To understand the Dungeon demanded noble blood, for certain, but tasks such as this was better fit for lesser nobility.


    Sighing softly, Aaron slowly shook his head. Upon the beginning of his journey into the Forest of Desire, he had known he would be forced to demean himself. Having endured the White Temptress¡¯ humiliations, taking on the role of translator was hardly the nadir of his experience within the Dungeon Cell. Indeed, under normal circumstances, he would have felt deep satisfaction in unearthing the Dungeon¡¯s secrets. The alter told a fascinating tale. It spoke of the time after debasement but before godsfall¡ªthe death of the Stewards of Harmony.


    As an heir to a powerful household, Aaron was familiar with the sentient life from before godsfall. The Beasts of Paradise, they had been named. Some were human-like in shape and substance, others were much stranger. From their contorted, tortured, defiled sous, the Abominations had been birthed, while their spirits¡ªthe energising link between the body, soul and higher planes¡ªwere ripped from their cores, substantiated with befoulment, their purity twisted into an unholy mockery of life, and shaped into Dungeon spawn.


    The little Aaron knew of the Beasts of Paradise did not extend to their time within the Dungeon. The runes offered a feast of knowledge, each symbol a delicacy he should have delighted in. Yet, the taste soured on his tongue, spoiled by the sight of his love¡¯s hand brushing Havoc¡¯s arm, their whispered exchanges gnawing at his mind.


    His love for Naereah was of the purest kind. She did not possess material wealth or great power, joining with her would offer no benefit or strategic advantage to his household. She could offer him nothing except a life brimming with joy overflowing. That is how he knew his love was true.


    Smiling wistfully, he thought of all of their stolen glances and secret moments. Lucia was a cruel mistress neither one of them had the power to defy openly. But the time spent with Naereah in his arms, brushing her ivory hair, stoking her pale-blue skin, dreaming of the days to come when they could fully indulge in each other, it was divine consolation for the both of them.


    She would rest so still in my arms, he remembered fondly. We shared such freedom in each other. So why does she now¡­


    He could not understand how that bastard son of a flea and a wretch had stolen her affections from him. Had he not been gentle, whispering into her ears the promise of the life they would have together?


    She would be a queen in the kingdom I would build in her honour. What more could she ask of me? What is it that I lack?


    In many ways, it was all for her. He wanted to obtain a Soldier¡¯s inheritance, and Annalise had assured he would, but he could have obtained that in any Dungeon Cell. However, the Tears of Desire¡ªone of the vanishingly few means of purifying one¡¯s Harmony¡ªthat could only be found inside their destination.


    His own Harmony was pure¡ªhe needed no such blessing. It was for her that he condemned sixty souls, and for her, he would damn infinitely more. The plan was perfect. In one move, he would rid himself of his abhorrent fianc¨¦e¡ªlost forevermore within a Dungeon Cell, he could hardly be blamed¡ªand his father could not object to his union with Naereah once she possessed Blessed Harmony.


    Not one thing has changed, he reassured himself. For now, that lout could enjoy her affections, but Havoc¡¯s time would soon come. After all, of those who had entered the forest, Naereah, Annalise and himself would be the only three to leave.


    ****


    ¡®There is a way to escape this city.¡¯


    At the sound of Aaron¡¯s voice, Havoc turned to face the standing youth. Whatever was written into the alter was the secret by which they could survive. Though Havoc noticed Aaron¡¯s occasional pointed glances toward himself and Naereah by his side, his unease was not worth distracting the only one of them who could translate the Dungeon script.


    Whatever game they¡¯re playing between themselves, they can leave me out, Havoc determined. All that mattered was survival. He would worry about everything else later.


    ¡®You sure do like to take your time, darling,¡¯ Lucia scolded. ¡®Go on then, would you please


    enlighten us.¡¯


    Aaron¡¯s lips tightened, glaring at his fianc¨¦e. Lucia, seemingly enjoying his response, returned his glare with a smile. But even she faltered as a cradlefiend screeched just beyond the temple walls, its call shaking the air, a harsh, grating sound promising violence and death, followed by the rumble of its footfalls, shaking loose dust from the ceiling like the last grains of sand in an hour glass.


    We don¡¯t have time for this, Havoc thought, his skull throbbing with irritation.


    ¡®Shut up. Don¡¯t speak. Just stay quiet,¡¯ Havoc whispered sharply, punctuating his words with a pointed finger toward Lucia. There was not much time, and yet, he stole a silent moment to enjoy the flair of Lucia¡¯s nostrils and her red-tinted cheeks. Satisfaction tugged his lips, but he bit it back, snapping his attention back to Aaron. ¡®No squabbling, no games¡ª¡¯ he spat the words, locking eyes with Aaron. ¡®Just tell us how to leave here alive.¡¯


    Aaron stepped forward, his eyes sharp and pointed. His nose creased, and his mouth parted in a teeth-gritted snarl. In a different time, in a different place, Havoc knew his words would have led to blows¡ªhe had struck at Aaron¡¯s pride, after all. But now, their circumstances were too dire for that.


    Take it on the chin, move on. Whatever needs settling can be settled later, Havoc thought, suppressing a grin once more. He could not deny the petty enjoyment reaped¡ªnever there was a better time to chastise his ¡°betters¡± than when circumstance demands they shut up and take it.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    As though heeding Havoc¡¯s silent command, all signs of animosity melted from Aaron¡¯s expression, his affable arrogance slipping back into place. Lifting the side of his loosely-balled fist, he cleared his throat. A gentleman through and through, one of his station could not be seen to lose composure.


    It would simply be scandalous, Havoc mocked, unable to resist even as a cradlefiend¡¯s stomps rattled the debris beneath his feet.


    ¡®As I was saying,¡¯ Aaron said once the rumbling retreated a step. ¡®This city need not be our tomb.¡¯


    Buried deep beneath the city, the cryptlords¡ªtitans of immense power reaching the Lord rank of Inheritance¡ªraged against their bindings. Were it not for the chains forged from shards of eternity, they would have reduced legions of Inheritors to dust with a mere gaze¡ªor so Aaron claimed.


    The denizens of the city¡ªknown for aeons as The City of Monsters¡ªwere far from powerless. Yet even their might could not withstand the Hell that ascended to consume them. Desperate, they invoked the names of the gods, their prayers falling on apathetic ears. In hopelessness, they turned to a devil.


    He answered their call.


    ¡®We get to them towers, ring a bell, and smear some blood the walls, and them beasties bugger off, that about the long of it?¡¯ Ugly said, his tone slathered in all the charm Havoc had come to expect from the mercenary.


    ¡®I would not phrase it so crudely¡­ However, you have grasped the concept,¡¯ Aaron replied.


    ¡®Only one problem, boss. They¡¯ll flatten us long before we find yer magic tower,¡¯ Ugly retorted, shaking his head with a drawn-out sigh.


    Cradlefiends were dungeon-spawn of the Solder rank. Killing one was an impressive feat but possible. Facing a countless horde? That was a death sentence.


    ¡®Don¡¯t know ¡®bout yous, but I ain¡¯t got the ¡®armony left to shoo off a squirrel. Couple of strikes, that¡¯s all ¡®bout all I got left. What ¡®bout yous, farin¡¯ any better?¡¯


    Havoc closed his eyes, his consciousness retreating into his core. His dualistic Harmony simmered inside him, ebbing and flowing with a rhythmic pulse. He could still fight, but not for long.


    About half-full, he determined, a frown slipping across his face. His Harmony reserves had grown considerably, fatten by the corpse of the Temptress, yet a sole cradlefiend demanded so much¡­ Better than nothing, he sighed.


    ¡®Have we any fragments of renewal?¡¯ Aaron¡¯s voice wavered slightly, his eyes pleading as he turned to Naereah. As if a child hiding beneath her mother¡¯s skirt, Naereah shrank behind Havoc as Aaron¡¯s sight rested on her.


    Summoning her large, brown coffer, Naereah knelt beside it, placing her hands atop its lid as she closed her eyes.


    ¡®We do,¡¯ she said, her voice a soft whisper. ¡®We have three of them, but if I take them out now, the Hungry Chest will destroy every fragment we have left.¡¯


    ¡®Do not dare!¡¯ Lucia¡¯s voice cut through the air, her glare bearing down on the gently quivering girl.


    ¡®It was my understanding that your Remnant¡¯s sacrifices had to be of equivalent value,¡¯ Aaron asked, his shock not hidden in his voice.


    To Havoc, it made perfect sense¡ªafter all, to a king fleeing revolt, was a horse not more precious than his kingdom?


    ¡®It is out of the question!¡¯ Lucia snapped, swinging an arm to the side, her voice sharp and unyielding.


    ¡®Perhaps we only use one?¡¯ Aaron suggested as he massaged his forehead with a clawed hand.


    ¡®And you¡¯re the one who gets it, right?¡¯ Havoc snapped, stabbing at Aaron with daggered eyes.


    ¡®Indeed. Of the five of us, I alone can harness a Set.¡¯ Aaron replied without shame or hesitation.


    ¡®Of the five of us, I alone killed the White Temptress,¡¯ Havoc shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡®What were you doing again? That¡¯s right¡ªtoo busy with her arm up your arse, flapping about as her puppet.¡¯


    ¡®You dare!¡¯ Aaron shouted, ripping free his sapphire neckcloth and hurling it to the ground, all reason lost in his wild gaze.


    Aaron¡¯s voice still echoed through the nave when piercing screeches cut through the air, penetrating the dilapidated edifice, followed by thundering steps. They did not come from one direction but from many. Shrill giggling bounced from crumbling wall to crumbling wall, and the hall began to quake. The shattered debris would not remain still nor silent, they rattled up and down as if agitated and aggrieved.


    Sharp panic slashed Havoc¡¯s chest. He turned in place in every direction. They were surrounded.


    ¡®What do we do?¡¯ Naereah asked urgently, gripping Havoc¡¯s wrists as she stared up at him, his distress reflected in her damp ebony eyes.


    In that moment, three fragments of renewal were worth every other fragment Naereah held inside her chest. By that same logic, every other fragment was worth those three. Havoc had only seen a fragment used once, but it left a deep impression. Time was short, slipping away. He made his decision.


    ¡®All of them! Every fragment but the three of renewal. We use all of them!¡¯


    ¡®I will have you flogged¡¯ Lucia screamed, advancing on Naereah with bulging eyes ready to burst.


    ¡®Do it now!¡¯ Havoc yelled to Naereah¡¯s recoil. ¡®Which way?¡¯ Havoc asked, facing Aaron.


    ¡®Wh¡ª¡® Aaron stuttered.


    ¡®You read that damn alter! Point us in the right direction,¡¯ Havoc demanded as crimson mist flowed from the Hungry Chest, pooling on the ground.


    Aaron swung his head from left to right, shaking whatever sense he had back into place, before pointing toward the leftmost wall as the first crash of a cradlefiend breaching the temple¡¯s interior boomed throughout the hall.


    ¡®Take what you can grab!¡¯ Havoc shouted. ¡®Stay close,¡¯ he whispered into Naereah¡¯s pointed ear as he bent down to scoop as many fragments as he could into his hands, pocketing as many as would fit within his trouser pockets.


    Havoc did not look back to see if the others would follow as he sprinted toward the wall Aaron had pointed to. Fragment in hand, as two plump, grey arms burst through the wall, he flared Harmony into the thin, rectangular slate, and threw.


    The fragment dissolved in flight, and from its dusted remains, lightning ripped through the air.

 Chapter 29: His Fathers Son

    ¡®


    flashes of light bombarded the cradlefiends in his path.


    From behind, Havoc¡¯s companions launched their assault, battering back the horde. As though nature¡¯s rage had descend, passing righteous judgment upon the aberrations barring their path, raging torrents of fire and water pummelled the cradlefiends. Arcs of lightning ravaged the creatures, and lacerating shards of bone-freezing ice tore into them, clearing the way for the party¡¯s advance.


    Despite the eviscerating assault, the cradlefiends would not stay down for long. Their regenerative ability was a sight to behold, but Havoc had no intention of staying to watch. Without hesitation, he spirted past their mangled, writhing, reforming ranks, his party close behind.


    They were no longer surrounded but they were pursued. Peering behind the derelict, hollowed corpses of the desolate cityscape, blue eyes shone with a greedy light.


    ¡®Keep going!¡¯ Havoc yelled, his breaths heavy as he spoke.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t need ya ta tell me that!¡¯ Ugly panted his response.


    Creeping from the shadows, the cradlefiends began to converge on the party¡¯s location. Dozens of the infantile monsters poured from the alleys, and burst through broken buildings, scattering shards of debris as they emerged.


    Fragments already in hand, Havoc waited for the cradlefiends to group before launching a wave of elemental force, blasting their ranks with devastating power. Following his lead, his companions did the same. When the monsters grew too close, they would be hammered back by pulverising fury.


    We can¡¯t keep this up, Havoc lamented.


    His pockets, once full, were nearing empty, the few fragments that remained clacking in the vacant space as he ran.


    ¡®How far?¡¯ Havoc asked, glancing at Aaron, now at his side.


    Aaron rotated his head in a full sweep, as if finding his bearings.


    ¡®There!¡¯ Aaron yelled, pointing toward a bell-tower.¡¯


    Slate by slate, the tower had been built, its jagged stones slanted from base to peak. Sizeable portions lay open, exposing to the elements, its interior. Yet despite its marred and damaged exterior, the structure stood firm, a scarlet bell visible between the arches beneath its steepled roof.


    They were close¡ªracing closer¡ªbut guarding the ancient building, no fewer than nine cradlefiend stood watch, smiled carved into their faces as the party approached.


    Unleashing their remaining fragments, upon this final obstacle, the party rained down Hell. They held nothing back. Elements swept across the cradlefiends like an enraged god. The ground melted under the assault, smoke and steam billowing from the points of impact. No matter their resilience, under the unrelenting savagery of the sustained assault, the creatures fell, their flesh sparking from their corpses, marking their demise.


    We can make it, Havoc thought, adrenaline coursing through him.


    ¡®Naereah, Lucia, Ugly!¡¯ Aaron yelled with laboured breaths. ¡®The bell¡­ It must ring for sixty seconds. Havoc, we must hold the line!¡¯


    The enemies before them were dead. But behind, a legion of monsters trampled the ground, swaying steps heavy as they drew near.


    A minute¡­ impossible, Havoc despaired, his hands fumbling through empty pockets, searching for a fragment he knew was not there.


    So close as to see his salvation, he would not surrender now. It did not matter if it was possible, he would make it so. Everything! He would use everything; nothing less would suffice. His secrets would not serve him in the grave.


    Damn it all to Hell, Havoc resolved as  slowly began to shimmer into being. With clenched fists and a steady breath, he faced the oncoming tide of monsters barrelling down.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ****


    I will not perish in this place, Aaron resolved as scales coated his hands, arms, and chest. Black, leathery wings sprouted from his back, and his hands sharpened into claws.


    The Servant Remnants of the house of Crest were individually supreme for their rank. Each one was forged from the Prime Remnants of the Black Dragon himself.


    The Lesser-Drake¡¯s Claws and Scales were a stern defence, and the fire he could spew from his Anchor, the Lesser-Drake¡¯s Tongue, was unparalleled in its rank. Aaron¡¯s mastery over his Remnants went far beyond the norm. He had uncovered secrets known only to the most prodigious of his family, elevating the already powerful Remnants to something truly extraordinary. He doubted even his father knew the scales could be fired as projectiles or that the wings could do more than grant flight; with the right technique, each leathery appendage could cut like knives.


    Rarely did he need his full might, but as cradlefiends descended upon him, bulking arms swooping down to smear him into the ground like paste, he feared his abilities would fall short.


    Loath as he was to admit it, he would not have survived a full ten seconds without Havoc¡¯s interventions. The bell had not begun to ring, yet already their struggle threatened to overwhelm. It was all they could do to survive the onslaught¡ªprevailing was impossible. Aaron was far from certain they could even buy the time promised.


    Leaping back from the quinsecting downward swipe of a cradlefiend¡¯s claws, then rolling to his side to avoid the flattening stomps of another, Aaron pointed his fingers upward mid-roll, launching the tips of his claws and bloodying the eyes of his screeching pursuer.


    Despite the frantic pace of relentless combat, Aaron did not fail to notice something amiss. Aaron did all he could do to hold back the creatures, scotching and lacerating them at every opportunity with a fervent zeal. Even under the circumstance, he was impressive. But the wounds mounting on the beasts were far more numerous than for which he could take credit.


    The lout? He wondered, taking flight to avoid a cradlefiend¡¯s lunge. Could it be? Aaron asked himself. Even as he leaped from fiend to fiend, narrowly slipping past their upward swipes and grasps, his mind turned over the possibility. For a Servant at only his second step, he could begrudgingly admit that Havoc was unusually talented. The fact he had Harmony remaining was a testament to his might, but Aaron had been careful to disarm the boy. In preparation for their future unpleasantness, the only Remnants he had offered were purely defensive.


    Aaron was not arrogant enough to believe that he alone could plunge a Remnant¡¯s depths, unearthing its hidden potential. But the Stone Guardsman had been a Crest family treasure for more than a century. Its Prime was possessed by the Living Fortress¡ªhis most talented uncle. Its power had been known only for defence¡ªnever once had it shown the potential for more. It was inconceivable that the lout could have discovered something the Crests had not.


    It cannot be¡­ Aaron concluded, a hint of unease pricking beneath his skin. Still, prudence demands I be prepared, he decided.


    ****


    Above even the cradlefiend¡¯s screams, the bell cried out, hammering the air with its thunderous beat. In a forward roll, Havoc slipped through the parted legs of a cradlefiend then turned onto his back, launching spikes of ethereal light into its eyes and blinding the creature. As the beast stumbled back, it swung its heavy arms wildly, battering its kin in its blind rampage.


    Its eyes were rapidly reforming, vitreous humour squirming as they moulded back into shape. Sweat running his face¡ªand no time to breathe¡ªHavoc fired two more shards of phantom light into the cradlefiend¡¯s eyes, blinding it once more.


    I can¡¯t¡­ Havoc began to despair, but he shut out the thought. Whether he could or could not no longer mattered, all that was important was that he must. He had come too far to fall now. He could not give up¡ªnot when he had yet to give it all he had.


    Even amidst the chaos of battle, Havoc was still holding back. He was using the Stone Guardsman¡¯s offensive abilities to slow the horde, but only when he was certain Aaron was not watching.


    Around his neck, he wore a silver-encased eye¡ªa charm known as the Scout¡¯s Eye, allowing him to see in every direction. Though its enhanced perception was disorienting, by activating its power in short bursts, Havoc turned what could easily become a hindrance into a crucial asset. He needed its power, but even its modest drain was climbing too steep for his harmony to maintain.


    Something has to give, he thought as he weaved a barrier between Aaron and certain death. His lungs burned, each step was its own battle. As things stood, neither one of them would last the full minute.


    ****


    It was now or never, Aaron resolved. With his Harmonic purity at one-hundred percent, it was not often that he came this close to empty, Yet here he was, down to the final dregs. But thirty seconds¡ªhe had enough for thirty seconds, at least. And that would be enough.


    A Set was more than the sum of its parts. So powerful were they that they could bridge the gap between ranks. The founding Set of the Crest household was especially potent. They had given them an edge over their competition beyond the settled floors. The only drawback was that it required complete Harmonic purity to use, drastically limiting the members of his household who could wield that power.


    Father should have recognised my potential, Aaron thought bitterly. None of his siblings could do what he could, yet they had not been consigned to wedded bondage.


    Stop it! That hardly matters now, he chided himself, his mind snapping back, shocked into focus as a fist careened toward his skull¡ªescaped only by one of the Guardsman¡¯s barrier.


    To synchronise his Harmony across each link of his Spirit Chain required total presence of mind. He could not afford unnecessary thoughts. To wield a Set, each link of his Chain had to be as one, merged together, compounding their might.


    As the bell blared, scales spread across Aaron¡¯s body from head to toe. Growing larger, he dropped onto all fours as spikes jutted from his spine, his teeth sharpened, and a long, muscular, prehensile tail shimmered into being. His wings stretched to match his size. Twelve feet tall on all fours, the lesser-drake stood¡ªhis transformation complete. With each breath, plumes of fire flared from his nostrils.


    This was his pride¡ªthe true power of the house of Crest. His siblings were mighty, yes, permitted to progress as they were. But, he alone could achieve the full transformation. He alone was worthy to be called his father¡¯s son.

 Chapter 30: Love Is Sacrifice

    Lucia was not one for waiting. When she made a demand, it was the privilege of all others to carry it out with haste. Why she was still sat alone within the eastern conservatory of the Desmond Estate truly escaped her. Allowances could be made for nobility of a certain esteem, but for a lady of the great-unwashed? Unthinkable!


    Bouncing a finger atop the back of her hand, resting on a knee crossed over the other, she straightened her back¡ªit would not do to be caught slouching. She could only imagine what her peers would think if they knew. All the effort she was willing to endure, and for what? A boy? A boy who viewed her with even less regard than those backbiters and venomous gossips she called friend.


    They thought her unaware of their whispers, but she was not. She was keenly attuned to every rumour, hissed with forked tongues, each one an amusement now¡ªand a debt to be settled later.


    It had been that way her entire life¡ªmocked from the shadows. Though the Desmond household was affluent¡ªundeniably so¡ªtheir influence never quite matched that of the noble houses with which they rubbed shoulders. Among their number, there were many powerful inheritors: the Sisters of Sorrow, Beast Mother, and Maiden of Calamity, to name a few, but not one had claimed a Lord¡¯s Inheritance.


    To her peers, it mattered not that she was an heir to a head-household¡ªdistinguished above their stations as scions to mere branch families in their so-called ¡°great¡± houses. Her superior talent and potential were never acknowledged. Not even her beauty¡ªbreath-taking by anyone¡¯s standard¡ªwas sufficient to mask the glaring blotch that was her standing.


    She would put on a smile and laugh it aside as, one by one, her treacherous friends came to her in confidence, turning on each other, revealing what the others had said in a bid to curry her favour. But it would not be a laughing matter forever. The day would come; she would return the lash of their tongues with the sting of a whip.


    It would all begin with a boy.


    Aaron despised her; she could see it in his eyes. That was all well with her. She did not mind his hatred, so long as he loved her.


    Love was patient, love was kind, it always protected, always preserved, but most crucially¡ªit always served her. The boy could hate her, if he wished, but he would come to obey¡ªhe would come to love her.


    Sighing, she looked up through the crystal ceiling of the conservatory, squinting at the day-sun¡¯s rays. The night-sun still lingered in the sky, but soon enough, morning¡¯s full light would rise from the horizon, chasing the last vestiges of night away.


    This is ridiculous, she thought, uncrossing her legs to cross them again. How long will she keep me waiting?


    When that peculiar girl first approached her at a ball, Lucia was ready to dismiss her¡ªjust another low-born sycophant, eager to clutch at her her skirts and claw her way up the social ladder. Lucia had long learned that when it came to rejecting a suitor, it was always best to ready a smile. For the less odious pursuer, a smile would soften the blow; yet that same expression, for the ugly and boastful, was more scaring than burning coals heaped overhead. By the way that girl had walked up to her, swaying her steps with arms held behind as if without a care in the world, Lucia hoped her smile would burn like heated iron pressed deep into skin. The world was a cruel place¡ªanyone that content was a liar or a fool.


    She had not taken much time to consider her words. The girl wore a garish white dress with unfeminine boots¡ªcrude and definitive would suffice. Lucia could remember sucking air through her teeth, ready to engage as the girl drew near. They locked eyes, and the girl had returned her smile.


    ¡®How might I help you?¡¯ Lucia had asked.


    ¡®Oh no. No, no, no. I¡¯m going to help you,¡¯ the girl replied. Looking the girl up and down, Lucia could barely restrain her laughter. It was all she could do to contain it to a light chuckle.


    How could you possibly help me?¡¯ Lucia said, her voice dripping with a mocking sneer.


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t love you,¡¯ the girl said plainly. There was no malice in her eyes. None of the tell-tale signs of cruel satisfaction waltzed on her lips. She did not speak as one performing a vivisecting cut, plunging deep into Lucia¡¯s beating heart to squeeze out her most hidden insecurities. She spoke the words as if discussing the weather. To her, it was a statement of fact¡ªunworthy of passion.


    ¡®How dare¡ª¡®


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t love you,¡¯ the girl repeated, her blue eyes cold, yet glowing from within like heat-warped steel, with more than a touch of madness. ¡®But if you come with me, he will.¡¯


    Thinking back, it was the girl¡¯s eyes¡ªAnnalise¡¯s eyes¡ªthat had drawn her in.


    Many souls would burn to fuel their ambitions. More than sixty, Annalise had told her. Of all the lives they would lead into the Cell, only Lucia, her dear fianc¨¦, and Annalise would ever leave. It could not be helped¡ªafter all, love was sacrifice.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ****


    The pale glow of bioluminescent moss cast its eerie light below, bathing the city in a twisting web of haunting shadows. Stood leaning upon an open arch atop the black slated bell-tower, Havoc peered into the ever-lingering night.


    The cave was vast¡ªhe had known that before venturing deeper¡ªbut the subterranean city defined all sense, common or otherwise. It spanned eternal in every direction, derelict buildings spread throughout. In its day, it would have been a sight to behold. Now, it stood as only a grim premonition. A stark reminder¡ªeven the great and mighty were forgotten in the end.


    Why build all this underground? Havoc wondered, thinking such a magnificent feat deserved light of day. Sighing, he turned his mind to more present concerns.


    The bell cried out and the cradlefiends were dead. It was a chilling sight. As the bell tolled, a white mist swirled above like a storm, spreading and growing thicker until it blotted blanketed the high cave ceiling. Even the promise of Havoc¡¯s flesh and blood could not entice the cradlefiends to stay. At the time, he could not have resisted¡ªone minute against the horde was all he could last. Yet as the dense mist began to descend, the monsters fled¡ªfor all the good it did them. None survived. The fog washed over them like a flood, gushing into their noses and mouths, and then departed, taking with it the breath of life.


    Astonished by the scene as he was¡ªneck craned skyward as the fog amassed above¡ªwhat surprised him more was that the mist was no stranger. He recognised its essence and form; it was no different than the mist he could summon from his anchor. Though the swirling mist was by infinities denser, it was the same, he felt it clearly¡ªthe way it reached inside of him, joining joining what lay within him to something vast and boundless.


    A shiver crept up his spine as he recalled the sensation. He could only guess at the connection between the Midnight Urn and that those life reaping vapours, but he knew they were linked. More over, as the clouds above flooded the ground, they did not retreat before refilling the urn, over-brimming. ¡®


    If you weren¡¯t everything she said you¡¯d be, I¡¯d never believe it,¡¯ Naereah whispered from behind, her voice trembling yet carrying a conviction Havoc hadn¡¯t expected from someone who had seemed so hopeless when they first met. Now, as he met her gaze, the depths of hopeful longing directed at him, he felt himself shrink back. The heft of her faith¡ªblind faith¡ªpressed down on him, too heavy a burden to bear. His bones already creaked beneath the weight of his own survival; how could Naereah expect him to carry her hopes as well?


    What does she even want from me? he asked himself. But he knew, immediately, it was the wrong question. He could not deny feeling unequal to whatever she saw in him, yet he recognised its usefulness. He had questions¡ªand she could answer at least a few.


    ¡®You swore you would tell me everything,¡¯ Havoc began, his tone heavy and sharp as cutting steel. ¡®So talk.¡¯


    ****


    Naereah looked into the eyes of the boy she was sure she loved and froze. What was she supposed to say?


    You¡¯re my promised hero. The man who will whisk me away from a life of slavery and keep me at your side always? Even in her own mind, it sounded crazy¡ªhow much more deranged would it seem aloud?


    But it¡¯s true, isn¡¯t it? She asked herself, her mind spinning as her heart stirred. When the seer first came to her¡ªkneeling down, whispering secrets into her ear¡ªshe told her that within the Cell, she would find what she had longed for. All she had ever longed for was for someone to find her¡ªsave her¡ªcherish her forever.


    Now here he was, just as she had been promised. He had saved her once from the clutches of the White Temptress; she knew he would do so again.


    ¡®You¡¯ll recognise his kindness,¡¯ Annalise had said. ¡®He won¡¯t allow you to go hungry.¡¯


    It lacked the subtlety she had expected from prophesy, but when Havoc shared his stew with her, she knew it was him. Together with the seer, they would emerge from the nightmare of the Forest of Desire, shatter the chains that had bound them, and shake the foundations of the Dungeon. Forsaken by the world, they would venture deep into the vanguard territories and rise far above it.


    I can¡¯t tell him any of that! She determined, her mind reeling still.


    In the moment, she could only bury her deepest hopes. She had promised to tell him everything, but she did not intend to reveal it all at once. He was not concerned with the distant future¡ªnot when weighed against the pressing now.


    ¡®We¡¯ll survive. The others won¡¯t,¡¯ Naereah finally said.


    ¡®How could you possibly know that?¡¯ Havoc shot back, his voice a sharp whisper.


    ¡®You¡¯ve met her, haven¡¯t you? The seer,¡¯ Naereah replied.


    ¡®Who? Annalise? Yeah, I¡¯ve met her.¡¯


    ¡®Then you know. She planned all of this, and everything she¡¯s said has come to pass¡­¡¯ Hesitating, Naereah looked to the debris-laden ground of the bell-tower, her cheeks aflame and her heart aflutter. She raised her face to meet Havoc¡¯s gaze with newfound resolve. ¡®Everything,¡¯ she repeated, emphasising the word.


    Havoc flickered through several expressions, every morph of his face inspiring different emotions from Naereah. When he looked incredulous, her heart panged with doubt. When eyes soften, reflecting, not disbelief but mere uncertainty, her she swelled with longing. Moments passed with the two oscillating between conflicting emotions before finally, Havoc spoke.


    ¡®Did she tell you how we get out of here?¡¯ Havoc asked, his tone flat. Naereah could not deny the feeling of disappointment. Though it would not last long, they finally had the chance to talk, b, yet his focus remained on their immediate predicament. She had waited so long to meet him. Until he first saved her, she had not even believed it would happen. Now that they were together, she did not want to wait long to get to know the hero she had been promised.


    Don¡¯t be stupid. Of course that¡¯s what he¡¯d want to know¡ªthat¡¯s who he is, Naereah chided herself. Beyond the parts of his character she had hastily studied, there was another reason he would be interested only in the moment. Though he had met the seer, he did not share her faith in the future she had been promised on the day Annalise had visited the Desmond estate.


    She remembered how the seer had kept her lady waiting. On her hands and her knees, Annalise had found her, lathering the floor with a scrubbing brush. Annalise had promised her everything she had ever wanted: to be known, to be seen, and eventually, even loved. And she only asked for one thing in return¡ªsomething Naereah would have happily done on her own accord.


    When the time came¡ªand she would know that time¡ªher only task was to strike her tormentors dead.


    As her mistress was fond of saying, love was sacrifice.

 Chapter 31: The Ugly Truth

    Samuel Miller was not a perfect man¡ªfar from it. He had committed acts even he could admit were shameful. He had hurt people¡ªmany people¡ªand had done so without care or lasting consequence. For a few handfuls of tokens, he had torn husbands from wives, left mother¡¯s exsanguinated¡ªblood splashed upon every surface¡ªbefore their wailing babes. In thirty-four years, he had managed little other than to make the world that little bit more grotesque than when he had found it. Recognising that fact¡ªif not quite willing to shoulder its full weight¡ªhe chose to take on the name Ugly.


    People saw his face and assumed his disfigurement had inspired his moniker. He let them think what they would, though he could not fathom their reasoning. A scar was only skin deep; true disfigurement cut all the way down to the soul.


    Despite everything, he considered himself a principled man. Violence was a tool¡ªnothing more, nothing less. He took no pleasure from it, doing only what was necessary to meet his ends. A sword for hire, he would do nearly anything if the price was right. But the chasm between ¡°nearly¡± and ¡°anything¡± stretched eternal.


    He had never taken a life that did not, in some way, deserve to be taken. Those who profited by the thrust of a sword had no right to complain when they found themselves at the pointy end. Children were also off-limits. Their parents might be bastards, but no amount of money could push Ugly across that line.


    He was not a perfect man, but what his employers had done¡ªwhat they had made him an unwitting part of ¡ªeven in his most depraved moments, he could not have imagined it.


    Sixty damned souls, and they couldn¡¯t care less, Ugly thought to himself, a grimace twisting his scarred features.


    Only during this brief reprieve did Ugly fully appreciate the depths of his employers¡¯ treachery. They had come to him promising a payday like no other. Their two noble households were to bankroll his little outfit, and give them the legitimacy of a recognised guild. It was a costly oath they had sworn¡ªbut there was not one who would honour the dead.


    Renouncing their status as a Dark Guild would have changed everything. With a hefty stash of tokens, and those Enforcers off their back, who knows was he could have accomplished with his men?


    Even he had dreams. He had inherited at twenty-two, and had spent twelve years without even reaching the third step of his Servant Inheritance. Those noble bastards had it easy. With their high Harmonic Purity, they could accomplish in months¡ªor even weeks¡ªwhat it had taken him years to achieve. To harvest the same yield for each Dungeon Spawn or Abomination, he had to slay dozens. The difference was incomparable from the start and only grew more stark. As things stood, he would need to defeat an army of monsters just to reach the same level as those two spoiled brats.


    Heh, ain¡¯t that the way, he thought, tutting as he shook his head. Inheriting was not enough to be truly powerful in this world. He never really paid much thought to Aarth, the ancestral world of his species, but one old-world adage came to mind: It ain¡¯t what ya know, it¡¯s who ya know, even in a world of magic, the ancient saying held true.


    But then there was the kid¡­


    Barely any time had passed since they met. Despite having gone through so much together, they were little more than strangers to each other. Even still, there was something about the kid. He felt an odd kinship with the boy. He was verbose¡ªfar more so than his street-faring background would suggest¡ªyet his accent was rough around the edges, not to be mistaken for the proper speech denoting weak chins and high noses. Ugly had never taken seriously enough the importance of learning to pretend he fit in. Learning that on the streets, no less¡ªit spoke well of the lad.


    Impressive little bugger, can¡¯t lie. Glancing across the top floor of the bell-tower, Ugly¡¯s gaze settled on Havoc.


    More impressive was his power.


    He had not been an Inheritor for long¡ªthat much was clear. Yet he was already near the peak of his second step.


    ¡°DNA is destiny¡±¡ªanother of those old-Aarth sayings. Ugly was not certain of its precise meaning, but from the way he had heard it used, it sounded like either an insult or a statement of fact: power passed from one generation to the next, largely contained within the same bloodlines. Despite having only obtained a Servant¡¯s Inheritance, Ugly led a guild of Inheritors. The simple reason was that, in his walk of life, there were few more powerful than he was. He was a guppy in a teacup¡ªlarger than life, but only in a very small world. The crowds he kept were like him, but not as daring. They had no name behind them, no family fortune; Inheriting at all was fortune enough. Havoc was clearly cut from the same dirty rag. By all accounts, he should have been wallowing within his first step for years before showing even half the power he already had. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Ugly would not fool himself; his employers could not be trusted. Right now, they needed numbers, but when that was no longer true, his number would be up.


    He needed an ally.


    Even if some of his men had survived this Hell¡ªeven if he could find them¡ªonce they learned the true nature of their location, any turned back would be ripe for sticking.


    Yeah, but can da kid be trusted? It was impossible to be sure. But of one thing he was certain: Havoc was his best option.


    Havoc and that slave girl stood close, exchanging whispers. The girl was sweet on the lad¡ªyoung love was always touching. Under normal circumstance, Ugly would not have had the heart to interrupt, but he was not about to delay his life and death just to let two puppies circle and sniff.


    ¡®Kid, ya got a minute?¡¯ Walking up to Havoc and Naereah, Ugly beamed his most charming smile toward the young couple. He looked toward the slave girl and jerked his head, motioning for her to leave.


    Naereah stared back, unmoving. Ugly¡¯s smile faltered , just a fraction. He held nothing against the strumpet. Were he a younger man, he might have even swayed for her exotic charms. But their predicament was too perilous for pretty. The girl could not hold herself in a fight, and he was facing dragons. Well, one dragon, at least¡ªor whatever big lizard that silk-spun dandy had turned himself into while defending the tower.


    ¡®Thought you lot were meant to be smart,¡¯ Ugly said bluntly. ¡®Get lost. I¡¯ve business with da kid.¡¯


    ****


    ¡®We can¡¯t save him,¡¯ Naereah whispered, her lips close to Havoc¡¯s ear. Pulling away, she stepped back, and turned to face Ugly. Lifting her skirt in a subtle curtsy, Naereah bowed her head before walking across the belfry, settling alone in a far corner of the space.


    Havoc knew what ugly wanted, but he could not help. If half of what Naereah had told Havoc was true, she was right; Ugly could not be saved. This she did not learn from the seer, but through reading the Dungeon runes within the ruined temple.


    She was a Selenarian¡ªan exiled princess, if she was to be believed¡ªlong schooled in the language of the Dungeon. She had never needed Aaron to translate, reading the script across the altar was, to her, as natural and breathing. That is why, when the time came for blood to be spilled upon the walls of the tower where they now stood, she had refused her mistress¡¯ order for that blood to be hers.


    The city was defending, that much was true. But by a dark and cruel god. Whosoever beseeched his authority was subject to his stricture. Ugly¡¯s fate was sealed in the blood dripping from his palm, lightly tapping the stone flow below.


    ¡®Listen, kid, two of us, we ain¡¯t like the others. Oughta stick together¡¯s what I¡¯m sayin¡¯,¡¯ Ugly said. Though a smile cut across his lips, his tone was emphatic. He was desperate.


    ¡®What are you asking?¡¯ Of course Havoc knew¡ªhow could he not? No doubt Ugly watched Aaron¡¯s transformation from above, but Havoc had gotten a front row view. He could still feel the waves of heat wafting from Aaron¡¯s draconic form. He was there as the young noble tore into the rotted meat of the cradlefiends with tooth and claw, cutting them down with the ease of a scalpel parting tender flesh.


    Havoc would have to face him¡ªthat much was certain. But Ugly could not help.


    He¡¯s a blind man on the gallows, Havoc thought, fighting with urge to break eye contact as Ugly stared at him.


    Don¡¯t play dumb as well as blind, kid. Ya saw the same thing I did. No way it ain¡¯t got ya troubled,¡¯ Ugly said, tilting his head toward Aaron. ¡®Can¡¯t say how this¡¯ll all play out, better ta have some¡¯un ya can rely on.¡¯


    A dense silence descended between the two men. For a moment, neither spoke. Ugly¡¯s grin did not waver through the silence, seemingly immune to the tension. But it pulled at Havoc, stretching thin whatever residual sense of honour life had pulled away, piece by piece. He parted his lips, unsure of what he would say. Before the first word could form, Aaron called out from across the bell chamber.


    ¡®Gentlemen!¡¯ Aaron announced. ¡®Let us use this time wisely. In twelve hours, the creatures shall return. Meditate for three, then rest. We leave in six hours.¡¯


    ¡®You heard him,¡¯ Havoc said. Departing from the dead man¡¯s presence without another word, he moved toward a distant wall on the left of the belfry. Crossed legged and eyes closed, he rested his back against the firm, rough stone, and closed his eyes.


    Through focused meditation, an Inheritor could greater perceive their core. From perception came interaction, and from interaction came stimulation. Thinking back on Aaron¡¯s wrinkled nose and tightened lips as he revealed that secret made Havoc smile.


    As Aaron explained it, one¡¯s core was as much a part of themselves as it was the Dungeon¡¯s. A piece of the spirit cut away from its whole, an Inheritor¡¯s core was fused within a Remnant to forge their Anchor. Though a piece of the spirit was isolated within one¡¯s Anchor, by its nature, the spirit was indivisible¡ªthe fastening to the Dungeon was a complete binding.


    As one¡¯s core grew stronger, so must the Remnant of the Dungeon encasing it, as must the Dungeon¡¯s influence over the Inheritor. For that reason, only where the Dungeon¡¯s will was most pronounced¡ªonly within a Dungeon Cell¡ªcould one obtain a greater Inheritance. The Dungeon would not give more of itself to those who would not satisfy its will.


    Harmony suffused their world; it formed the skies of every floor and the ground beneath their feet. Through his chain to the Dungeon, the ambient energies could be drawn from the very air. The process was passive, but not by necessity. Focusing deeply within, an Inheritor could project their core. As though pulling an egg¡¯s membrane through its shell and stretching out like a balloon, the core could expand a part of itself, surrounding the Inheritor and absorbing the ambient Harmony.


    His eyes remained shut, yet Havoc could see. As though looking down from above, he observed two links of a chain protruding from his sternum. Two flowing streams circled him¡ªone a brilliant white, the other an all-consuming black. They grazed a boundary surrounding him, each collision bursting in a radiant blend of deep greens, blues, reds, and yellows. The colours flared from the point of impact, then spread across the shimmering membrane, trickling through to refill his core.


    Absorbed in a world of his own, it was easy to forget. In that moment, he did not need to consider what would come next.

 Chapter 32: Blood Of The Sacrifice

    Between a black scaled drake, and a red-furred wolf, Havoc stood, both creatures dwarfing him. At his rear, an ebony bell-tower loomed. Fractured slates, shattered rocks, and debris lay scattered around its base. Before him shone ravenous eyes¡ªmalicious in their innocence¡ªdevoid of reason. In the distance, countless more cradlefiend marched in waddled steps from every direction.


    This was not the first, second, or third time he had faced these odds, but experience did nothing to slow the thundering beat of his heart. The gathering horde were insurmountable, but they could be resisted for sixty seconds.


    Here we go, Havoc thought. Adrenaline surged, setting his nerves alight like a storm through his veins.


    Lucia¡¯s red wolf crept forward, shoulders rolled, its rippling muscles bulged beneath its fur as it growled its advance.


    The Stone Guardsman shimmered from shoulder to head. Manifested in its full solidity, the boundaries of the Guardsman¡¯s power settled. Within its domain, barriers of ethereal light were Havoc¡¯s to command. But even the comforting surge of the Guardsman¡¯s power could not counterbalance the weariness of his long and arduous journey.


    Four days had passed since he stepped foot within the boundless city. From tower to tower, together with his companions, he had travelled, racing against the resurgence of the titans below, and the cradlefiend they would spawn.


    Each bell-tower stood six hours of hard travel apart, demanding every ounce of his dwindling energy. Three hours of meditation followed by three of fitful rest barely restored his Harmony¡ªjust enough to deplete again in the next desperate struggle.


    Focused meditation hastened the speed at which Harmony was restored, but it was an exhausting process. Heart pounding, sweat drenched, by the time his reserves were half full, his body would ache for rest, but the little sleep allotted was far from sufficient. Each cycle deepened the strain, leaving Havoc¡¯s muscles wailing and his bones heavy with fatigue.


    His legs trembled beneath him, his lungs burning from the final sprint toward the bell-tower. The ground rumbled as fleshy sacs, heavy with writhing cradlefiend, splattered from above. With no time to spare, he and his companions had scrambled to arrange their defences. Now, their resilience would be tested once more.


    Despite the wear from their repeated battles, Havoc could not deny the gains. In the short time, the group¡¯s coordination had increased by leaps and bounds. They moved as though parts of a whole. Communicating without words, a titled head was a directive; a sideward glance was sufficient for strategy. As their unity sharpened, Havoc found his own abilities evolving alongside the group. No longer needing to ration the mist within his Anchor, through trial, error, and experimentation, Havoc had gained a new understanding of the Midnight Urn. Not only did the mist within enhance his physical capabilities, it did the same for his Remnants. Through its powers, his barriers became harder, able to resist the heaviest blows, while the Scout¡¯s Eye granted him an all-encompassing vision, piercing through walls and shadows alike.


    He had a new appreciation for his Anchor; it was far more that the useless vessel he had lamented upon Inheriting. Yet he could not dispel the feeling he was still missing something¡­


    Later, he thought, centring his thoughts on the present. His musing could wait, the cradlefiends would not.


    Without herald or hesitation, the first of the gathered monsters bounded forward. Its arms swung loosely at its side as the creature giggled its war-cry. The others of its kin passed vacant looks between themselves, their clawed hands raked idly at distended stomachs. For a moment, their expressions remained blank¡ªthen apparent confusion gave way, twisted into sharpened-toothed grins.


    Aaron leaped forward. A gust of wind thrashed the debris-laden ground, scattering gravelled stone in his wake, as his black leathery wings beat the air. Landing behind the charging cradlefiend, his draconic form crashed into its kin, offering them no opportunity to advance.


    Violently halting the vanguard monster¡¯s charge, Havoc thrust forward a hand, summoning a barrier of shimmering light in its path. It slammed into the barrier with a bone twisting crunch, rebounding onto the ground. No soon did it land before Lucia¡¯s wolves¡ªred and blue¡ªtore viciously at its throat. Its flesh withered between crushing jaws, desperately remoulding its ravaged neck. But the wolves were unrelenting¡ªbiting, clawing, gouging¡ªwhile Havoc formed barriers, to keep the monster pinned.


    With a glance, Havoc directed Lucia to action. Passing by, she mouthed a snide acknowledgement before taking her place beside the cradlefiend. Golden threads pooled from the tips of her fingers. With a sharp motion, she drove the thread¡¯s into the pinned creature¡¯s flesh. They wormed deeper, burrowing through veins and sinew. The Cradlefiend¡¯s pallid, grey skin bulged grotesquely as golden tendrils spread through its body, coiling around organs, nerves, and bone.


    Savagely thrashing the ground, the monster screeched¡ªits pitch, tortured and shrill. But as suddenly as it begun its anguished resistance, it went still¡ªunnaturally still. Havoc watched as the monster rose, its movements stiff and alien. The embers of its nascent will had been extinguished, supplanted by the unmistakable imprint of Lucia¡¯s control.


    Hers was an insidious power. The sight pulled Havoc¡¯s hairs to attention, and crept shivers down his spine. His mind briefly drifted to the inevitable future when that power would be turned against him, but he shoved the thought aside¡ªone threat at a time was all he could manage.


    In a flurry of movement, roars, and wails, Aaron held back the monsters ahead. With tooth, claw, and armoured tail, he slashed and swiped, battering back the horde. As he retreated, he doused them with plumes of rock-melting fire, scorching the ground with glowing scars, before hurtling forward to re-engage.


    Begrudgingly, Havoc could admit Aaron¡¯s efforts were valiant, but they were not enough. Cradlefiends were spawn of soldier rank. Aaron was unquestionably¡ªand uncomfortably¡ªformidable, but alone against the swarm, he could only pray his death would be swift.


    A Cradlefiend latched onto Aaron¡¯s wing with gnarled claws. Shrill giggles pierced the air, blending with Aaron¡¯s stricken, guttural roar as the creature twisted the appendage with a sickening crunch, forcing it into an unnatural angle. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    For a moment, Havoc hesitated. Aaron posed a latent but all too real threat. With him gone¡ªtorn piece by bloodied piece¡ªthere would be one less thing to worry about.


    It would be so easy¡­ Havoc thought, his arm outstretched yet wavering. Ultimately, he dismissed the thought. True, Aaron¡¯s early demise would bring about a certain relief; but it would be fleeting. He did not relish the thought, but the young noble was still too valuable. Once they escaped the endless city, he would reassess.


    Flaring Harmony into the Guardsman, Havoc shaped a thin, gleaming blade of ethereal light. With two fingers pointed out, he flicked his wrist downward. Mirroring his motion, the blade descended, biting through bone and rotted marrow, severing the cradlefiend¡¯s grip on Aaron¡¯s wing. In a fluid motion, he fanned out his arm, conjuring a barrier that crashed into the wailing fiend, driving it back into its kin.


    The bell began to toll, its rhythmic chime counting down the course of the battle. Bloodshed and struggle marked the following minute, each passing second tightening exhaustion¡¯s grip around Havoc¡¯s throat like a noose. Sweat stung his eyes, and his lungs burned as he dived, leaped, and hurled himself away from pulverising fists and disembowelling claws. More than once, he hit the ground hard, twisting just in time to avoid the flattening stomp of enraged fiends.As the bell struck one final time, a dense mist descended, smothering the chaos and drawing the battle to its end.


    ****


    ¡®Better them than me,¡¯ Ugly whispered under his breath, staring out from the open arch of the bell-tower below. He rested his hands on the jagged stone ledge, ignoring the slick and sting from the open cut across his palm. As far as he was concerned, he had the easy job.


    Bloodied ¡®and beats a flattened skull any day, he thought, muttering a half-remembered prayer to some god or another, not that he cared whether they were listening¡ªit was not divine intervention keeping his bones from the cradlefiend¡¯s jaws.


    He doubted his employers kept him from the fighting from a place of charitable intent. More likely, they knew what he knew¡ªhe was not qualified to be on that battlefield. Truthfully, none of them were, but they were better suited to pretend. Two nobles and a prodigious bastard; those three would shake the world to its core¡ªif any of them managed to survive.


    Ugly watched the three drag themselves up from the dirt and limp toward the tower. He glanced at Aaron and Lucia, then sighed, settling his sights on Havoc¡ªhis best chance of getting out of this place alive. Over the past four days, he had tried to talk the kid¡ªexplaining they stood more of a chance together¡ªbut he would not listen. Finding any excuse to take off by himself, or sniff around that slave girl, water was less fluid in Ugly¡¯s grip than Havoc¡¯s attention.


    The kid was not stupid; he had to know that whatever those nobles intended, it would not be good to either of them. They were dispensable; no one would miss them. And even if they could all leave the Dungeon Cell, he doubted they would tolerate any witnesses to what they had done. Ugly did not know much about high-society, but even those stuffy noses had to at least act like they cared about life.


    ¡®Heh, prolly not, now I think ¡®bout it,¡¯ he muttered, chuckling to himself.


    Even so, having an ally in dangerous times was clearly an advantage. Why the kid seemed so disinterested, though, was harder to figure out.


    Ugly was not the strongest or most connected¡ªhe knew his limitations. But where he lacked in resources, he excelled in a wealth of experience. Knowledge of how the world worked was invaluable. He had seen it all¡ªevery dirty trick in the book¡ªand could spot them long before they could make a mess of things. But when he tried to explain his value, for his trouble, all he got from the kid was a muted response, and a guilty expression.


    Wot¡¯s he got to be guilty ¡®bout? He thought, scratching his chin as the kid¡¯s silence prickled at his sense for danger.


    ¡®We have reached the final stretch,¡¯ Aaron announced as he crossed the stairwell into the belfry. ¡®One last push and this will all be over.¡¯


    Ugly could have sworn the little bugger had glanced at him when he said that. But if he had, it had been too fleeting to rest on certainty.


    ¡®Restore as much Harmony as you are able. I do not wish to remain in this godsforsaken place even one moment longer than necessary.


    ****


    The ground began to rumble. Shattered rocks rattled against one another as, in the distance, the four cryptlords clawed their way from below. In moments, the city would once again be overrun by cradlefiends, but Havoc did not care¡ªhe would not remain in the city long enough for it to matter.


    Just ahead, he saw it. Beyond the collapsed rows of houses lining the street, towering stone slabs stood, tightly packed, in a circle, forming a gateway to what he hoped was salvation. Beyond its narrow opening was his destination, and though his legs cried out, and his lungs screamed, he would not stop¡ªnot until he was safely inside.


    Here they come, he thought, throwing himself to the side as a membranous egg smacked the ground where he had just stood. Jagged rocks scraped his skin through his tattered clothes as he slid across the floor. Pain flared, but he shoved it aside. Momentum carried him forward, and with a practised roll, he pushed himself to his feet, resuming his desperate race toward the gateway.


    The first giggling cries of the newly spawned cradlefiends sounded from behind, but Havoc was close now. So close he could peer beyond the gap between the stones to see a raised platform in the centre, and the Stone Guardsman shimmering into being nearby.


    Aaron was the first to cross the threshold, but Havoc passed through shortly thereafter, with Naereah clung to his back, having dragged her up from her fall. Once Lucia passed through the gap, the stones begun to glow, their engraved rune bursting into brilliance.


    ¡®Wot¡¯s goin¡¯ on!¡¯ Ugly shouted, having caught up with the group. Stood outside the threshold, he pressed his hands against the gap, a wall of shimmering light greeted him in return. He pushed against the wall¡ªfeet scrapping grooves into the ground but the barrier would not yield¡ªHavoc would not allow it to yield.


    ¡®This only works with you out there,¡¯ Havoc said, looking into Ugly¡¯s panic-stricken eyes.


    ¡®Wot ya talkin ¡®bout? Let me in!¡¯ Ugly shouted, slamming his shoulder into the barrier, his voice cracking.


    ¡®He can¡¯t,¡¯ Naereah whispered as she took to Havoc¡¯s side. ¡®You can¡¯t stand on sacred ground¡­ It¡¯s heresy.¡¯


    ¡®Heresy? Ya not even makin¡¯ sense!¡¯ Ugly bellowed, his shoulder smashing into the barrier again.


    ¡®The blood of the sacrifice, my dear,¡¯ Lucia added with a smile, her tone devoid of sympathy. ¡®It is a pity, but we will have to say goodbye. ¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know wot they¡¯ve told ya, kid. But you can¡¯t trust a damn thin¡¯ they tells ya!¡¯ Ugly roared as the fleshy sac of a Cradlefiend burst open nearby.


    Havoc did not trust his remaining companions, but he did not need to. The instant he passed into the circle, the Dungeon¡¯s will was undeniable¡ªUgly could go no further.


    ¡®For what its worth, I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ Havoc said, holding Ugly¡¯s gaze as the man bashed his fist into the ethereal wall, streaking blood across its surface.


    Ugly slid down the barrier, crunching his knees into the ground as he looked up at Havoc with hollow, desperate eyes.


    ¡®Kid¡­ Please¡­¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s stomach twisted, tying itself into knots as he looked down upon the desperate man.


    If there was another way¡ª,¡¯he left the words unspoken. What good are they now? He sighed, steeling his heart as he turned his back on the mercenary, walking toward the raised platform.


    ¡®I¡¯ll kill ya,¡¯ Ugly whispered, his voice barely audible. ¡®I¡¯ll kill ya!¡¯ he shouted, his fists pounding the wall. ¡®Mark my words, ya son of a bitch! I¡¯ll kill ya!¡¯


    That was the last thing Havoc heard before the curtain of reality drew back, whisking him away from the cursed city.

 Chapter 33: Echoes Of Desire

    All that existed was the fog. Billowing plumes of white cast eternal in every direction. profuse regions of impenetrable mist suffused some areas, while in others, the vapours thinned to a phantom haze. Yet the fog filled the vast expanse, drifting out to clasp even the furthest reaches. Like a raging river, the mist flowed from infinity feeding into infinity. Its currents were never static; one moment, a dense, ivory tide surged left, in the next, it tore right, only for the current to change again. Spiralling diagonally, it wove into thrice-entwined helices, carving paths upward through the endless cloud.


    Floating within the fog, Havoc extended a hand, watching as thin wisps of pale white peeled away from the boundless sea. They drifted toward him, slipping into his arm as though he were nothing more than an illusion.


    He should have felt something¡ªanything¡ªbut he did not. No fear, dread, excitement, or even wonder. Like an overturned cup, he was empty and clear. Content, he drifted with the tide, heading toward wherever it would take him.


    Images flashed in his mind. He could vaguely sense they once mattered. He saw himself upon a wooden platform, kneeling before a baying crowd calling for his death. Some of the faces seemed familiar. He may have known them once; his memory was hazy, blurred like an overcast night. It was hardly important now. Perhaps it never was.


    His thoughts turned to a vast and empty chamber. Therein, he had raced against decaying stars. His mind shifted again, giving way to a clash of steel and claw. As he recalled the scene, he could only guess at the cause of his frantic exertion. The struggle was needless; Surely, even then, he must have known at worst he would die.


    Drifting back and forth, he watched as his life played out before his eyes. He witnessed struggle, trial, and tear, straining to grasp their significance. It did not matter, none of it did. He dwelled within impenetrable fog; like the mist, he too was unburdened by the weight of the world.


    Scene after scene¡ªface after face¡ªthey flared fleeting in his imagination, failing to ignite his interest. If there was ever a spark, it was extinguished without notice by the sea of swirling mist. He could not tell if his eyes were open, but he stopped watching, allowing his memories to wash over him. Like the tide over sand¡ªfrothing forward to retreat without trace¡ªall that was lost was never meant to last.


    Tendrils of mist pulled loose from his body like string, drifting into the surroundings. As each wisp wafted free, it became more difficult to hold onto his thoughts, fogging the line between person and place, dispelling the illusion of ego.


    His identity was not alone in its erosion. As he drifted, he grew fainter, the substance of his body fading more and more with every passing moment. A part of him¡ªthe dwindling self that could still sense the wrongness of it all¡ªscreamed out in desperation. Consigned to the borders of his collapsing mind, its cry was too distant¡ªit could not reach where he had been carried. Adrift in forever, the edges of himself were slipping away. It would not be long before he would be lost completely.


    ¡®Take your brother and hide!¡¯ Whether his eyes were closed¡ªhe could not say¡ªthey flung wide open.


    He was barely a child when they came. Torches raised, they had burned down his world. They put to the sword every man and child; all that was to take was plundered. To leave nothing behind was their goal¡ªnot even his innocence.


    Warm, sticky iron flooded his mouth when he gnawed the hand, his sister had held tight over his mouth. Tears streaked up, trailing his temples, and wetting his scalp, as he stared through the floorboards. His father¡¯s blood seeped through splintered wood, anointing his head as his father bled dry. Wrestling against his sister¡¯s trembling hold, he watched helplessly as they gripped his mother¡¯s hair and dragged her across the floor. Slashing her own throat, she defied them in the end. Not everything precious could be taken by force.


    The acrid choke of the swelling inferno clung to the back of his throat as he recalled the night. Never before had the details been so clear. In the past, when he thought back, he could remember fire, aimless fury, and little else. His vision gave his rage direction, for he remembered a man.


    Dressed in black robes, threaded by the seams in a criss-cross of silver, the man who murdered his parents had strolled out his front door, turned, and smiled back at the life he had left in ruins. His hair shone crimson, and a scar cut vertically down from his left eye, curving across his chin.


    Havoc did not know who he was, nor did he know where he was. But now he knew his face. Whatever the cost, he was going to find him. When that day came, he would reach down the bastard¡¯s throat, and tear out his rotting bowels.


    As though responding to his sweltering rage, the white void began to tremble. No longer did the fog flow like a river; rather, it burst violently, like an erupting volcano. Vaporous geysers careened skyward, detonating the endless heavens, raining wisps back down. In every direction, the phenomenon repeated until countless, intangible threads weaved through the misty expanse. The wisps coalesced above Havoc. They spiralled entwine, twisting like tight rope, then descended. Piercing through Havoc¡¯s chest, his ghostly form shuddered, as he felt return what had drifted away, gaining substance and solidity until he was whole once more.


    The weight of the world perched down upon his shoulders. It was his to burden¡ªnot to be taken. Though he had never weighed a human heart, he knew he was owed a pound of flesh. Once he carved it from the scarred man¡¯s chest, he could always return the difference.


    But first, he needed to escape the void. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    As if responding to his thoughts once more, the clouded expanse began to flow anew. It surged forward like a wave, crashing down into billowing seas of white. When the mist settled and thinned, illusory structures took shape. Towering buildings, and winding roads bloomed all around. In the distance, mountains erupted from the mist, peaking high above the rapidly forming city. Surrounding the emerging city, vast stretches of towering mushrooms sprouted, casting shadows over the tallest spires at the borders of the city. Even reduced to an ephemeral exhalation, the city and the boundless forest surrounding were awe-inspiring.


    Had he a heart in his chest, or lungs beside them¡ªbreath-taken¡ªhis pulse would have thrummed at the sight. Not only from its majesty, but because of its familiarity. He had seen the forest, and tread beneath its radiant growth. And though the city he had walked was in ruins, there was no mistaking the towering architecture, and broad roads for anything other than the City of Monsters¡ªthat cursed and dreadful place from which he had just fled.


    This is the Dungeon Cell¡­ he thought, battling to reconcile the shining cityscape with the haunting memories of chaos and decay.


    He hovered over the city as the dwindling patches of barren land filled with houses, temples, and high places. When the city was complete, its people emerged from the mist. A lively throng, they strolled down avenues, streets, and alleyways. Some walked upon two legs, others slithered, while others still glided above the ground, carried by the wind upon feathered wings. Their features were clouded. Composed as they were of wavering vapours, Havoc could only make out their impression, yet of every manner of living beings inhabiting the city, not one of them was human.


    He looked down from above to see gelatinous tentacles slip through loose sleeves within market stalls, wrapping tight around a bulbous fruit more voluminous than his head. Paying the vendor, the tendrils pulled back, and circular coins fell atop the market-stall, soundlessly stirring mist as they danced upon the surface. Elsewhere, two broad-shouldered shapes, wielding curved blades in their six arms, faced each other and bowed. They then clashed swords, gliding across an empty field, witnessed only by the slender form of another of their kind.


    The tapestry of life, vibrant and abundant, unfolded wherever Havoc looked. But when he looked again, he was somewhere different.


    He could not say how, nor could he be certain of when, but in one moment, he had watched wondrous sights from above, in the next, he was among them. He imagined that in its true form, the courtyard where he found himself¡ªlush with fungi as thin as grass¡ªwould have glowed with vibrant hues.


    Great mushrooms, lined side by side, enclosed the plaza, framing the fungal grass in a neat rectangle. On one side, the mushrooms gave way to a stone-slated path, trailing toward a dome. Colossal in its architecture, alone, the structure could have comfortably sheltered thousands. Thick veins twisted over the dome, from its base to its peak, pulsing as though serpents entwined.. Even as a wisp of itself, it was altogether enchanting.


    ¡®The seers, our soothsayers, and all our wise men agree,¡¯ a sombre feminine voice intoned. ¡®This world is doomed.¡¯


    Beneath a canopy stretching dozens of yards, creatures sat, stood, slithered, or hovered over ground in a circle. Invisible to their sight, Havoc stood among them.


    ¡®Then all is lost,¡¯ said the blurred form of a being standing on eight legs, his voice weighing heavy with defeat. From the shoulders down, the being appeared as a man, but its bare and muscular waist melded seamlessly into the abdomen of a spider. Its appearance was inhuman, but far from unsightly. The hybrid bore a silent nobility in its fearful asymmetry.


    Every creature beneath the canopy was woven with such strange, wondrous intricacy, evoking a desperate longing from within to understand the immortal hand or eye capable of conceiving such lifeforms. But of all the life shimmering bright even while shaped of cloud, none shone brighter than the serpent. Even devoid of colour, she was incandescent. Her face carried the slight plump of childhood youth, softening her features with sweet innocence. Her chest was bare, yet her feminine impression evoked only the warmth of a babe comforted in his mother¡¯s embrace. Her slender and naked waist curved down into a serpent¡¯s tail, patterned with diamond shaped scales reaching down to the tip. Splendour was the ghost of the serpent¡ªten thousand sonnets would never suffice. Yet despite her beauty, her image was tainted, overlaid with that of a future already lost.


    The Temptress¡­ Havoc had seen her vision before. Though it felt a lifetime ago, not even a week had passed since he plunged the Buried Strike between her chest and consumed the faint, crackling glow from her sparking corpse.


    ¡®We must not give in to despair!¡¯ The Temptress¡¯ voice, steeped in passion, commanded the attention of all.


    ¡®But what can we do against the folly of the gods?¡¯ Asked one of the females. Face raised, she held out her six arm in a display of surrender.


    All eyes cast down, their collective silence heavy with unspoken defeat. The silence lingered as though a spell, before shattering under the stomp of heavy feet, and the defiant roar of a tusked, muscle-bound male dressed in flowing robes.


    ¡®I won¡¯t stand by and watch my children fall to the befoulment! My freedom, my life, my very soul¡ªI will gladly surrender, but not my family! Never my family!¡¯


    His outburst drew the focus of the gathering, but their gazes fell heavily on his barrelled chest, not one daring to meet his eyes. Whether out of fear, shame, or despair, none found the strength to lift their heads.


    A murmur rippled through the circle before one voice rose above the others. ¡®We all admire your passion, Dhalthantum. But where can you succeed where even the elder Eternarchs, father of the Innocents, the firstborn of their kind, have failed?¡¯


    ¡®We shall succeed because we will not surrender.¡¯ The Temptress interjected. ¡®We shall succeed because there is hope.¡¯


    As though lightning surged from one to the next, the crowd¡¯s murmurs swelled, their movements alive with renewed energy.


    ¡®What is this hope you speak of?¡¯ The eight-legged creature asked, his voice laced with reticent longing.


    ¡®The spirts.¡¯ the serpent replied. ¡®Our only hope lies with the spirits.¡¯


    In the centre of the gathering, the mist began to swirl, whipping into a furious vortex. A hooded figure stepped out from the eye of the storm. It walked unseen among the phantom creatures, letting its black, shrivelled fingers trail through their vapours before stopping to stand before Havoc. Beyond the hood, Havoc could only see the gleam of a smile.


    It can see me? Havoc¡¯s mind raced, alarm gripping him as it dawned on him that, unlike the others, the figure was not shaped of mist. It had substance and form, alien to the clouded void.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t miss this part,¡¯ the figure said, its voice hauntingly soft as bright amber eyes flared into sight. ¡®Havoc, my boy. I wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world.¡¯

 Chapter 34: A Thousand Years Of Desire

    The hooded stranger lingered before Havoc, its smile broadening into a sharpened-tooth grin, then moved to Havoc¡¯s side. It folded its arm around Havoc¡¯s shoulder, strumming its black shrivelled fingers through his vaporous chest, creeping an indecipherable chill down Havoc¡¯s incorporeal spine.


    ¡®We¡¯ll watch this together, my boy. Share a laugh, have a word, and then I¡¯m going to kill you,¡¯ the stranger said, its tone casual, as if discussing social plans with an old friend. ¡®Not in here, mind you. <u> </u>But out there, in what you would laughably call the ¡°real world¡±.¡¯


    ¡®Who are¡ª'' Havoc began, but his words cut off as the stranger dissolved into wisps of black smoke, re-forming solidly before him.


    ¡®There¡¯ll be time for that later,¡¯ the stranger said, its grin broadening into a twisted Cheshire smile. ¡®I want you to watch. See what your master has made of us, despair, then die. All things in their proper order.¡¯


    Instinctively, Havoc parted his lips, ready to rebuke the accusation that he served anyone but himself, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by a truth he was not ready to accept.


    The Heretic¡¯s soul¡­ The memory stirred, its weight pressing heavily on his shoulders, a lingering impression of the entity¡¯s domineering presence. There had been no equality in their exchange. The details of the bargain struck with the being beyond time and space eluded him, yet its demands had already begun. However he tried to frame their association, there was no better word to describe it than servitude.


    Scattering his thoughts, the stranger reappeared at his side. With a snap of its fingers, the gathered creatures resumed recounting their lives before the Dungeon¡ªthe misted retelling Havoc had not realised had paused until that moment.


    ¡®Don¡¯t start speaking in riddles, Lady Cassandria. If you have a plan, say it plainly,¡¯ The eight-legged creature said, his voice laced with equal parts irritation and desperate hope.


    The White Temptress¡ªCassandria¡ªbroke from her place, gracefully slithering across the manicured fungi to the centre of the gathered circle. Though far taller than the other creatures, she coiled her shimmering tail beneath her, lowering herself until level with the lowest of those Havoc assumed to be her subjects.


    ¡®The gods are at war,¡¯ Cassandria said, her tone heavy with grim resignation. ¡®Countless worlds across the realms have already fallen in the wake of their conflict¡ªa war that threatens all of creation.¡¯ She turned slowly, meeting the gaze of each creature gathered before her, pausing as her eyes settled on Havoc.


    Her gaze widened, recognition flashing in her expression. For a moment, she held his stare, her lips moving in silent apologies. The gathered creatures watched in silence, their faces masks of confusion.


    Can she see me? Havoc asked himself, his mind racing to grasp what it might mean if she could. He opened his mouth to call out, but before any sound escaped, her eyes glazed over, the awareness of his presence fading from her face. She refocused her attention on those gathered around, laying her fingers elegantly atop her lips. Clearing her throat, she continued speaking.


    ¡®We cannot escape the fallout of their war. But¡ª'' looking down, she paused. Her shoulders shuddered, sending faint ripples through the mist of her vaporous form. ¡®We can delay the inevitable.¡¯


    Her words still in the courtyard, the creatures turning to face one another, exchanging silent resignation. The quiet held for a moment, before the stillness of the canopy was supplanted by a cacophony of raucous chatter.


    ¡®Delay the inevitable?¡¯ Dhalthantum spat, marching toward the Temptress, his tusked lower jaw stopping inches from Cassandria¡¯s throat. ¡®That isn¡¯t good enough!¡¯


    ¡®What do you suggest,¡¯ a voice called out amid the clamour. Dhalthantum turned toward the source, raising his powerful arms high above his broad shoulders.


    ¡®I say what my clan has said from the start! We fight!¡¯ he roared. ¡®The royals have failed to protect our world!¡¯ He thrust a pointed finger toward Cassandria before turning back to the crowd. ¡®The gods have gone mad. Our path is clear¡ªwe will seize our destiny with hands soaked in divine blood!¡¯


    ¡®How do you mean to do these things?¡¯ Cassandria spat, her voice like a cutting edge.


    Facing the Temptress, Dhalthantum locked eyes with her, his glare unyielding. ¡®The gods are mighty, but they are not almighty. They are stewards, after all.¡¯


    Again, he turned to address the crowd, arms raised in a commanding display. ¡®Across the cosmos, there are whispers of a scheme¡ªa dungeon to seal both Steward and Sentential alike. A prison where they can be contained long enough for us to gather the strength to slay the tyrants once and for all!¡¯


    The clamouring intensified. Hurried whispers spread from creature to creature, growing louder with each exchange. Amidst the throes of the surrounding chaos, Havoc struggled to make sense of the muttering, but every secret overheard shook the foundations of his world.


    There were as many rumours about why humanity had been taken from the Aarth as there were lips to speak them. Some believed it was divine punishment¡ªthat Gaia, in her righteous fury over the excesses of mankind had forsaken her firstborn, locking them away so other life could thrive. Others believed the Dungeon was a test, and that once passed, humanity would partake in the gods¡¯ divinity. Still others claimed there had never been an Aarth at all¡ªthat the Dungeon was all that ever was, and humanity¡¯s belief in a sovereign world was nothing more than wishful self-aggrandisement.


    Yet even those who doubted the Aarth¡¯s existence longed for its green pastures. Mankind¡¯s hope was to return to the world of their ancestors. But from the words spoken gravely by the creatures of mist, if there ever was an Aarth, it was likely now gone¡ªa casualty of a war that left no victors. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    What was more, the Dungeon was no punishment¡ªat least not for the mortals trapped within. It was a weapon of hope; a final act of desperate defiance against impossible odds.


    Unfurling her tail, Cassandria rose above the gathering. She stretched out her arms, her shadow sweeping across the creatures, who shrank back beneath her towering form. With a voice like a thundering storm, she spoke. But not in words, rather, her voice was impelled directly into Havoc¡¯s mind, and doubtlessly into the minds of those she commanded.


    ¡®You will be silent before your queen!¡¯ she pronounced, her voice booming with unquestionable authority. One by one, the creatures knelt, heads bowed. Even Dhalthantum could not resist her compulsion for long¡ªhis legs buckling even as he strained to remain upright.


    ¡®What the Lord Commander says is true; there are those who intend to seal the gods,¡¯ the Temptress said aloud, her voice soft yet unwavering like a mother chastising her child. ¡®I have communed with those who hold such ambitions. But Dhalthantum has not mentioned how they mean to accomplish this feat. Their hopes hinge on a Steward¡¯s cooperation. To craft this Dungeon they speak of¡ªa prison to contain the divine¡ªit could only be built inside a living god.¡¯


    A collective gasp filled the canopy as Cassandria¡¯s words lingered in the air. With a wave of her arms, the Temptress seemed to lift her spell from the gathered creatures Those who had feet rose slowly to stand, while those with stranger forms ascended in their own ways.


    ¡®Even if their plan succeeds,¡¯ the serpent continued, ¡®it will be too late for our world. What I propose will give us time. Forever is promised to no one. The best we can hope for is time.¡¯


    Once again, silence took grip of every throat. Havoc watched, his mind reeling as he processed the latest disclosures.


    They must have succeeded, he concluded. He was living proof that they had. Did they subdue a god or was it a willing sacrifice?


    Questions frothed in his mind, bubbling to the surface only to be swept aside by further mysteries.


    The Dungeon was a living god imprisoning others of its kind. That explained how it possessed its own unquestionable will. It even explained why it desired Inheritors¡ªto kill the gods trapped within. There was something else. A small detail almost lost within the whirlwind of revelations.


    He said they¡¯d be locked away for time¡­ A time¡ªnot forever.


    The gods would escape one day. Free to wage their war anew¡­


    ¡®Your plan¡­¡¯ called the meek, feminine voice of a bird-like creature. ¡®If it succeeds, how long would it give us?¡¯


    ¡®We would have a millennia¡­ Perhaps a little longer,¡¯ Cassandria said, gliding toward the voice. She cupped the creature¡¯s hand within her own, pressing it gently to her cheek.


    ¡®I would never see my children grow old,¡¯ the creature said, her voice wavering as her shoulders trembled within Cassandria¡¯s embrace.


    Cassandria returned to the centre of the gathering, her face cast downward as tears rippled the mist beneath her. She pinched the bridge of her nose between trembling fingers, then raised her head once more.


    ¡®We will gather the citizens of Desire to this city and move it below the earth,¡¯ the Temptress declared, her tone leaving no room for refusal. ¡®I have spoken with the Eternarchs. They have consented as sacrifice. Their power will sever the city¡¯s connection with the outside world. For a time, it will shield us from the spreading befoulment,¡¯ she said, her voice slightly wavering.


    ¡®How do you intend on transporting the entire city?¡¯ The spider-creature asked, his earlier passion replaced by weary resignation.


    ¡®That is where we shall need the spirits...¡¯ The words left her lips, and in an instant, she froze, motionless, alongside the other misted creatures.


    ¡®That¡¯s where we¡¯ll need the spirits,¡¯ the stranger said, mimicking Cassandria¡¯s resolute tone with exaggerated mockery. ¡®Isn¡¯t that a laugh, my boy?¡¯ It added, brushing mist from Havoc¡¯s shoulders, like a father tidying his son.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯ Havoc spat, thrusting his arms in an attempt to break free from the stranger¡¯s hold, only for his wrists to pass through its tangible grip.


    ¡®You reek of them, you know,¡¯ the stranger said, its grip tightening somehow, clamping down on Havoc¡¯s incorporeal form. ¡®Their scent is thick around all of your kind. But with you it¡¯s especially pungent. It¡¯s disgusting¡ªI want it¡ªyou make me sick to my stomach, and I don¡¯t even have one.¡¯ the stranger said, its voice growing increasingly frantic.


    ¡®Who are you!¡¯ Havoc repeated shouting this time.


    ¡®I¡¯ve seen you out there. I¡¯d wear your skin so much better,¡¯ it said, ignoring Havoc entirely as it stroked the back of its withered hand across his cheek. ¡®Do you think your world will accept me? I¡¯m ready and willing to do its bidding, my boy.¡¯


    ¡®Who¡ª¡®


    ¡®Quiet down! I¡¯m still speaking!¡¯ the stranger roared, its pointed teeth flashing as they filled both ends of the hood that shrouded its face in impenetrable darkness. ¡®Apologies, my boy. I somewhat lost myself there. Of course you¡¯d want to know who I am. You simply must forgive me¡ªit¡¯s been some time since I was last in civilised company. Although, I must admit, it¡¯s quite perturbing you¡¯d come all this way to kill me and still don¡¯t even know who I am,¡¯ it said, stepping backward and placing its hands to its hood.


    ¡®I¡¯ve had many names, and just as many faces,¡¯ the stranger continued, lightly tapping its fingers atop its hood. ¡®But I think the one I¡¯ll enjoy the most¡ª¡¯ it said, its fingers curling around the seams. ¡®Is yours,¡¯ it finished, pulling back the hood to reveal Havoc¡¯s own face staring back at him, amber eyes gleaming with malice, his expression twisted and grotesque.


    ¡®Abominable spirit¡ª¡¯ Havoc muttered.


    ¡®Noble spirit, my boy,¡¯ the stranger corrected in Havoc¡¯s voice. ¡®Mimicking spirit, some have called me. Others might say I¡¯m a sacrificial spirit¡ªunwilling, mind you. You corporeals are so obsessed with your names.¡¯ Pausing, the stranger stroked its chin, its expression contorting with mock thoughtfulness.


    ¡®Alas, I don¡¯t get it. But perhaps I¡¯ll understand that compulsion after I¡¯ve spent a few millennia with yours.¡¯

 Chapter 35: Abominable Spirit

    Havoc stood within the clouded void, his own grinning face staring back at him. The mist beneath his ghostly feet shifted backward. It carried behind like a retreating tide, its ivory currents rippling as they passed through one another. A tremor, as if to crack the world¡¯s foundation, growled across the void as blades of mist continued to cut across the fog in retreat. The tides did not flow eternal. As the fog withdrew, it gathered. Pooling together, it formed a single gushing wall of towering vapours.


    ¡®Well, my boy. It¡¯s about time,¡¯ said the spirit wearing Havoc¡¯s face, its grin stretching unnaturally, curling beyond its eyes. ¡®I, for one, am glad we had this time together. Out there, I¡¯m such a ghastly thing, but wearing your skin... I¡¯ll be dazzling.¡¯ Its voice oozed mockery, the grin widening further as it continued, ¡®It¡¯s enough to make me sing! Though for you¡­ Oh, Havoc¡­¡¯


    The spirit paused, its blood-red pupils stretching horizontally, sharpening within its amber eyes. Its body began to fade, dissolving like smoke into the misty void.


    ¡®I¡¯m going to make it sting,¡¯ it growled, the final word rumbling through the emptiness before the spirit vanished, its twisted smile lingering a few moments longer.


    What the actual fu¡ª


    Shattering Havoc¡¯s thoughts, the void shook violently. The looming wall of mist began to fall, its flayed wisps steaming from the sides as it descended. He barely registered the sharp hiss of the impending tsunami before it enveloped him.


    Up, down, left, and right blended together as he was tossed like straw in a hurricane, violently carried wherever the mist would take him. As a being of mist himself, he could not tell where the torrential flood of rolling white ended and he began. Clinging to any thought was futile, forming to be ripped away just as fast by the overwhelming disorientation.


    Years could have passed without notice. If time existed at all¡ªhe was no longer sure it ever had¡ªit certainly had no significance within the roiling storm. But then the cloud parted, a pale light shining though. Havoc plunged toward the narrow opening. Through the fissure, he saw himself; cross-legged, eyes shut, his physical body sat motionless. Soaring through the slit between churning walls of impenetrable fog, he crashed into himself without warning. In an instant, the world of mist was no more. With a sharp inhalation, his lungs burned as they expanded as if for the first time. He choked on pungent air, its sour reek gripping his stomach, and hunched over in a fit of coughing and dry heaves.


    From wherever he had been, he had returned, the unfamiliar strain of mortal flesh weighing down upon him. Dim light flicked through his eyelids as they parted. Fully open, he recoiled, his elbow squelching against a soft bulge on the surface of the wall behind. He did not need to turn to know what pressed against him; the sight of its kind before him was enough to send bile stinging up his throat.


    Within a chamber, Havoc sat. To his left stood a tall door rising from the chamber¡¯s base to its ceiling. Runes lined the frame, protruding slightly like adolescent blemishes, their faint glow pulsing with an irregular rhythm against its otherwise smooth exterior. The floor, a marbled black¡ªpolished and smooth¡ªreflected the glow of luminous moss clinging to the ceiling. The chamber, with its simple and elegant arrangement, might have been called enchanting¡ªa magical sight, if not for the flesh embedded in its walls.


    Patches of skin, muscle, and bone, interwoven with fragments of organ, crept across the walls. Thick, green veins snaked between the mangled carrion, pulsing like the heart of a grotesque organism.


    In a sudden movement, Havoc threw himself from the wall, fleeing the chilled touch of oozing flesh as it seeped through the tears in the back of his waistcoat. A rancid stench of decay hung heavy in the air. As he rose to his feet, the smell grew thicker, as though he had broken through to its most pungent layer. As if targeted by a hateful conspiracy of disorientating, unfamiliar solid ground, grotesque sights, rancid smells, and squelching sounds, he swayed and stumbled, catching himself just short of falling headlong into the cold, onyx stone.


    As if the scene before him were not distressing enough, his stomach sank as his mind span to process his experience within the mist.


    In the clouded expanse, the mist had revealed the truth of his world¡ªits great expectations bound to a blood-drenched destiny. The Dungeon served a singular purpose¡ªthe execution of the gods. That made Inheritors like him divine executioners.


    Heretics? He thought, his mind reeling at the implications. The entity had demanded the Heretic''s soul. If every Inheritor was a heretic, did that mean his task was to kill any of them?


    Or all of them¡­ His thoughts twisted violently, turning down the dark corners of his mind. More still, the beasts of his vision, they lived in a world beyond and before the Dungeon. To them, it was little more than an idea, far removed from the horrifying reality he was stood.


    Nevertheless, there they were, bound to the Dungeon¡¯s walls. Their bodies were deformed, their minds contorted into madness, but together with their world, they dwelled within the Dungeon, locked away inside a Cell.


    Will I find Aarth here one day? If the Dungeon consumed dying worlds¡ªfolding it within the fabric of its being¡ªthere was every reason to believe Aarth would also be included. Even before mankind¡¯s exile, the Aarth was known to be dying¡ªits blue skies charred black from endless wars, its clear waters burning to the touch. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Havoc had never witnessed his ancestral world. Only the survivors from the first generation could claim to have walked beneath its boundless skies. Yet he had still longed for home beyond the Dungeon. The thought that it might no long exist, or worse, had been perverted into a Dungeon Cell, struck a painful chord in his heart.


    He had become proficient at putting aside deeper questions to prioritise survival, but the latest revelations were difficult to ignore. Yet ignore them, he must. The entity and its demands, the fate of his worlds, old and new, the arch-profanity of a noble queen being warped into the White Temptress¡ªan Abomination he had killed with his own hands¡ªit would all have to wait.


    Feeling the weighty pressure of the Dungeon¡¯s will, as though submerging him beneath unfathomable depths, Havoc knew what lay behind the towering door. Since Inheriting, he had been bound with chain after chain. From the binds linking him to the will of his world, to that which fettered him to the immeasurable entity beyond the confines of reality. The weight of his tightening shackles hung heavy upon him. But behind the door held the key to one of his binds.


    Whether in victory of death¡ªit hardly even mattered which¡ªby day¡¯s end, he would break free of Annalise¡¯s chain, the Dungeon¡¯s will satisfied.


    As he approached the door, the Dungeon¡¯s will thickened¡ªpractically humming with anticipation. The air grew heavier with each step, vibrating faintly, as though the Dungeon itself was breathing down his neck. Havoc could feel it desperately yearn for the confrontation. It would not be denied its spectacle.


    Just the mere thought of turning away filled him with a dreadful certainty: to retreat now would mean disinheritance, cutting him off from further progression and leaving him to rot in the shadows of mediocrity. But there was something else. This was the Dungeon¡¯s desire for him¡ªto test his strength, his resolve, and his will to endure. If he succeeded and escaped the Cell alive, he would emerge a Soldier.


    The door¡¯s runes bloomed brilliant as Havoc stood before its towering, titan-like frame. With a hammering clank, like the strike of metal on stone, the door hung ajar. An ear-piercing screech echoed as its base scraped across the stone floor, the door widening slowly. Peeking within as the door inched further open, Havoc summoned the Stone Guardsman. He knew that once inside, the Abominable Spirit would not allow him the seconds needed for the Remnant to fully materialise.


    As the Guardsman¡¯s head took form, shimmering into existence¡ªits shield held ready to defend¡ªthe door burst fully open, shaking the chamber and scattering shards of loose stone as it slammed into the wall with a deafening crash.


    ¡®How do I look?¡¯ a mocking voice called out from the centre of the vast chamber. Across the walls, clinging to the ceiling, and spread across the floor in a circle, amber eyes were melded into the stone. Thick, green, pulsating vines squirmed from between the eyes, each one lined with rows of jagged teeth.


    Within the circle of shifting eyes, the vines twisted around each other, mapping a vaguely human form. Its limbs were malformed, its body a shifting mass of teeth and fleshly-green vines. Through the many mouths of its perverted mimicry, the Abominable Spirit had spoken.


    ¡®This flesh resists me,¡¯ the Spirit said, its voice raspy and wet. ¡®There¡¯s only so much to be done with inferior material¡ªso much left to perfect.¡¯


    Within the circle, the creature, a tangle of twisted veins, slithered forward, its movements wet and unnatural, compelling Havoc to take a wary step back.


    ¡®Do I repulse you, boy? Praise them¡ªI disgust myself! This once pure Spirit now forced to worship¡ªpraise be to the only true gods! All glory to¡ªugh!¡¯ From all its many mouths, the creature spat thick, dark blood onto the floor. With its tangled foot, it stepped into the scarlet puddle, smearing the blood into a jagged streak across the ebony ground.


    ¡®With you, I¡¯ll finally be free,¡¯ the Spirit growled as scarlet lines slashed horizontally across the many eyes embedded across the chamber.


    ¡®Free to do what?¡¯ Havoc asked, his rising disgust momentarily overcome by curiosity, the words slipping loose before he could stop them.


    ¡®That¡¯s not right¡ªpraise them¡ªyou¡¯re not asking the right question!¡¯ The Spirit chastised, its voice sputtering like churning mud.


    ¡®What¡¯s the right question?¡¯ Havoc asked as he flared Harmony into the Stone Guardsman, its power forging a falchion of ethereal light in his grip.


    The Spirit¡¯s many eyes shifted to Havoc¡¯s hand, and its many mouths warped into grins¡ªsharp and uneven¡ªas if mocking his preparations as humorously futile.


    ¡®You should be asking: ¡°Why you?¡±¡¯ the Spirit said through the mouths in its chest, each word oozing mockery, as a low, guttural chuckle rumbled from its many other mouths.


    ¡®Why me?¡¯ Havoc replied, raising the falchion across his chest.


    ¡®Because you¡¯re repugnant¡ªdelicious¡ªabhorrent! A thing that should not exist! Oh, but I¡¯m so glad you do!¡¯ the Spirit cried, its chuckle rising into raucous laughter. ¡®Touched by light and darkness¡ªbut not in equal measure¡ªit has to be you. It has to be¡¯


    Lowering its face, the Abomination repeated its final words again and again, growing more agitated with every repetition. Its eyes swivelled erratically within the stone of the chamber, darting in every direction, the glint of madness sharpening with each revolution.


    Havoc tightened his grip around his blade, his jaw clenching as the Spirit¡¯s laughter contorted into frenzied muttering.


    ¡®It¡¯s insane¡­¡¯ Havoc whispered without realising, the words slipping out beneath his breath.


    In an instant, all eyes froze¡ªunblinking¡ªgazing into Havoc like a predator before its cornered prey.


    ¡®Oh, you have to be. It¡¯s a crazy world, don¡¯t you think?¡¯ The abomination growled. It reached out a mangled hand, its fleshy vines twisting from its palm and slithering into the ground.


    ¡®You won¡¯t go to waste, my boy. I¡¯ll be a better you than you could have ever dreamed.¡¯ it said as the ground rumbled, uneven stone thrusting upward in uneven peaks.


    ¡®I¡¯ll find us a nice girl. You¡¯d like that, wouldn¡¯t you? We¡¯ll settle down a while, and pop out some young¡ªdon¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t devour all of them! Oh, you¡¯ll be so proud!¡¯ The Spirit screamed, its multiple voices clashing in the air, coalescing into a cacophony of madness as a falchion formed of vein-laden stone slipped into its slithering grip.


    ¡®You¡¯ll be so proud!¡¯ It shouted once more, raising its sword high and charging toward Havoc, its frantic steps slapping the ground in its mad advance.

 Chapter 36: Mimicking Spirit

    Hollow agony wormed through Naereah¡¯s veins. She felt the Abominable Spirit¡¯s infestation burrowing deeper, coiling around her bones and organs with parasitic vines. It spread through her like a plague, each squirm sharpening her dull, throbbing anguish into a piercing torment. Soft moans and pained whimpers broke from her lips as she glanced down from the domed ceiling of the Abominable Spirit¡¯s chamber, her tender flesh stitched into the rough stone above. The pull of the crude threads tore at her skin, suspending her like a twisted marionette. Blood trickled down in slow, glistening streams, painting the stone wall beneath her in streaks of red. Every movement sent fresh waves of torment rippling through her, and still the parasitic vines writhed, digging deeper into her body as though eager to claim her entirely.


    To the left of the ceiling, Aaron hung suspended within stone. To the right, Lucia hung with her head slumped forward, blood trailing the strands of her dangling hair. Completing the skyward cross, Annalise lay buried deep within the rock, her swollen, vein-bulged face breaking free from the surface as though the stone itself sought to devour her. An unholy tribute to the Abominable Spirit¡¯s power, they were twisted into a tableau of suffering. Or they would have been, if the others still conscious to experience her pain.


    When Annalise broke into their minds, offering the group the reprieve of sleep, only Naereah had declined. She wanted to be awake¡ªalert¡ªa witness to everything, even if it meant enduring every moment of torment.


    She had told herself it was so Havoc would not struggle alone. Even if he could not see her, she was there, her soul crying out encouragements unheard. But that was only half-true. She wanted to witness her hero. He had saved her before, she had no doubts he would do so again. Yet no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew the truth; she was punishing herself.


    In all the time they had travelled together, Ugly had only ever treated her with unveiled contempt. Demeaning, patronising, and rude, he had made no effort to hide his disdain for her. If their positions had been reversed, and it was she who had used her blood to activate the City¡¯s defences¡ªoffering her very life as payment¡ªhe would have left her behind to rot without hesitation or remorse. Of that, she was certain.


    There was nothing to feel guilty about¡­


    Nothing! she thought, unable to convince herself, even as the tangled vines twisted inside her, breaking loose another pitiable whimper from her dry, quivering lips.


    The die had been cast, and Ugly¡¯s number was up. She would have preferred it had been Aaron or Lucia abandoned within the City of Monsters, but Ugly was destined to fall within the Dungeon-Cell. Did it really matter where his end came? The end would have come all the same¡ªwhether by the Spirit¡¯s claws or the Cell¡¯s endless horrors. Other than Annalise, the seer, only Havoc and herself were fated to awaken from this nightmare.


    With staggered breaths, she sucked air past her crusted lips, gazing below as the colossal entrance to the Abominable Spirit¡¯s chamber sliced open. Just ahead of the door, the air began to shimmer, stone feet forming within the blur. Inching its way into being, legs emerged from the feet, growing upward until the statue was fully formed. Back straight, shield high, the Stone Guardsman¡ªHavoc¡¯s Remnant¡ªstood tall.


    He¡¯s here¡­she thought, blood slipping down her lips as the Spirit¡¯s vines tightened against her pounding heart.


    Time had blurred since their escape from the city, marked not in minutes but in the trickling drain of her failing strength. In one moment, she had stepped upon the raised platform encircled within towering stone slabs; in the next, she found herself inside the chamber, surrounded by squirming tendrils of fleshly vines, and countless amber eyes. Aaron and Lucia were beside her, readying their Remnants to face the writhing monstrosity¡ªbut Havoc was nowhere to be seen.


    From there, she could remember very little before awakening entombed in stone. If there had been a struggle, hers had ended before she could witness it.


    With all her heart, she wanted to believe in the seer. The things Annalise had told her were too precious to surrender, even to despair. And yet, despair she had; how could she not? She had been captured again, and again. First by her slavers, then her mistress. Held captive by the White Temptress, and now, she was at the mercy of the Abominable Spirit. As time ticked by with the drip and splat of her of her blood and tears, she had almost lost hope.


    But he¡¯s here, she thought, her eyes dampening as her heart swelled between her ribs.


    She watched a blade of shimmering light form in Havoc¡¯s grip, as he stood before a human-shaped mass of convulsing vines. She was too far to hear their words exchanged, but the grind of frenzied, guttural laughter fell upon her ears, crawling the length of her spine like a swarm of frozen spiders.


    ¡®It has to be you. It has to be,¡¯ chanted the mouths within the vines, their warped voices echoing across the cavern. Fleshy tendrils thrashed erratically, their gargled screams rising to a deafening crescendo.


    The eyes fused to the stone of the chamber swivelled wildly, blood red pupils slicing wide within the amber sclera. Below, the creature swung its arms wide in a manic, taunting display, exuding an air of maddened confidence.


    ¡®Ha¡ªvoc¡­¡¯ Naereah groaned, her voice a hoarse whisper as blood sputtered from her cracked lips.


    Sucking deep the rancid air of the cavern, Naereah winced as she felt the vines constrict her lung. Even still, teeth gnashed tight, she forced the air down her throat, resisting the urge to heave as the acrid taste of rot coated her tongue and flooded her pharynx. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡®Save me!¡¯ she cried, tears spilling freely from her eyes. Even among the haunting laughter, she knew she had reached him, and he would save her. He had done so before, and he would do so again.


    He would come for her¡ªthat was the promise. He would always come for her.


    ****


    The Abominable Spirit leapt into the air, its blade raised high for an overhead strike. Havoc planted his feet, crouching low as he braced for the blow. With a flash, his falchion of ethereal light met the Spirit¡¯s heavy swing. The force of the impact sent a shudder through his arms, and with a groan under the weight, he shifted his footing. In one fluid motion, Havoc slid to the fiend¡¯s side, angling his sword to deflect the Spirit¡¯s blade downward.


    Without hesitation, he transitioned into a rising diagonal slash, his glowing blade carving an arc toward the creature¡¯s twisting form. Yet the edge of his blade met no resistance. Instead, the Spirit jerked backward, its vines unspooling from its back in a whip-like motion. They slapped against a distant wall, coiling and contracting to yank the Abomination out of the reach of Havoc¡¯s cutting edge.


    Havoc¡¯s heart hammered in his chest like the gavel of a judge silencing an unruly defendant. Adrenaline sparked through his veins, and a film of sweat slicked his tremoring hands. The drip of liquid smacking stone caught his ears, and he glanced down. It was not sweat coating his grip¡ªit was blood, rhythmically tapping the floor in a pit-a-pat of red.


    There was no time to reflect on the strength of the Abomination¡¯s opening strike. Even as Havoc¡¯s hands throbbed numb, he barely had time to raise his guard as the Spirit¡¯s tendrils shot forward. The crack of punctured stone echoed from behind, shards patting the ground as they clattered down. With its arm outstretched, and its many mouths curved in cruel, jagged smiles, the Spirit catapulted toward him.


    He dove from the Spirit¡¯s piercing thrust. Hearing the swoosh and smack of the vines pulling outward, he rolled onto his stomach, scrambling to escape the Spirit¡¯s slicing cut which scraped an ivory scar into to black slated floor.


    ¡®Yes! Yes, my boy!¡¯ The Spirit cried, every grinning mouth lining its squirming form speaking in unison.


    ¡®Your reflexes will serve me well when they¡¯re mine!¡¯ It screamed, its blade extended outward as it swung from a vine embedded deep in the ceiling.


    The swirling mass of grisly vines slammed its feet against the ground, as Havoc twisted himself out of the path of its rendering arc. Panting heavily, sweat dripping from his brow, he staggered to regain his footing. The Spirit turned to face him, its mouths curling into cruel sneers as it shook its head. Slowly, it tutted, a sound of mock disappointment echoing from the mouths lining its grotesque form.


    ¡®You¡¯re holding out on me, boy,¡¯ the creature growled, its voice wet like paint slopping from an overturned bucket onto a ruined canvas.


    Though pushed to his physical limit, Havoc could not deny its accusation. Through the power of the Stone Guardsman, he could create barriers and blades of light. Nevertheless, he restricted himself to the blade held tight in his grip. It was not arrogance restraining his hand¡ªit was caution. He remembered what the Spirit had called itself within the misted expanse.


    ¡®Mimicking Spirit,¡¯ Havoc said between weighted breaths.


    All at once, the amber eyes peered upward, enraptured, each gleaming with a twisted, perverse delight.


    ¡®Aren¡¯t you clever?¡¯ the many mouths screamed. ¡®But not clever enough,¡¯ it growled, each word dripping with contempt.


    The Spirit reached out its hand, and shards of inky-black light began to form above its shoulders, their razored edges shimmering like fractured glass.


    Chaos erupted within the chamber. Shards of black light shattered against barriers of radiant energy. The Spirit slingshot across the battlefield, its blade lashing out in deadly arcs, carving scarlet lines deep into Havoc¡¯s flesh.


    If at first he was overwhelmed, he now stood helpless, death¡¯s cold breath so close to his neck he could feel its icy scratch.


    Plumes of mist wafted from Havoc, as though he were ablaze. His Remnants and physical abilities had been pushed to their limits, but even that was not enough. Every bite of the Spirit¡¯s blade spilled more of his blood, streaking the ground in crimson trails, the sharp tang of iron mingling with the wafting stench of decay.


    Alongside his spreading wounds, exhaustion mounted, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. His eyes stung¡ªhis vision dyed red as blood kept seeping into his eyes.


    How could Annalise have imagined I could do this, he thought, his shoulder popping from its joint from the impact of deflecting the latest blow. She was wrong...I can¡¯t¡ª


    A sharp kick to his stomach scrambled his thoughts, the air bursting from his lungs as he crumpled to the ground. His eyes flicked open and shut, the Spirit¡¯s warped smile looming above him, blinking in and out of focus. It pressed its foot firmly on Havoc¡¯s chest, the vacillating wiggle of its flailing tendrils, worming through the tears in his clothes.


    The creature knelt, driving its knee into Havoc¡¯s throat, crushing his windpipe as he clawed at its leg in vain.


    ¡®I guess its time,¡¯ it said. Its voice a guttural growl as it stroked Havoc¡¯s face with the back of its hand.


    Then it dug the tip of its finger deep into Havoc¡¯s forehead. A sharp, searing pain carved through his skull, as though an icicle were piercing his brain,


    ¡®I¡¯ll so enjoy being you.¡¯


    Those were the last words he heard before all light fled his eyes.


    ****


    ¡®Praise you, my lord. Praise be! Oh, Praise be!¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s eyes flung wide.


    Dressed in the tattered remains of his waistcoat, mustard-coloured trousers, and loose-fit shirt, Havoc knelt. Bound by chains of devouring black, writhing as though alive, he cast his face downward, unable to glance upon the source of terrible power.


    ¡®Had I known! Had I known!¡¯ a voice cried by his side.


    Unable to turn his head, Havoc shifted his eyes to the periphery, glimpsing a gaunt, pale figure trembling in place.


    ¡®This soul is mine,¡¯ said many whispering voices, their cadence cold and hollow. ¡®Who dares touch what belongs to me?¡¯


    ¡®Had I only known!¡¯ the figure repeated, its voice shrill with desperation.


    ¡®Enough,¡¯ the whispers commanded. ¡®Return to your place. Your form is undone.¡¯


    Without another word, the pale figure vanished.


    ¡®And you¡ª¡¯ At the call of his lord, the weight of the cosmos seemed to crash down upon Havoc, forcing him deeper into supplication. His chest tightened as though the very air sought to crush him.


    ¡®The Heretic is birthed. Do not fail me again.¡¯

 Chapter 37: Vengeful Spirit

    Pain tore through Havoc¡¯s body. His nerves were seared by sharp and constant agony from countless lacerations carved deep into his flesh. His dislocated shoulder throbbed an unrelenting beat, the oscillating torment spreading from the break, across his collarbone, and down his ribs. His eyes shuttered tight; each staggered breath launched a fresh assault, anguish marching the length and breadth of his body, grim and terrible as an army with banners.


    Get up¡­ he urged himself. The thought trudged through his sluggish mind, clawing over barricades of longing for oblivion¡¯s gentle mercies.


    Even just a foot¡ªhe pressed himself to move. Cast between weary delirium and searing awareness, he imagined himself upright¡ªeyes open and alert, defying the agony. But the vision fractured as he jerked free of sleep¡¯s siren grasp, only to find himself sprawled across the cold austerity of the ebony stone floor lining the Spirit¡¯s chamber.


    He had been beaten. Thoroughly trounced. Tested against an enemy in single combat, he had been found far wanting¡ªunequal to the task.


    He could not say when, but at some point since his Inheritance, he had convinced himself he possessed real power. That illusion lay shattered¡ªground into dust and scattered among the splinters of his shredded pride.


    By all rights, the Abominable Spirit should have claimed its prize¡ªhis very essence¡ªand his vanquished-self should be consigned to wherever failed things go.


    He was an Inheritor now; one who had slain an Abomination. He possessed the Heritage¡ªone belonging to the Prince of War. His mastery over his Remnants surpassed that of a noble, schooled in the Dungeon¡¯s mysteries. Even that fledgling god could not conceive his full abilities.


    He should not have been counted among the weak.


    Things were meant to be different! He railed, feeling the slick of his blood squeeze through his fingers and streak past his knuckles.


    They were meant to be different¡­ he repeated in his mind.


    The full weight of his failure bore down on him like a house collapsed, the debris of his crumbling ego pinning him in place even as the urge to move continued to howl in the back of his mind.


    Through his hurtling thoughts, spiralling between grief and shame, a question sliced through his mental clamour, piercing its way to his conscious mind:


    Why?


    Why should things be different? He asked himself, unable to resist the question¡¯s intrusion into the battlements of his sorrow. Why should I be discouraged? I¡¯m still alive, aren¡¯t I? The pulsating rhythm of his pain confirmed that he was. But that knowledge did not lessen the weight of his failure. It could not erase the shame curling in his gut, whispering that maybe, just maybe, he should stay down this time.


    No! He forced the thought away, biting down on it like the grip of a knife clenched between the teeth of battle-hardened medic.


    Remember who you are! he commanded himself. I¡¯m not a storybook hero. I¡¯m not some mighty warrior who¡¯d rather die than taste defeat! I¡¯ll take ten-thousand losses! As long as I¡¯m still breathing, I¡¯ll always come back and pay what¡¯s owed! Call me a street-rat! Call me a cockroach! I don¡¯t care because I¡¯m a survivor. Maybe it¡¯s shameful, but where has pride ever gotten me?


    I¡¯m a reprehensible bastard who¡¯ll still be here long after the heroes and legends have died in my place.


    So get up!


    As though fate conspired with his unvanquished will, just as the final piece of his fractured self realigned, the ground began to crack. Rugged lines zigzagged across the black stone floor, the ebony slates shifting with a snap, clatter, and screech. They scraped against one another, pushed into sharp-edged piles in all directions, as if carelessly swept by the blind.


    As the ground continued to shift, the pointed mounds swelled in both number and height. Among them, a razored dune of splintered stone carved its way toward Havoc. Like a shark¡¯s dorsal fin slicing the ocean¡¯s peak, it surged through the ground at a deadly pace, its lancinating edge poised to sever him at the waist.


    Havoc pushed himself to his knees, his body wailing in protest. With one hand, he rolled from the cleaving mass, wind whipping past as the jagged fin cut by. He landed hard on his back with a breath bursting thump.


    A sputtering howl sloshed through the chamber, saturating the air in its slushing echo. Within the circle of ruptured eyes, fused into the fissuring floor stood the Abominable Spirit. In all its writhing horror, the creature pulled itself¡ªfleshy vine by fleshy vine¡ªapart. Its veins unravelled like loose knotted rope, as the Spirit reached into its coiled form, ripping throbbing cords free from its uncoiling form.


    ¡®Monster!¡¯ the Spirit wailed, its venom-laced tone seeped in anguish. It cast itself onto the spiked ground, and thrashed upon the stone, smearing an emerald slick upon the gleaming teeth of interlocking stone blades. ¡®What have you done to me?¡¯


    As the Abominable Spirit continued to flail, the fibres of its visceral vines shredded at their seams. From every abrasion, a green discharge oozed, and plumes of white mist pooled above the tormented creature, seeping from its writhing, broken form.


    The mist began to take shape. Above the writing tangle, vaporous arms puffed out, their ends curving into wavering claws. A torso¡ªbillowing and flocculent¡ªformed between the limbs, its waist twisting down into a tail. Like the first bud from a fertile seedling, a spindly neck sprouted from the misted form¡¯s narrow shoulders. A face curved atop the neck¡¯s atlas. It wore no features¡ªeyes white like a blind man¡¯s mask, mouth wide and without lips, as though an impression pushed firm into thickset bedding. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡®What are you?¡¯ the mist howled, its cry more akin to the wind gusting through a vacant tunnel than any mortal voice. ¡®What have you hidden in your soul?¡¯


    The fogged spirit flailed its vaporous arms above its hollow head, anguish whetting the edges of its howl, sharpening the noise into a desolate screech.


    Across the walls of the chamber, the many eyes stitched into the stone began to seep. Verdant blood cascaded down in thick rivulets, pooling into the ragged craters etched deep into the floor.


    Before long, the eyes melted completely. Their thick, emerald residue sludged across the cavitied ground, converging and soaking into the tattered tangle of vines below the shrieking mist.


    ¡®No!¡¯ the Spirit wailed as the tips of its incorporeal claws crusted over with a scabrous, crimson, skin-like layer. ¡®You belong to me!¡¯


    The mist¡¯s transformation hastened. Its ephemeral wisps crackled like boots crushing autumn leaves as the scarlet coating spread across its arms and torso. Only its amorphous tail remained uncovered, still tethered to the twitching bundle of regenerating vines.


    As the vines squirmed and whipped themselves over the ground, the Spirit hunched over its liberated possession, frantically gouging at its former body.


    ¡®Mine, mine, mine! You belong to me!¡¯ the Spirit barked over and again, as though reciting a twisted maxim. Even as it claimed residency over the coalescing mound of knotted vines, its eviction progressed, its tail slipping further and further away.


    The Spirit detached fully, and with a crunch, it fell into the sunken ground. Its tail split down the middle, hardening with coarse, scarlet skin.


    Fully coated, the Spirit appeared as though a man caked from head to toe in dry, crusted blood. Absent the back of its head, the creature¡¯s face concaved like a moulded disguise upon a stick at a masquerade. With its newly shaped legs, the Abominable Spirit stood. It twisted its face toward Havoc. The rough folds of red where the Spirit¡¯s eyes should have been, sightlessly seared into Havoc¡¯s chest, a surge of instinctual dread flaring warnings though his mind.


    Its seamless face cracked above its chin, the two halves splitting into a serrated maw. And a deep rumble emanated from its open mouth.


    ¡®You¡­¡¯ the Spirit growled. It stepped toward Havoc, apathetic to a spiked mound of fragmented rock cleaving a path beside it. The mass narrowly missed the Abomination, crashing into a nearby wall with a calamitous impact, sending shards across the chamber.


    The Abominable Spirt continued forward. Its feet scratched the rough terrain as black light shimmered in its grip, stretching out with a slight curve, hardening into a pitch-black falchion.


    Roiling panic churned in Havoc¡¯s stomach. Instinctively, he stepped back, struggling against the urge to run. He would have fled if he could. He was no hero¡ªhe remembered that now. There were no chivalrous notions of bravery, or the honour of a duel keeping Havoc in place¡ªit was the Dungeon¡¯s will. It still lingered in the air like a noxious scent carried by a sullied stream.


    His shoulder hung dislocated, his flesh was rend, not a part of his body was without its aches, but it did not matter. The Dungeon¡¯s will was clear and absolute. Both Havoc and the Abominable Spirit still stood¡ªone would need to fall.


    Yeah¡­ But it won¡¯t be me, he swore, forcing his doubts into submission. Harmony simmered within his core, and he outstretched his unbroken arm. Ethereal light shimmered in front of his hand. It stretched outward, coalescing into a pointed shard.


    At first, the Spirit walked with unsteady steps. It stumbled and swayed like a scrupulous infant finding its bearings. But before long, it settled into a stride¡ªand from its stride, it broke into a sprint.


    Hesitation banished, Havoc thrust his arm above his head, launching the shard of light toward the Abomination. A streaking blur, the shard whistled the distance toward the Spirit.


    The Spirit¡¯s bladed arm tucked diagonally by its hip. It lowered itself into a crouching stance, as if preparing itself to leap. As the shard whizzed forward, the Spirit unfolded its reach, aiming to intercept the shard with the falchion¡¯s edge. In a blur of movement so fast that it almost seemed as though it had not moved at all, the Spirit cut though the shard. The ethereal light disintegrated under the strike, a noise like shattered glass scattering throughout the chamber.


    Time after time, the scene repeated as the Abomination pressed relentlessly toward Havoc. With each intercepting strike, the Spirit¡¯s movements seemed only to sharpen. With minimal effort, it weaved past the shifting spiked stone, which furrowed trenches through the ground, never losing its focus. It persistently hounded Havoc¡¯s path even as he darted¡ªwounded arm flailing behind¡ªthrough the mercurial maze of razored dunes. It was not long before the Abomination was within striking distance.


    Even featureless, the Spirit¡¯s face radiated fury as it readied its falchion, arm raised overhead. Pressed against a wall, there was nowhere for Havoc to turn.


    This was the end. In the blink of an eye, the sword would fall like an executioner¡¯s blade, carving Havoc from shoulder to hip, spilling his severed bowels to the floor.


    Each time he had faced certain death, serenity had followed. Only when that death became less certain had he the prudence for dread. But as the Spirit leaned forward, as if to smell his fear, the peace he had come to expect never arrived. His heart churned in his chest and the frosted hand of fear gripped his stomach. He was afraid¡ªterrified¡ªbut there was more¡­


    Death had never been so certain¡ªinescapable¡ªyet he was not convinced he was going to die. He was a survivor. Somehow, he was going to survive.


    The moment came. The sword descended.


    Before the cruel bite of the blade reached his throat, the a blur streaked through the air, followed by a sickening crunch.


    At the far side of the vast cavern was the Abominable Spirit, imprinted into the wall, cracks spreading out from where it had been flung.


    At the centre of the chamber, a wreath of fleshy vines thrashed, each tendril pouring out from beneath a towering, ebony barbed shell. The coned-shaped shell cracked in the middle, parting like a curtain to uncover a solitary, blood-shot eye. Untempered ire gleamed within its gaze. But Havoc was not the target of the creature¡¯s bloodlust¡ªits fury was firmly planted against the Abomination.


    A frenzied smile cut across Havoc¡¯s face, and he began to laugh, self-satisfaction and relief vying for dominance within. The Spirit had been fixated on him¡ªa tapestry lost to a single tread. He never lost sight of the bigger picture. He tracked the hurtling stones and reforming vines, noting the former vessel of the Abomination¡¯s recovery, all while ensuring he never strayed too far from the Stone Guardsman. All he needed was a little time¡ªand a bit more luck. For when the tormented creature was free and whole, nothing could be more natural than vengeance.

 Chapter 38: Captive Spirit

    The chamber rumbled, stone dust pouring down, as staunch, fleshy vines whipped through the air, carving deep grooves across the cavern walls. Heavy stone fragments broke from the chamber walls. They crashed to the ground, scattering cutting shards as they shattered.


    Havoc stood among the tumult, gripping his dislocated arm. Despite the apocalyptic sight of the spiked-shelled creature violently flailing, threatening to bring the cave crashing down upon his head, he sighed in relief. For the first time since crossing blades with the Abominable Spirit, he could see the path to victory.


    The Spirit had threatened to possess him, declaring it would wear his skin like a second-hand cloak and assume ownership of his life. The thought of that fate quickened his pulse, surging anger and dread through his veins in equal measures. To be consumed in every sense¡ªit was a fate worse than death. A fate he had narrowly escaped. But the Dungeon-Spawn, lashing at the chamber¡¯s centre, had not.


    From what he understood, Dungeon-Spawn were not sentient. They had no complex thoughts, no hopes, no dreams¡ªonly raw, unrelenting instincts. That, at least, he could understand. He could still feel how his heart thrashed when the Abomination pinned him to the floor, and dove into his soul. The acerbic smack of impotent fury still coated his tongue¡ªa bitter taste of near obliteration. But the Spawn had endured the full-course. Havoc could never be accused of being guileless¡ª far from it. There were few things he truly believed in. Yet he trusted the fervid impulse the Abominable Spirit had provoked. The Dungeon-Spawn was no ally, but its fury was unmistakable. Its rage was a weapon pointed squarely at the Spirit¡ªraw, mindless, and terrifyingly effective.


    The stone-shelled monster gathered its vines, twisting them into a single, massive cord. An earth-shaking roar shook the air, vibrating through Havoc¡¯s aching frame. With a cacophonous blast, the thick trunk of interlocking vines crashed down. It burst the wall the Abominable Spirit had been hurled, carving a deep track through stone, hurtling debris as it pounded down to the ground. The cord retracted upward only to whip down again and again, forcing Havoc to shield his eyes, as a dense fog of pulverised rock flooded the cavern.


    The corded tendrils raised another time, curving inward, ready to crash down once again, but as the tangled trunk descended, an ebony blur cut through the choaking grit, severing the bundled vines, which fell to the floor as though a marionette parted from strings.


    From which orifice or organ, Havoc could not say, but the Dungeon-Spawn screeched a piercing noise, as emerald ichor spurt from its cleaved tendrils. It fleshy tendrils span in the air as they unravelled and retreated beneath its barbed shell.


    Within the thinning haze of rock dust, a figure emerged. Its features were shrouded, indistinct within the swirling debris, but its movements betrayed its state. A foot dragged lazily across the ground, its gait lurching with a strained limp. It bore the shape of a man, though not entirely whole. Where two arms should have hung below its shoulders, there was only one. Holes punctured its body, blank voids that the settling fog seemed to glide through without resistance, as though the figure existed only partially in the physical world.


    As the fog thinned further, a satisfied smile carved its way across Havoc¡¯s face. The Abominable Spirit¡¯s miserable state was plain to see. To witness that once-invincible monster brought low¡ªit was worth every drop of blood, worth its weight in gold.


    Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself¡ªit¡¯s still standing, Havoc warned himself. He bit the corner of his lip, forcing the smirk from his face and his expression back to a neutral mask.


    The Abominable Spirit staggered free of the dust cloud and dropped to its knees. Cracks spread across its scabrous, scarlet skin¡ªmissing in places. White vapour seeped from its perforations, curling upward before dispersing into the cavern¡¯s dim air.


    Save for the rustling of shifting stone from the shelled creature and Havoc¡¯s shallow, crackling breaths, the chamber hung in silence. Yet he knew the stillness would not last. The battle was not over¡ªand there was work to do.


    He turned to the wall and paused, resting his hand against the rough, impregnable surface. Each breath burned in his chest, his lungs searing with every draw. Bracing himself, he slammed his shoulder into the stone. A sickening crunch resounded, and air hissed through his gritted teeth as the joint snapped back into place. Pain flared, sharp and unrelenting, but Havoc flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulder beneath the blade, testing its mobility. It would have to do.


    ¡®You¡¯re a fool if you think this will stop me,¡¯ the Spirit growled, its featureless face tilting toward Havoc. The serrated halves of its maw ground together with a sickening scrape, and though it had no eyes, Havoc could feel its fury burning through him. Uneven and faltering, the Spirit forced itself to its feet, its body a trembling wreck of cracks and mist.


    Before the Spirit could take a single step, the Dungeon-Spawn struck. Restored vines erupted from beneath its spiked shell, sweeping through the air in a relentless barrage. They carved indiscriminately, slicing through stone, each lash a blur of blind devestation.


    Havoc and the Abomination were forced into a frenzied dance, dodging, rolling, ducking, and leaping to avoid the whips. One misplaced step would mean bloody evisceration. Even as Havoc hurled bladed shards of light toward the Spirit, he had to evade its vicious retaliations in kind.


    Mimicking Spirit! Havoc snarled inwardly as he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a pitch-black shard that whizzed past his head. He hit the ground hard but sprang up instantly, his body screaming in protest. A heartbeat later, a fleshy vine lashed the spot he¡¯d just vacated, tearing the ground apart with a wet, nauseating crack.


    Despite the vaulted-mania erupting across the vast cavern, Havoc saw the frantic struggle as more benefit than burden. As he had expected, the Dungeon-Spawn seemed indifferent to whether he survived or ended up splattered across the stone¡ªa grotesque canvas of blood if its tendrils found him. Yet it doggedly pursued the Spirit. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Though the Abomination clearly sought to end him, the Dungeon-Spawn acted as a distraction it could not afford to ignore¡ªthe price was too great. Increasingly, the Spirit turned its focus on the shelled monster, shredding its vines, and piercing its spiked, ebony shell with a bombardment of shards of pitch-black light. But every time the Spirit turned its back to Havoc, he was ready, launching unremitting blades of light. Wasting none of his dwindling Harmony, each shard struck true. With his every assault, white mist poured from the spreading punctures he bore into the Spirit¡¯s cracked and crumbling flesh. Matching the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s rhythm, Havoc leaped, dodged, rolled, and attacked, forcing his body to obey despite its protests.


    And then, at last, silence descended upon the chamber.


    Havoc¡¯s body screamed in protest, his lungs burning as he hunched over, resting his arms on his thighs. Every muscle trembled with exhaustion, yet he remained standing. The same could not be said for either the Spirit or the Spawn.


    The fractured stone of Dungeon-Spawn crackled and popped, sparks flaring up from its shell. As its deterioration progressed, it did not crumble to bones as Havoc had anticipated. Instead, spread limp across the battle-scarred ground, its vines shrivelled, coiled, and contracted, tucking beneath its shell. Its spiked stone casing¡ªstripped of its ebony sheen¡ªfaded to a softly glowing white¡ªits radiant power primed for Havoc to consume.


    He felt the energy radiating from the slain Spawn, a potent pull that tempted him to act. But he suppressed the urge, shoving it down as though stuffing tightly rolled sheets into an already strained pack.


    Comprised more of vapour than flesh, the Abominable Spirit knelt, its remaining arm hanging broken and limp. As Havoc approached, it lifted its face toward him, extending the fractured limb. Its fingers grazed the frayed edges of Havoc¡¯s waistcoat before the arm snapped from its shoulder with a dry crunch, like brittle twigs. The shattered limb crumbled to sand, scattering below before disintegrating into nothing.


    ¡®You must be so proud of yourself,¡¯ the Spirit said, its voice a strained, spiteful groan.


    Havoc gazed down at the wretched creature. When victory was at hand, he had predicted a surge of pity might wash over him, knowing what he was about to do. Yet among the tempestuous convolution of emotions he felt, there was no compassion. The Abominable Spirit had sought to absorb him¡ªbody and soul. No fate could be more fitting than for it to face that same end.


    When the Spirit slipped free from its monstrous host, Havoc felt his Anchor react. It was drawn to the Abomination like patched lips to water.


    In pale light, your captive Spirit grows, Havoc recalled, thinking back to the promise whispered by the Midnight Urn.


    At the time, the meaning had eluded him. But now, as the Urn stirred within, rumbling like a starving man¡¯s gut before a feast, its purpose became all too clear.


    ¡®As a matter of fact, I am proud of myself,¡¯ Havoc replied, his tone flat, as if stating a fact entirely devoid of personal investment.


    ¡®Cheater!¡¯ the Spirit growled. ¡®You cheated! You cheated! You cheated!¡¯ it snarled, each word dripping with venom as patches crumbled from its fractured face. ¡®You could never have beaten me fairly!¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re right. I couldn¡¯t have,¡¯ Havoc replied, his tone calm, almost indifferent. ¡®You were stronger, faster, tougher. But I guess none of that mattered in the end, did it?¡¯ he added, his voice dripping with mockery.


    ¡®Cheater!¡¯ the Abomination repeated frantically, its voice strained, yet cracking with fervent ire.


    ¡®I guess it¡¯s time,¡¯ Havoc said, his tone eerily calm as he echoed the Spirit¡¯s own words¡ªthe same ones it had spoken when it pinned him down, ready to claim his soul. He paused, a soft chuckle escaping as he savoured the wretched creature¡¯s lamentations, before finishing the recitation: ¡®I¡¯ll so enjoy commanding you.¡¯


    With his final word spoken, Havoc stopped resisting the Midnight Urn¡¯s ravenous hunger. White mist erupted from every pore, surging toward the Abomination in a furious torrent, engulfing it entirely.


    ****


    The hours that followed Havoc¡¯s victory were marked by both discovery and confusion. When crumbled stone tumbled from the ceiling, followed closely by Annalise, Naereah, Aaron, and Lucia, he could only stare in bewilderment¡ªif only for a moment. Vigilance soon overtook him, and he moved to catch them before they struck the ground. As Inheritors, he doubted the fall would kill them. Still, in their frail, vein-bulged state, they already needed healing. There was no sense in stretching their limited resources any further than necessary.


    Understandably, when his companions regained consciousness, they were in no mood to talk. Even Lucia¡¯s biting tongue held still as she guzzled two healing potions pulled from Naereah¡¯s large brown coffer before unravelling her bedding near a hastily constructed campfire.


    Annalise had been in the worst shape of them all. Even after four potions, she tossed and turned within her bedroll, groaning and whimpering as she slept. From their first meeting, she had seemed less like a person and more a force of nature, so seeing her in such a feeble state was startling. It made sense, of course¡ªHavoc could not begin to guess how long she had been vine-infested, encased in stone before they had met. Even for her, it must have been an onerous ordeal.


    And yet, he did not fully trust her present infirmity. Annalise was unfathomably devious. Even if her head were struck from her shoulders and tossed into his arms, Havoc would still suspect her teachery.


    As for his discoveries, three stood out. The first came after absorbing the glowing remains of the Dungeon-Spawn. When he drained the last of its power and its shell crumbled to dust, Havoc felt a phantom pull¡ªa third link forming in his Spirit Chain.


    If he had doubted reaching the third step of his Servant Inheritance, those doubts vanished with his second discovery. Moments after the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s collapse, runes carved deep into the floor lit up. The ground trembled and split, unearthing the Flesh-Weave Needle. The pale, slender bone, etched with thin runes along its shaft, whispered into his mind, promising to remould his flesh like clay.


    It was not the Remnant Havoc would have chosen. Even after binding it to his third link, he doubted he would find much use for it. Still, he was not about to refuse the Dungeon¡¯s generosity. And while the Needle¡¯s potential remained uncertain, his third discovery more than made up for it.


    It happened when Naereah used her healing abilities. The Midnight Urn had stirred. After drinking a healing potion, his most dire wounds had closed, but the rest¡ªhis cuts and bruises¡ªhad been left to mend the slow way. That is, until he felt a cutting chill spread from his chest. It coursed through his veins, sharp and unnatural, sending shivers down his spine. When the chill subsided, something stranger took its place: a sensation both foreign and familiar, like seeing a reflection after years apart.


    He tugged on that feeling, letting it flow through him. By instinct, he ran his hands over a raw, seeping laceration across his chest. Warmth surged from his palms, and the wound sealed shut.


    The Abominable Spirit¡ªthat loathsome being. Its powers of mimicry were his to command.

 Chapter 39: What We Deserve

    With crossed legs and closed eyes, Havoc sat close to the roaring campfire. Embers sparked from the blaze, drifting through the air before fading to ash and chalking his clothes. Though heat pressed against his skin, deep within meditation, its sting was lost within a maelstrom of more exotic sensations.


    Within his mind¡¯s eye, he saw two streams encircle him. They passed through the flames as though they were not there, and brushed across a diaphanous boundary encasing him, bursting into radiant hues that shimmered and spread from each point of contact.


    Feeling his core swell with power, he exhaled deeply, releasing his hold on the dualistic currents of Harmony. As his core filled to the brim, he surrendered control entirely. His eyes opened, and the vivid world of meditation faded¡ªbut its energy lingered, pulsing quietly within.


    ¡®Take this,¡¯ Naereah said, her voice soft and warm, like sunlight filtering through a thin veil.


    Without waiting for Havoc to reply, she placed a pail filled with water by his feet and extended a cloth held loosely in her hand.


    A faint staggered gasp whistled through Naereah¡¯s quivering lips as Havoc accepted the cloth, his fingers brushing across hers as he took it. He reached across and gripped the pail¡¯s handle, keeping his gaze low, deliberately avoiding Naereah¡¯s wide, lightless eyes as he stood.


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ he said plainly, before moving behind a fold of layered sheets suspended on poles¡ªa makeshift washing area Aaron had insisted upon, despite the heated protests of Annalise and Lucia.


    Now that I think about it, Naereah wasn¡¯t exactly enthusiastic about the partition either, he recalled, remorseful for having eschewed his sister¡¯s lectures on the strange, inscrutable species known as women.


    Havoc was no stranger to desire. Its volatile flames surged through him, as fiercely as a pack of wolves upon a wounded stag. He knew its heart-quickening jolt¡ªmuscles tensed, nerves aflame. A maddening provocation to the senses. Recognising the signs in himself, he did not fail to see them reflected in Naereah¡¯s expression. But with her, it was different. Her gaze went beyond any bodily longings. In her pitch-black eyes, he saw expectation¡ªa depth of yearning so vast it could not be prospected in a hundred lifetimes. Whatever she wanted, no one could satisfy it¡ªleast of all him.


    If necessary, he would use her¡ªhe was a reprehensible bastard, after all. But he was not needlessly cruel¡ªhe had nothing to gain through misleading her intentions.


    Havoc wrung his sweat drenched cloth into the water, and dried himself as best he could. As he bent down to collect the ragged remains of his clothes, a gentle rustle and flop perked his ears. Turning toward the sound, he found fresh cloths draped neatly over the suspended sheets.


    ¡®The seer asks that you hurry. She means to have words before we leave¡¯ Naereah said, her silken voice slightly muffled behind the fabric partition.


    I have a few words for her, too, Havoc silently griped, feeling more than a twinge of annoyance.


    Three days had passed since Havoc defeated the Abominable Spirit. During that time, her majesty¡ªAnnalise¡ªhad spent most of it asleep.


    Truthfully, Havoc could not fault her for that. Given the Hell she had endured¡ªeven with healing potions¡ªthe speed of her recovery had been astonishing. The first few hours were precarious. Spoonful by spoonful, she had been fed four healing potions, but they could neither break her molten fever nor still her clattering teeth.


    With no potions left to administer, it fell on Naereah to attend to the seer. For a full day, she remained by Annalise¡¯s side. Meditating for hours at a time, she expended every drop of accumulated Harmony in service to the seer, then gathered more to repeat the process.


    By the time Annalise had begun to stir on the second day¡ªdrenched in sweat and trembling¡ªNaereah appeared the more miserable of the two, her exhaustion etched into every swaying motion. Annalise awoke twelve hours later, while Naereah slept on until the early hours of the next morning.


    Havoc¡¯s Harmonic reserves dwarfed Naereah¡¯s, and with the power to mimic her abilities, he could have aided in the seer¡¯s care. He was not unmoved by Naereah¡¯s struggle¡ªhe stepped toward her multiple times, only to shake his head and return to where he had been. Were Naereah his only consideration, he would have helped. But the advantages reaped from the Abomination¡¯s Spirit were not ones he intended to reveal. Besides, supporting Naereah would have eased Annalise¡¯s ordeal¡ªbut she deserved to suffer.


    Instead, he had trained with the Flesh-Weave Needle. As its name implied, when thrust deep into flesh, it could remould his anatomy as if it were clay. He began cautiously, webbing his fingers and toes. From there, he progressed to shifting the placement of his digits, before taking more ambitious steps¡ªgrowing eyes in his palms and a second pair of arms beneath his first.


    The Needle¡¯s powers were a profound¡ªif not a spine-chilling¡ªexperience. But it was not without its flaws. The pain of insertion was exquisite. Even as one who had sampled his share of agony, it had caught him off guard. Having preprepared himself for a stabbing jolt, he had not envisaged feeling his skin rip apart from within, as if slowly birthing scissors.


    Moreover, while he could reshape and even reconstitute his physical form, his transformations were limited by mass. Webbing his fingers had noticeably shrunken them, and growing dense scales left him with a famished physique. Most drastic were the changes caused when he had grown new limbs. His legs had wasted away¡ªdessicated and withered¡ªas if belonging to a corpse a thousand years preserved. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The Flesh-Weave Needles lacked the brute forcefulness of Remnants like the Stone Guardsman or the Buried Strike, but where it lacked in raw power, it more than compensated with utility. With enough imagination, Havoc was certain it would become a potent resource.


    Something to think about later, he decided. He tucked his cream shirt into his light-brown trousers then pulled the straps of his buckled suspenders over both shoulders, releasing them to slap the soft of his skin. Satisfied he was decent¡ªif not downright presentable¡ªhe pulled back the layered sheets to exit the washing area.


    Seemingly having waited for Havoc to emerge, Naereah stood by the washing partition. She lightly bowed in his direction, her azure cheeks tinting a deep shade of blue, before scuttling into the washing area to retrieve the water pail.


    ¡®My good man, we thought you might have gotten lost in there,¡¯ Aaron called from the campfire. Lucia lay beside him, her head resting on his unnaturally stiff lap as she absently twirled threads of brown hair around her finger.


    Opposite the unhappy couple, the seer knelt by the fire. Its warm glow flickered a perfidious shadow behind her while amplifying her blood-red lips and charming her cheeks with a heat-flushed pink.


    ¡®Won¡¯t you come join us, Havoc?¡¯ Annalise asked, her tone inviting and sweet, like the honeyed secretions of a carnivorous plant, laced with an allure Havoc knew not to trust.


    As Havoc approached the fire, Lucia pecked Aaron¡¯s lap with her lips before rising to a seated position. She exaggerated a palm-muffled yawn as she snaked her arm around his, pressing her slender body into his shoulder.


    ¡®Punctuality is a curtsey the graceful pay to their own¡ªso is it any wonder he finds himself delayed?¡¯ Lucia said, offering Havoc no more than a sideways glance as she chuckled softly.


    ¡®Now, now,¡¯ Annalise said, lifting her palms as though a judicious mediator among friends. ¡®We all owe Havoc a great deal of gratitude¡ªI¡¯d say he¡¯s more than earned a bit of time to himself.¡¯ She lifted her gaze to meet his, devilment dancing behind a layer of beguilement in her ocean-blue eyes. ¡®You performed splendidly.¡¯


    Havoc wrestled with biting replies, his top lip quivering from each abandoned retort. His venom-laced tongue made every word a bitter swallow, but he forced it down, exhaling deeply before joining the others by the fire.


    ¡®You said you wanted to talk, so talk,¡¯ he said, careful to keep his annoyance in check. His voice was a monotone drum.


    ¡®So demanding,¡¯ Annalise said with a sly smile. ¡®Well, I suppose some ladies like that.¡¯ She glanced suggestively toward Naereah, who squirmed, her gaze dropping as her shoulders tucked inward, retreating into herself.


    ¡®Maybe we should get back to business,¡¯ Aaron interjected hastily, casting an uneasy glance at Annalise, seemingly unaware of his fianc¨¦e¡¯s pointed glare.


    ¡®I suppose,¡¯ Annalise conceded with a sigh, raising her palms in mock surrender. In an instant, all joviality drained from her expression; her eyes gleamed with sudden, dire intent. Straightening her posture, she locked eyes with each person around the fire, her gaze lingering a moment longer on Naereah, as though exchanging silent words.


    ¡®We know where we are, and what that means,¡¯ Annalise said, her tone faint yet as solemn as the grave. She paused as everyone shifted and leaned in; no one dared to mishear her softly spoken words against the crackle and snap of kindling and glowing logs. ¡®Out there, where we¡¯re going, within the forest below, there are still twenty survivors of this expedition. They¡¯re hidden in a mountain passage, about a day¡¯s trek from this cave¡¯s exit. We¡¯re going to need them to escape this Cell¡ªbut they can never learn what this place is,¡¯ she said, her eyes fixed sharply on Havoc.


    The others around the fire had entered the Cell intentionally¡ªeyes wide open to its appalling cost. Only Havoc had entered unwittingly. They had brought sixty lives with them: mercenaries, and desperate souls, promised the chance at a better existence¡ªbut they were damned. Only four could ever leave the Forest of Desire.


    Though knowing the Forest¡¯s nature, he had remained innocent of his ¡°noble¡± companion¡¯s machinations. Annalise sought to change that. By her command, he would become a co-conspirator, having an equal share in their fatal deceptions.


    But what¡¯s the alternative? he asked himself, biting down on his bottom lip. She was right, after all. He could admit that much. If they survivors knew, there would be no hope for cooperation¡ªa tree would not surrender a branch to make the axe that would see it fall.


    ¡®The forest below is home to monsters we have no business crossing paths with,¡¯ Annalise said, her words cutting through the fog of Havoc¡¯s conflicting thoughts. ¡®There are creatures within that would crush us without even knowing we were there.¡¯


    Her stern expression held as uncertain glances flickered around the fire, the weight of her warning sinking in. Then, abruptly, a broad grin spread across her face, the tension breaking into a swirl of tentative relief.


    ¡®Luckily, you have me to guide us,¡¯ she said, tilting her head with a self-satisfied nod.


    ¡®It is not that I doubt your foresight,¡¯ Aaron began, unhooking his arm from Lucia¡¯s with a mask of unease. ¡®However, it must be said¡ªyou guided us when we had sixty, and we barely escaped with our lives.¡¯


    ¡®But you did, didn¡¯t you?¡¯ Annalise cut in.


    ¡®What do you¡ª¡¯


    ¡®You did escape with your lives,¡¯ Annalise snapped, her voice cutting. ¡®Everything that¡¯s happened is exactly as planned. You¡¯re still alive. Trust the plan. Or what?¡¯ Her tone deepened, her glare fixed on Aaron with stern disappointment etched into her expression, as if she were an expectant mother learning of her child¡¯s grievous misconduct. ¡®Did you think the Dungeon would just hand out a treasure like the Tears of Desire without sacrifice?¡¯


    Annalise stood and walked around the fire, her shadow stretching long across Aaron as she loomed over him.


    ¡®No one here has suffered as much as I have. And we¡¯re going to suffer more before this is over. But this is not the moment for doubt.¡¯ Pausing, she turned to face each of them in turn, the firelight flickering across her face. As she spoke, the others began to rise, as if compelled by her presence.


    ¡®Now is not the time to question my leadership. We all know what¡¯s brought us here, and what we stand to gain. Follow me¡ªunquestioningly, absolutely¡ªwith all your strength, and every one of us will get exactly what we deserve.¡¯


    No one spoke as they stood around the sputtering fire, the silence broken only by the crackle of embers. Yet a question hung unasked, lingering in the smoky air.


    What exactly does she think we deserve?

 Chapter 40: Unquestionable Faith

    Shar Badr strode across the rugged, uneven ground, her boots crunching the rocky terrain in step with two companions. In truth, to call them companions was far more than they deserved. They were resources¡ªinadequate as they were. She would have traded them both for a blade half as sharp as the knife buckled to her hip, never dismissed into her Spirit Chain.


    Some called it impractical to carry a blade as though one of the bereft¡ªthose without the privilege of a Spirit Chain. After all, it took no less time to withdraw it from its sheath than to summon it from the Chain. But haste was not the point. She wore the Remnant as a sign¡ªa forever reminder that she was never unarmed, never unprepared. She would not hesitate to strike down anyone foolish enough to test her resolve.


    But there was another reason. She was her lady¡¯s blade¡ªalways to be drawn against those who dared oppose the Seer¡¯s vision.


    Ultimately, that was their sin: faithlessness. The wretched heathens she had been tasked with defending were all unforgivably guilty of it.


    Their ignorance of the coming apotheosis mattered not. They were blood-offerings¡ªthe first of many¡ªwhose petty afflictions and fears meant nothing before her lady¡¯s grand design. Anything less than unwavering devotion to their destined goddess was an affront.


    Disgusting, she thought, tuning out Castro¡¯s trivial drone. Indifferent to whether her two attendants kept pace, she flooded her dagger¡ªVortex Fang¡ªwith Harmony, compelling the winds to obey.


    With the winds at her back, she leapt into the air, her feet grinding against the jagged, vertical wall of the mountain passage as she slid across it with ease.


    If her attendants could keep up, that was their prerogative. She had a job to do and no intention of slowing down to endure more snivelling complaints.


    She had heard it all ad nauseam: they were hungry, they were frightened, their loved ones were missing. Being the only survivor to reach the third step of her Servant inheritance did not make her their mother¡ªand what a disappointed mother they would make of her.


    In the corner of her eye, Shar caught sight of Castro leaping from the ground. He hurtled through the air, landed with a thud, and repeated the motion in a desperate attempt to keep up. Her second attendant, Sabine, was nowhere in sight. No surprise there¡ªshe had likely burrowed below ground. Their party had been chosen for mobility. Where they were going, if seen, they would need to be quick.


    The Forest was home to creatures of irresistible malevolence¡ªdevils against which one could neither fight nor escape. They could only hope to avoid them.


    Shar still remembered the first night they spent in the Forest, after the bands of mercenaries had been scattered. Of the sixty who had entered the Dungeon Cell, only thirty-two managed to regroup. Believing themselves safe from the creatures prowling below, they had taken refuge atop a cluster of colossal mushrooms. Most of the fungi were inert¡ªa safe haven for their weary souls. But one of them...


    Shivers crept along her spine as she recalled it. The cap of the mushroom split down the middle, revealing rows of acid-coated teeth and swollen, purple tongues.She had been fortunate, keeping her distance from the larger group atop the shroom. Sliding to the ground just before the attack, she avoided their fate. The others were not so lucky. By the time she had scaled back to the top, all that remained were their corroded bodies, skewered between needle-like teeth.


    The mountain passage where the survivors now hid was relatively safe. Occasionally, a Dungeon-Spawn would find its way between the narrow cliff-sides, forcing a party to either dispatch the monster or draw it away. But for the most part, it served as adequate shelter, far removed from the true nightmares of the Forest. If she were among the ignorant, Shar might have been convinced it was a godsend. But she knew better. The gods were dead¡ªthat was why they needed a new one.


    The passage stretched for miles, carving a scar through the Forest¡¯s landscape. In some places, the rocky cliffs loomed overhead, shielding the group from airborne threats. Even so, their circumstances were far from sustainable. Sure, they could hunt for food, and someone or another had a water-generating Remnant, but they were caged¡ªtrapped between death and demise.


    On one end lay the Forest proper. Out there, they would not survive for long. But on the other side, a demon waited. That is where she was heading.


    With her Anchor, her feet clung to any surface as though treading solid ground. Admittedly, it was not the most powerful ability, but it served her well as she sprinted across the cliffside, propelled within a tempestuous tunnel of cyclonic wind. Her task was simple, yet fraught with danger. For weeks, the six-armed giant had stood frozen as stone, its only movement the long shadow it cast¡ªturning like the hand of a clock.


    One week prior, everything had changed. Liberated from its petrification, the creature had begun to roam¡ªwielding a towering blade in each of its six hands. More concerning still, with each passing day, it stepped deeper into the passage, drawing ever closer to their camp. For now, it remained at a distance¡ªits approach slow, deliberate, like sand slipping through an hourglass. But inevitably, it would reach the survivors. And when that day came, there would be a slaughter.


    The thunderous beat of leathery wings caught Shar¡¯s attention. In the distance, she spotted a shape. To the untrained eye, it might have been mistaken for a cloud swelling on the horizon, ready to burst and shower lightning and rain upon the land. But though a storm was coming, it promised no precipitation.


    Fuck, she cursed silently, scanning the ground for any sign of Sabine. If she were closer to camp, she might have risked sprinting back to hide beneath the overhang. But out here, in the open, there was no hope against a flock of blightfeather-fiends.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Despite their name, the vulture-like creatures soared through the domed heavens on rubbery wings. Their beaks¡ªstinking of blood and decay¡ªstretched down to their chests, measuring the height and breadth of a man. It was as if they had been designed for such prey.


    Faint as it was, she glimpsed the tell-tale bulge of shifted earth, divulging Sabine¡¯s presence. The ravenous flock loomed nearer, eclipsing the night-sun¡¯s pale glow. Menacing caws tore through the air, heralding death¡¯s approach. The blightfeathers would soon be upon her.


    She crouched down on the cliffside, gathering the winds in a swirling vortex around her. With a surge of power, she launched herself like an arrow loosed from a taut bow, hurtling toward the ground, which seemed to part in readiness to receive her.


    This is going to hurt!


    Her assessment proved accurate. Pain exploded through her as she crashed into the rough, stony side of a shallow crater. The earth began to close, sealing her below, but before it shut completely, a shadow dove into the gap. Castro collided with her, dragging them both deeper into the ground as the opening sealed above.


    ''Unhand me, you oaf!¡¯ Shar grunted, shoving Castro¡¯s hulking form aside as she wriggled free from beneath him.


    ¡®Sorry, ma¡¯am!¡¯ he stammered, quickly shuffling backward to put distance between himself and his commander.


    Nobody dared breathe as the ground trembled above, raining worm-laden soil down upon them. With talons and beaks sharp enough to shear through rock as easily as bone, the Dungeon-Spawn were an unstoppable force. Only their limited intelligence kept the group from falling into their clutches. If they decided to dig, there would be no escape¡ªno surviving the flesh-rending slash of their razor-edged claws.


    In pitch-black darkness, they waited in silence, the scuttle of feet above punctuating the oppressive stillness. The thump of Shar¡¯s heart pounded deafeningly in her ears. Blightfeathers were not known for their sense of sound, relying instead on their keen sight. Even so, she wrestled to control her racing pulse, irrationally fearing it might betray their emplacement.


    Time passed, and the overhead scurrying retreated. Still, they remained quiet. Counting silently in her mind, Shar waited three minutes, then deeply sighed. They would need to stay hidden a while longer¡ªshould the fiends spot them and return, their trick might not work twice¡ªbut the worst of the danger had passed.


    ¡®Is¡­ Is it safe, ma¡¯am?¡¯ Castro asked, his voice a stammering whisper.


    ¡®Sabine,¡¯ Shar said, her tone sharp and probing, ¡®can you widen this space?¡¯


    ¡®I should¡ª¡¯ Sabine began.


    ¡®You either will or you won¡¯t. I don¡¯t accept indecision or half-measures,¡¯ Shar hissed. ¡®So I¡¯ll ask again¡ªwill you widen this space?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am!¡¯ Sabine barked, her voice wavering slightly.


    ¡®Good. We¡¯ll camp here a few hours then press forward to our goal,¡¯ Shar replied flatly. ¡®Make sure the tunnel is well-ventilated. Castro, get a fire started and prepare the rations.¡¯


    If it could be helped, Shar would not slow her pace. But the most terrifying thing about a flock of blightfeathers was that where there was one, many were sure to follow.


    It was bad enough that they appeared in Dungeon-Cells, but Shar¡¯s experience with the vile creatures predated this expedition by years. She could still hear her parents screaming as they shoved her to the ground¡ªonly to be lifted high above the cityscape, their scarlet viscera raining down upon her.


    A world where such tragedies were commonplace¡ªit should not exist. That was why they needed a god. And Annalise alone was worthy of that mantle. Her suffering had not broken her; it had tempered her, like steel forged in fire. Yet she had not let her heart grow cold. No, she emanated compassion¡ªwarm, soothing, and all-encompassing.


    Those noble bastards from every race could go straight to Hell. They had more than enough power to save her home¡ªit simply did not suit them to do so. Theirs was a border town, just outside the settled floors. The prestigious households and esteemed guilds had guaranteed safety within the Vanguard territories, promising an impenetrable bulwark against the Dungeon¡¯s predations. If not for their assurances, her family would never have risked living in such a perilous place.


    How quickly their oaths turned to ash. At the first sign of danger, her family had been abandoned¡ªleft to fend for themselves as the mighty fled.


    Only the Seer can transform this abominable jungle into paradise. And I¡¯d give my very soul to see the world she will create.


    ¡®Our meal is ready, ma¡¯am,¡¯ Castro said hesitantly, his tone laced with the fear of disturbing his commander.


    Shar glanced his way before surveying her surroundings. For irreverent infidels, she could admit they had done well. The underground tunnel had been transformed into a suitable bunker, with rock pillars supporting the structure and discreet gaps dug overhead to allow pale light and fresh air into the space. Within a circle of carefully arranged stones, a fire roared. Beneath it, hot coals sizzled as fat dripped from the meat roasting above.


    ¡®The pillars are too far apart, and you¡¯ve made one too many air holes, but it¡¯ll do,¡¯ Shar said as she moved toward the fire, taking one of the skewered meats. Its savoury aroma filled her nostrils, making her mouth water.


    Sabine¡¯s broad smile gleamed in the firelight. She waited for her commander to start eating before retrieving her own skewer.


    For a moment, the only sound made was the grind of teeth through tender meat. Then Sabine cleared her throat, staring expectantly at Shar.


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ Shar asked, glimpsing the trembling girl in the corner of her eye.


    Sabine did not speak for a moment, a strained whine escaping her throat as if abandoning half-formed words. But then, scrunching her face, she clapped both palms across her face, deeply exhaling.


    ¡®How do you do it?¡¯ Sabine asked, her tone sheepish.


    ¡®Come again?¡¯ Shar replied.


    ¡®It¡¯s just¡­ We¡¯ve been through so much, but you¡¯re always so¡ª¡¯ Sabine began.


    ¡®So self-assured,¡¯ Castro mumbled, sputtering the words through a mouthful of half-chewed food.


    ¡®The rest of us have all but given up. Without you, we would have given up completely,¡¯ Sabine said, her words hurried, as though anxious that Shar might turn a deaf ear at any moment.


    With a rare chuckle away from her lady¡¯s presence, Shar turned to face her subordinates. This was the purpose for which the Seer had placed her over the group. When the time came, the devoted would open the way. But their devotion could not be compelled, nor borne of desperation. Only true belief, sprung forth from the heart, would suffice.


    They would not need many¡ªjust a few. But their dedication would have to match her own in fervour.


    She gazed into Sabine and Castro¡¯s eyes in turn and smiled.


    ¡®It¡¯s because I have faith.¡¯

 Chapter 41: The Calm Before...

    Shar waited at the entrance of a ragged tent. Battered by elements far harsher than it was designed for, its once-tanned leather now lay faded and worn. Perhaps it had once been a luxurious thing, but that time was long past. Now, stretched across rocky terrain broken only by patches of grass-thin fungi, it stood as a stark reminder of the survivors¡¯ plight¡ªfor as threadbare as the camp was, it was the finest shelter they had left.


    When they first entered the Forest, every man had a tent of his own. Theirs was to be an extended campaign; they had not come unprepared¡ªleast of all the Seer¡¯s blade. But even she had not foreseen how swiftly events would unravel. The Dungeon, ever guileful, allowed them a fleeting sense of stability. Their encampments were erected, their patrols grew slack. For three weeks, the Forest feigned peace before revealing its true horrors.


    Back then, a tent like the one Shar stood before had been merely passable. She remembered discussions about whether it was even worth maintaining. She never would have imagined that, one day, it would be considered esteemed lodgings.


    Incensed voices drummed through the flap of the tent¡¯s partition. Though muffled, the strain in each of the four voices was unmistakable.


    Shar had not been entirely insensitive to the quandary faced by the other group leaders, but whatever patience she once had for their uncertainty had long since expired. A week of excessive back-and-forth followed her scouting of the six-armed giant approaching the survivors¡¯ campsite¡ªand it had worn thin.


    Her will be done¡ªwhether we stay or go is a mere detail, she thought, sighing as she pushed aside the hanging drape and stepped into the tent.


    ¡®We¡¯ll have to risk the Forest,¡¯ said Franklin Whatever-his-name-was. Shar thought he had mentioned his family name once, but it did not matter¡ªhe was a dead man come what may. It made no sense to grow overly familiar.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d lose your mind as well as your nerve!¡¯ Anton shouted, his tone dripping with derision. ¡®There¡¯s twenty of us but only one of it!¡¯


    Shar found Anton fascinating. In defiance of their grave circumstances, he carried himself with a quiet strength that demanded attention. She never found him among the bed-wetting sops, griping at the whirlwind of winds they had sown.


    They had been enticed into the Dungeon Cell, that much was true. But they had entered of their own volition. They all had their reasons¡ªhowever vapid those might have been. For most, it was ambition¡ªa chance to progress beyond the limits of their middling Harmonic purity. The settled floors held no real challenges, only weak Dungeon-Spawn unfit for the third step of the Servant Inheritance.


    After reaching the second step, scratchers and slashers were insufficient. That left only two options. Weak as they were, they could chance the Vanguard Territories. True, the Vanguard had birthed a few legends¡ªbut far more cautionary tales. The land beneath the settled floors existed only to kill. It was a meat-grinder, churning people into bloodied pulp. Only those of sterner substance than mortal flesh could survive its unending tribulations.


    The second option was a Dungeon-Cell. Few existed within the settled floors, and those that did were monopolized by the least deserving¡ªthe noble households. These acted as their personal playgrounds, ushering their young from Servant to Soldier, preparing them to face the Vanguard. The powerful grew stronger, while the weak grew desperate.


    When Annalise had offered the survivors a chance to enter a Dungeon-Cell, how could they refuse? Perilous, yes, but fair. Not everyone who entered would endure, but the Dungeon guaranteed an equal chance¡ªif one could recognise fleeting opportunities when they arose.


    In the months she had known Anton, he had never missed a chance to seize an opportunity with both hands.


    Attired in form-fitting, gold-plated armour¡ªa Remnant bequeathed by the Dungeon¡ªhe struck a figure both slender and commanding. His armour caught the light with every movement, dazzling and dangerous all at once¡ªmuch like the man who wore it.


    His Anchor was not powerful. By Shar¡¯s observations, it allowed him to summon and control a fine cloud of embers and ash. Alone, it was useful for little more than igniting dry kindling. Yet when paired with his flaming whip, the crack of which was a declaration as much as an attack, she had seen Anton unleash devastation upon the battlefield.


    Among the survivors, it would have been natural for her to assume full command if she so desired. But that was not her role. Her place was not to lead them all, but to guide them toward the Seer¡¯s purpose. In the chaos following the larger group¡¯s fracturing, she allowed leaders to rise from among the remaining lost souls. It was no surprise that Anton stood among them.


    Whether they faced the advancing giant or fled back into the forest mattered little to Shar. After all, the Seer¡¯s design would remain untouched¡ªdetails, nothing more. Still, if Anton saw opportunity in staying, absent the Seer¡¯s contrary instruction, she trusted his instincts.


    It¡¯s a shame¡­ she lamented, unwilling to fully name the thought that had crossed her mind. Taking captive her blasphemous musings, she crushed the thought beneath her faith, hardening her heart against its pull.


    His end would serve a higher purpose. When Annalise commanded life and death, all that had been sacrificed would be restored.


    With deliberate grunts, she cleared her throat, drawing the attention of both leaders and their attendants.


    ¡®We¡¯re staying,¡¯ she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.


    Franklin opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words died on his tongue. His gaze burned into the floor, fists clenching in silent frustration as his head dipped in forced submission.


    A heavy silence settled over the group as her words lingered. Then Shar continued, her voice calm yet unwavering.


    ¡®Now that¡¯s decided, focus on strategy. The spawn is at the brink of evolution¡ªit won¡¯t wait for us to make mistakes. Even with all of us, there are no guarantees.¡¯Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Without another word, she turned and exited the tent, the breeze fluttering through her raven-black hair. At its current pace, the giant would reach them in little more than a day. If they were to face the threat, she intended to do so with a full stomach and plenty of rest.


    ****


    As if gravity had been rotated, Shar crouched on the side of the mountain passage wall. Below her, the survivors stood in formation, their arms trembling as they gripped their weapons.


    At the head of the group, Anton stood proud. Sunlight gleamed off his golden armour, while a black leather whip hung limp by his side. Beside him stood an older man, his attendant and closest ally, their bond forged long before this expedition. Their group was not so large that there were strangers, yet Shar could not recall his name. Names mattered little; she cared only for his abilities.


    The giant would soon be upon them; faint vibrations already pulsed through the wall. Their strategy was crude but, given their dwindling options, it was the best they could muster. Whether it would hold against the giant¡¯s wrath remained to be seen.


    Their avant-garde comprised the sturdy and strong¡ªthose best suited to enduring the heaviest blows. None were more fitting for the forefront than Anton, his Armour Remnant granting near-invulnerability for short bursts. But his attendant came a close second.


    The man was robust, his broad shoulders and barrelled chest built for durability over grace. His silver-plated armour allowed him to charge headlong into enemies, pairing well with his shield that stored kinetic energy and released it in a wave of concussive force. Shar was uncertain about his Anchor¡¯s abilities, but given his past feats, she assumed it multiplied his physical strength.


    In the second layer stood the few Inheritors among their ranks who focused on support. Five stood side by side, their abilities ranging from bolstering strength and speed to sapping an enemy¡¯s will to fight.


    Before entering the Forest, Shar had rarely experienced the effects of support-type Remnants, but their value had quickly become undeniable. She was already formidable for her rank, but under their influence, she moved faster and struck with greater lethality than ever before.


    Close behind the second layer was the third¡ªthose who excelled in manoeuvrability, the group Shar was tasked with leading. Not all of them were fighters. Like Shar, some were charged with engaging the enemy only to disengage and repeat. Others had the grim task of ferrying the wounded to safety¡ªfor all the good it would do.


    From the start, they had only one healer, a doe-eyed Selenarian girl who always seemed out of place in such a harsh environment. She carried most of their potions and Fragments, and her loss was keenly felt. Almost certainly, she had perished somewhere along the way. She lacked what it took to survive¡ªperhaps it was a blessing in the end. But with her gone, the group¡¯s already meagre supplies had been reduced further, leaving the wounded with little hope for recovery.


    The fourth layer was less defined. It consisted of the Inheritors who did not quite excel in any particular discipline but whose abilities added unpredictability to their approach. Among them were those who could cast illusions, making small objects vanish or shifting the perception of their position, and others who could alter the trajectory of projectiles mid-flight.


    This was the bulk of their group. Their capabilities were unfocused, but they could filter into other roles as needed¡ªsupport, diversion, or even a frontal assault. Individually, they were unlikely to turn the tide of battle, but their collective unpredictability could force the enemy to spread its focus. At the very least, they made up the numbers.


    Staff in hand, Franklin stood at the back, an open-face black robe flowing past his calves. The staff he carried had once been a treasured Remnant of a household of fleeting importance. With the power to cast bolts of sweltering fire, shards of jagged stone, and blades of cutting winds, it had been their pride¡ªand the envy of many.


    As Shar had heard it, the household had fallen to envy and ambition. Seven bands of dark guildsmen stormed their halls, putting every man, woman, and child to the sword to claim the Remnant¡¯s Prime. Now, for the right price, its copies could be found on every black market across the settled floor¡ªa diluted echo of its former glory.


    Flanking the aspirant mage, two archers readied their bows. Shar recognised one as Franklin¡¯s attendant, though she could not recall ever exchanging a word with the woman. She appreciated that about her¡ªquiet, focused, and never one to waste time with the mundane. In a group plagued by distractions and petty squabbles, that was a rare and treasured quality.


    If my lady allows it, I¡¯d have her join us in the end, she mused. The girl seemed strong of will¡ªsteadfast but not defiant, capable of loyalty without rebellion. Shar knew Anton would not approve of the Seer¡¯s designs, but she trusted in her ability to bring the girl around. As she had done with others ignorant to the Seer¡¯s vision, she would guide the girl to the Seer¡¯s path. Competent as the archer appeared, perhaps she could escape the sacrificial fate of the other converts¡ªthat was, if her lady willed it.


    No need to think about it now. She¡¯ll have to survive this battle first, Shar determined, returning her focus to the battlefield.


    Ahead, the six-armed giant drew closer, its shadow slithering across the ground toward the survivors. Its steps rumbled the earth, sending loose stones clattering over one another as it advanced.


    Any moment now, as though reading Shar¡¯s thoughts, the giant crossed into view, its azure skin gleaming vibrantly in the daylight. Standing five men high, the monster towered over the battlefield, wielding six curved blades. Its arms, like tree trunks, rippled with terrifying strength, yet its features were smooth¡ªalmost angelic.


    When it was still a living thing, it must have been a noble creature¡ªa being of grace and strength. But now, it was a construct of the Dungeon, its spirit fused with the madness of Pandemonia¡ªHarmony¡¯s dark counterpart.


    Mindless and merciless, its only instinct was rage. As its gaze fell upon the war band, that fury found its target.

 Chapter 42: The Storm

    In full view, the six-armed giant stood, a curved sword raised in each hand. Though still distant, its towering presence quickened Shar¡¯s pulse, her grip on the Vortex Fang faltering for an instant. She tightened her grip on her knife, teeth grinding as she steadied her breath. She was no faithless wretch¡ªher blade would not fail, nor would she fall in this place.


    A harsh shuffle of boots on gravel pulled her focus to the rear of their formation. One of the younger survivors, a man barely past his teens stumbled backward, his spear quivering in an unsteady grip. He glanced frantically from side to side, chest heaving so sharply that even from her perch, Shar could see the wild rise and fall of his breaths.


    He¡¯s going to run, she sighed as she twisted the winds surrounding her into a vortex. Just as the young man turned to flee, she hurled herself from the mountain wall, the wind lashing her hair as she soared toward the ground, and soundlessly landed, blocking the deserter¡¯s path with a deadly calm.


    For a moment, the young man froze, his wide, wavering eyes brimming with dread. Then, like a cornered beast, his gaze hardened¡ªfrenzied violence gleaming in his irises, wild and unrestrained, as though he had nothing left to lose. With a guttural cry, he lunged forward, his serrated spear tip flashing toward Shar¡¯s throat. Again and again, he struck, the weapon slicing through the air in frenzied arcs. But Shar moved like a phantom, each thrust passing harmlessly by, as though time itself bent to her will.


    With fluid grace, she gripped the spear¡¯s pole and swept the man¡¯s legs from beneath him. As he toppled, she drove her elbow hard into his chest, slamming him into the rocky ground with a sickening thud, crunch, and the sharp rasp of breath.


    It¡¯ll kill us all!¡¯ the deserter rasped, clawing at Shar¡¯s elbow as she pinned him down, his flailing limbs useless beneath her weight.


    ¡®Not if I kill you first,¡¯ Shar hissed, her lips brushing his ear as her knife pressed against his throat.


    She lifted her gaze, her sharp eyes slicing through the head-scratching, slack-jawed bystanders.


    ¡®None of us will survive this place alone!¡¯ she shouted, easing her hold on the young deserter. His arms dropped slack, and tears streaked his dirtied cheeks. ¡®If you fight, you may fall¡ªbut if you run, you will die. This is not a choice between life and death¡ªit is one of hope or despair, honour or disgrace!¡¯


    Standing, she extended her hand. The deserter stared at her, his lip trembling. With shaky breaths, he swiped his sleeve across his face, grasped her hand, and let her pull him to his feet.


    Shar rested a firm palm against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.


    ¡®I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am,¡¯ he stuttered, his eyes downcast.


    ¡®Fear gets the best of all of us,¡¯ Shar replied. She tilted his chin upward with two fingers and met his gaze. Then she turned to the onlookers and shouted, ¡®But keep your heads raised¡ªand have faith!¡¯


    All is of the Seer¡¯s design,¡¯ a female voice whispered. Shar turned to see Sabine¡ªeyes closed, fingers laced¡ªmurmuring faint words of devotion, her lips barely moving as though in silent prayer.


    With a faint smile across her lips, Shar leapt into the sky, the wind gushing behind, retuning her to the cliff-face where she had been perched.


    A thunderous roar exploded through the air, the force of its resounding boom rippling through tissue and bone. Peering down, Shar watched as the giant moved from gradual steps into an earth-shaking march. And from its march, it began to sprint, its six arms thrusting back and forth like the relentless pistons described in the ancient texts.


    Just a little closer, she thought, her thrumming heart at odds with the calm of her steady breaths as she patiently watched the giant¡¯s advance.


    When the massive trunks of the giant¡¯s legs slammed down again, the earth gave way collapsing, beneath it and casting the beast into a gaping pit.


    ¡®Now!¡¯ Shar howled.


    The sky erupted in light¡ªcountless bolts of blazing fire streaking overhead before crashing into the pit, each impact sending shockwaves rippling through the dust-choked air. Chasing the fire, jagged arcs of lightning struck with the smiting fury of an enraged god, each bolt illuminating the billowing smoke.


    The elements continued to raze the land, molten rock bubbling over the edge of the hole and cascading into the pit in fiery streams.


    Impressive, Shar thought, watching as heaven¡¯s wrath continued to fall.


    Alone, none of the survivors could have unleashed such devastation, but together, their strength was compounded¡ªmultiplied and sharpened into a single, devastating force. Yet, despite their overwhelming display of power, it was not enough.


    This was a creature on the brink of evolution, cradled in the Dungeon¡¯s favour. Even if they possessed the strength to cleave mountains into the sea, against the Dungeon¡¯s will, they were nothing more than mites scratching at an elephant¡¯s toe.


    Power alone would not carry them to victory. To triumph against such a force, they needed more¡ªthey needed the Dungeon to acknowledge their worth. Without that recognition, no act of defiance would suffice.


    Amber blood oozed from blacked fingers as the giant gripped the pit¡¯s edge. With a calamitous roar, it launched itself out, rumbling the earth as it crashed down. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Though still haunting, no longer was the beast a thing of beauty. Scorched skin peeled from its face, and two of its arms hung limp¡ªa shattered ruin of bone. Bloodied footprints marked its staggered steps, and smoke billowed from the empty socket where one of its eyes had been.


    For a moment, everyone held still. Whether their confounded silence was borne of the cataclysmic destruction they had unleashed, or the giant¡¯s resistance to that destruction, Shar could not say.


    The moment shattered as the creature began to charge, its thunderous steps jolting the survivors into action.


    ¡®Engage!¡¯ Anton bellowed, his voice echoing through the mountain passage as he surged forward.


    With a flick of his wrist, he looped his ebony whip overhead. Flames erupted along its length, forming a halo ablaze. Leaping into the air, he snapped the whip downward. The fiery lash struck the giant¡¯s chest with a resounding crack, searing flesh and driving the monster staggering backward.


    Before the giant could regain its footing, Anton¡¯s attendant charged forward, shield raised. A thunderous boom bust through the air as a concussive force rippled outward, slamming into the giant¡¯s chest. The beast staggered, then toppled backward, crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.


    This was the moment Shar had waited for. Shoving her fear down, she broke from the wall, plummeting with speed as the wind whirled around, twisting into a tumultuous cyclone.


    She was the storm¡ªirrepressible and unyielding.


    The vortex tore a path across the felled creature, and she soared through its eye. As the giant pushed against the ground to rise, she unsheathed her dagger, carving a jagged line across two of its six arms and its upper chest. She clicked her tongue in frustration, narrowly missing its neck, and rode the cyclone to the far side of the mountain passage.


    It was never going to be that easy, she thought, steadying her stance for another strike.


    ¡®Second volley!¡¯ Franklin cried, his voice cutting through the wind, amplified by an auditory Remnant.


    Shar noted how such a lamentable ability as enhancing sound could prove lifesaving under the right circumstances. Had she missed Franklin¡¯s warning and rushed toward the foe as intended, she would have been caught in the catastrophic rampage of searing fire and devastating lightening raining down from above.


    The scale and force of the far-reaching assault should have drained all involved of every drop of Harmony. Without Franklin¡¯s attendant, they could not have unleashed such power a second time. Shar understood the girl¡¯s abilities well: by siphoning strength from the willing, she could empower others. Though Franklin and another archer drew the greatest share, Shar felt energy trickling back into her own reserves¡ªa vital benediction from one destined to serve the Seer.


    In an instant, the bombardment ceased. Smoke and ash billowed into the sky, blotting out the light. Muscles taut, Shar crouched, poised to leap. She held her breath, her gaze fixed below as the haze began to thin. Through the dissipating smoke, she saw the giant¡ªfour arms shielding its head, its body bloodied and bruised but still standing. It persisted, an unyielding monument to the Dungeon¡¯s favour.


    This time, it did not wait for the survivors to rally. Leaping into the air, it crashed before Anton. Two of its right arms swept forward in unison, cleaving through the air. Anton did not have time to react before the blades clanged into his gold-plated sides, the twin blows battering him skyward like a broken doll.


    Anton¡¯s attendant rushed the giant, shield held high. In a blur of motion, the monster turned. Its four remaining blades sweeping toward him in a lethal arc. Valiantly, he intercepted blow after blow, the clang of metal striking metal echoing throughout the passage. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling outward as he turned the force of the blows back at the giant, driving it a step backward with waves of concussive energy.


    But the monster¡¯s furious onslaught only grew in speed and intensity. Whether he slowed or stumbled, Shar could not see¡ªbut in an instant, the giant¡¯s blades tore through his defences. The searing metal melted through his armour, carving into flesh and bone, and leaving him a mangled ruin crumpled on the bloodied stone.


    ¡®Gaius!¡¯ A woman wailed, her voice heavy with anguished sorrow. Breaking ranks, she charged toward the giant with wand in hand. Violently branding the wand, she launched blades of ice at the monster, her screams unceasing even as beast shrugged off her fury.


    The fool, Shar silently cursed, gathering the winds around her as the giant raised its swords to sever the woman from life.


    Just as Shar was about to leap, Anton bust from beneath the ground, Sabine at his side. He lashed his flaming whip around the giant¡¯s neck. With a sharp pull, he jerked the giant backward, its feet gouging twin grooves into the stony earth.


    ¡®More strength!¡¯ Anton grunted, his breath staggered as he braced against the giant¡¯s immense weight.


    Chimes jingled, and strings hummed with vibrant resonance as the empowering Remnants of the battalion¡¯s second line flared to life. Their mystical power radiated through the air, wrapping Anton in a silver glow.


    He towed with intensified vigour, roaring his defiance as he pulled the giant to the ground. As Anton uncoiled his whip¡ªholding it behind, ready as strike again, the giant thrashed on the ground, moving to its feet in an instant.


    It pulled back an arm and hurled a curved blade toward Anton. He cracked his whip toward the whirling ring of steel, intercepting the serving disk that clattered to the ground. Before he could counter, the giant was upon him. It lifted him from the ground, showering him in salvia as it roared in his face.


    ¡®Fuck!¡¯ Shar cursed. Without hesitation, she shot toward the giant in a torrent of cycling wind. Lashing out, her blade bit deep into the giant¡¯s wrist, causing it to loosen its grip around Anton¡¯s head before it could crush his skull into a bloodied mess.


    Reaching the far side of passage wall, she spun on her heels, rotating toward the giant, and leapt once more.


    With honed lethality, she tore into the giant, spilling amber blood with every slash. Her strikes blurred with speed, too rapid to track, as instinct guided her blade. She darted through the giant¡¯s death-dealing flurry, its attacks missing her by the breadth of her hair.


    As she hurtled toward the beast once more, she caught sight of a flash of buzzing steel soaring toward her. She could not block nor could she evade the whirling death slicing toward her, yet she did not fear. She was the Seer¡¯s beloved¡ªshe had faith.


    Her faith did not fail her. Barriers of ethereal light shimmered into existence, intercepting the blade¡¯s deadly arc. The crash of shattering glass echoed as the blade cut through layer after layer before clattering harmlessly to the ground. Feet first, Shar landed on the final barrier and pushed herself back toward the cliff-face.


    Her heart beat heavy in her chest as she gazed below to see her lady stroll across the battlefield. With skin as tanned as her own, and hair just as black and nearly as long, a boy walked by her lady¡¯s side. His face was unfamiliar, Shar did not recognise him from among the missing, but then neither did she care.


    Her faith had been rewarded¡ªher lady had come for her.


    Just as she promised.

 Chapter 43: Be Still And Know

    Havoc was no hero. Yet as he hurled himself between the dual, life-reaping swipes of the towering, six-armed giant, he began to suspect the Dungeon might have had him miscast. The blades grazed the outsole of his boots as he landed in a roll, his breath catching as the impact jolted through him. Already the ravager-spawn was turning, its arms raised high like a guillotine poised to fall. With a deafening crash, the blades cleaved into the stone-covered bedding, carving deep, narrow scars where Havoc had crouched a heavy heartbeat before. The Giant¡¯s head snapped toward it, its next attack already in motion. But before it could strike, the winds whipped across the battlefield. A cyclonic torrent cut across the giant¡¯s path, staggering it mid-stride and carving fresh amber wounds across its chest.


    In wild arcs, the monster furiously swiped the air, its cacophonous bellow threatening to shake the domed heavens. Yet despite its fury, the vortices were unyielding; blooming in an instant from one end of the mountain passage to the other, only to vanish just as suddenly; each pass leaving fresh amber streaks across the giant¡¯s hide.


    Havoc¡¯s sister, had insisted on literacy.


    ¡®We live in the slums, but don¡¯t let it cling to you. It¡¯s where we are, but never who we are,¡¯ Hurricane would say.


    In the stories she had made him read, it was beneath contempt to seize upon an opponent¡¯s distraction in an honourable duel. But this was no contest, and he had little regard for honour. Men die for honour¡ªhe would live for himself.


    As the giant swung its heavy arms, attempting the cut the winds, Havoc summoned shards of ethereal light. They streaked toward the creature¡¯s back, piercing deep and spilling thick rivulets of amber blood. The beast roared, its movements faltering as the wounds tore into its flesh.


    Yet still the giant stood¡ªanother unreasonable monster in a forest filled with them.


    It had been six weeks since leaving the cave and entering the Forest Below. The journey toward the mountain passage had been defined by long hours laid hidden atop towering mushrooms, and within damp thick overgrowths of fungal grass, interspersed by bursts of progress. Great and terrible were the creatures that dwelt within the forest. Havoc¡¯s hairs stood erect at the memory of them. Against such monsters, they could only hope not to be seen.


    Without Annalise¡¯s guidance, they would not have lasted long. He had grown stronger¡ªthat could not be denied. Though a problem unto itself, his companions were no less formidable. Yet the second night in the forest brought clarity: their power meant nothing.


    For nine hours, they had lain hidden below ground, tucked within the burrow of some mercifully absent but doubtlessly horrifying beast. They peeked out to trace the aberrant, jerking movements of a monster radiating power, malice, and a profound wrongness. Its vaguely human body¡ªcomposed of thin, glasslike splinters¡ªdragged and coalesced in zigzagging patterns, seeming to slip out from the seams of reality only to be violently ejected back into the world. It moved as if the Dungeon itself rejected its existence.


    If Havoc had harboured any delusions they could prevail against that horror, they were swiftly dispelled by the blood-freezing sight of its touch upon a gigantic serpent. At its touch, the reptile¡¯s flesh constricted like scrunched paper, its liberated vertebrae folding in jagged corners before collapsing into the bloodied mass of its former self. The remains dissolved into mirror-like shards, blending into the stalking Abomination and adding to its haunting might.


    More dire than its power was its tenacity. Though the Abomination had left on the second night, it returned on the fourth. By the sixth night, it had found them again, and by the twelfth, the truth was undeniable¡ªthey were being hunted.


    No longer than three days had ever passed before the oppressive weight of the Abomination¡¯s power bore down upon them. The heart-pounding scrape and clink of shattered glass never far behind. The group had grown quieter, their movements slower and more deliberate, the Abomination¡¯s presence pressed into their very souls. Havoc felt it most in the silences¡ªthat inescapable dread. The air seemed thicker, dense with malice, each breath a reminder that death roamed like a ravenous beast, seeking whom it may devour.


    Even still, the only option was to push ahead, and so they did. Sleeping in turns, ever-vigilant, they adapted. Over time, the feel of nerves alight to the slightest touch no longer kept them from rest. Their bodies adjusted, their minds dulled to fear¡ªvigilance became a second nature, as necessary as breathing.


    The ravager-spawn was mighty. Even as its blistered skin peeled from its scotched flesh, its bulging muscles pronounced its indomitability. Yet it would be overcome like everything else that found itself in Havoc¡¯s path.


    He could not pretend to be fearless, and though the battle sent sparks through his veins, he did not fight for the thrill of combat. He simply recognised an undeniable truth: to survive, he needed to be stronger. Testing himself against the titanic beast was a means to that end.


    As he flooded his Anchor with Harmony, mimicking the ability to enhance one¡¯s physical strength and speed, and applying the power to himself, he faced the giant¡¯s charging gait. A blade of shimmering light formed within his grip, and he sprinted forward to meet the giant¡¯s charge.


    ****


    The boy was impressive. Shar could admit that much. From the moment he arrived on the battlefield, he had led the charge against the monster, the other survivors instinctively falling into step behind him. He moved with purpose and decision, weaving barriers of light at opportune moments to drive his shimmering blade deep into the giant¡¯s flesh.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Even still, as she observed the unfamiliar youth while crouched on the mountain passage wall, unease twisted in her stomach. Allowing foreign Harmony to trickle into her nearly-empty core, she scrutinized the feeling.


    By all reasoning, she should have been delighted. Her lady had returned as promised, bringing with her powerful allies in a battle of attrition. Shar had no affinity for Aaron or Lucia, but she acknowledged their power. Like her, they were Servants of the third-step; even one of them could turn the tide of a losing battle.


    And this new boy¡ªhe too was of the third-step. She could feel the palpable density of the Harmony he commanded. The Seer had even managed to recover the healer she was certain had perished.


    So what¡¯s got me on edge? she asked herself, clicking her tongue as the disquiet gnawed at her focus, an itch she could not scratch.


    She peered below, watching the giant stumble back as the burning lash of Anton¡¯s whip cracked like thunder across its chest. Just as Anton retreated, Aaron stepped ahead, engulfing the beast in a plume of cremating fire. The others followed suit, bolts of lightning crashing down, blades of ice and of rock assailing the beast, bringing it to its knees¡ªif only for a few moments.


    The stone wall trembled beneath her as the creature roared, its colossal frame quaking under the relentless assault. Through sheer force and coordination, they were overwhelming the monster, their once insurmountable foe now seeming destined to fall.


    So what is it? she asked herself again, her unease twisting tighter with every passing moment.


    With a grunt, she shoved her misgivings aside. She was a woman of faith¡ªher trepidation was nothing against the Seer¡¯s design.


    She tensed her muscles readying to leap back into the fray, but paused as she caught sight of Annalise.


    From below, the Seer glanced up at her, her eyes reflecting a calm assurance. With a gentle sway of her head, she conveyed more than volumes of written words ever could¡ªreassurance, guidance, and unspoken command.


    Shar felt her unease begin to unravel, the tightness in her chest loosening with each steady breath. Breathing out slowly, she nodded in silent acknowledgment. Whatever had been gnawing at her no longer mattered; she had been instructed to hold, and she intended to obey. The Seer¡¯s design was in motion¡ªwhatever would follow was in her hands.


    ****


    The kneeling giant howled a guttural roar, its colossal frame straining to rise. With two pointed fingers, Havoc cut an arc through the air, manifesting a barrier of light that slammed the beast back to the ground. Before it could recover, he conjured ethereal blades, driving them through its brutalised skin. The giant thrashed, its bellowing cries reverberating across the battlefield, but Havoc¡¯s strikes were unrelenting, each cut tearing deeper into its amber-streaked flesh.


    Through the Scout¡¯s Eye, Havoc noticed Aaron, his face twisted into a bitter sneer.


    If given the choice, Havoc would have preferred to keep the offensive capabilities of the Stone Guardsman a secret, but after defeating the Abominable Spirit, such concealment was no longer possible.


    A confrontation with Aaron had felt inevitable for some time. Their time in the forest had cemented this. Aaron wore a smile, but it could not fully hide the enmity beneath. At Annalise¡¯s behest, during calmer moments of their journey, Aaron had sparred with him. With the blade, Aaron had instructed him on proper form, offering praise through gritted teeth at the rapid pace of Havoc¡¯s improvement. Even still, Havoc had not missed Aaron¡¯s sincerity in attempting to wound him during their more heated exchanges.


    Despite Aaron now knowing the full capabilities of the Stone Guardsman, Havoc had not completely forsaken the element of surprise.


    As he jumped from barrier to barrier, weaving between the giant¡¯s wild swings, he leapt into a roll above its head. His shimmering blade bit deep into its shoulder as he passed overhead, amber blood spraying from the wound. The giant bellowed, stumbling under the force of the strike, but Havoc did not relent. Even then, he was holding back. There was more to his power, a final edge he would not reveal¡ªnot yet. Choosing only to mimic powers that would go unnoticed, he had kept the secret of his Anchor¡¯s nature. To reveal it now would be to tip his hand too soon. If the Forest had taught him anything, it was the value of patience.


    Rolling to his feet, Havoc faced the ravager, ready to continue his assault, but halted as if gripped by some primal instinct. Instead, he retreated.


    What is that? he asked himself, the black ooze of dread lurching from his gut. Clearly he was not alone in sensing something amiss. The man brandishing his flaming whip cracked it once more across the giant¡¯s side, then rushed backward, the others following suit.


    Battered and bleeding, the scored and mangled form of the giant raised arched its back, its arms extended out to its side, it roared into the sky, the air trembling at the sound.


    With a sickening series of cracks, its six arms snapped in every direction, the sound rippling through the battlefield like the grinding of stones. Bones shattered and spikes jutted from its torn, twisted flesh before sliding back beneath its skin, reconfiguring with horrifying precision.


    But the transformation did not stop there. The six-armed beast did not merely heal¡ªit grew. Its colossal frame expanded, its shoulders broadening, its legs stretching. By the time the process ended, it stood tall enough to crush a dozen men beneath a single flattening stomp of its feet.


    Panic erupted across the battlefield. No foot remained still as their formation scattered, survivors fleeing in every direction from the stationary monstrosity. From near victory to certain defeat¡ªthey could not hope to challenge the beast as it was.


    Dense waves of profane power rolled from the giant, an overwhelming presence that pressed into their chests and stole the air from their lungs. It was as though they were drowning¡ªnot in water, but in the crushing weight of solid stone.


    Yet amidst the raucous clamour to escape, a voice cut through the collective howl of consternation.


    ¡®Put all of your faith in me!¡¯ she repeated, her tone radiating calm authority.


    The survivors stopped, their eyes fixed on the Seer. Within the throng, Havoc heard muttered prayers. Having learned that the gods were despots, his lips remained tight¡ªuntil they dropped open at the sound of Annalise¡¯s name in their trembling supplications.


    Emerald rays of light surrounded Annalise as she began to rise into the air. The light coiled around her, shimmering and coalescing into radiant wings spanning wide from her back, each feather glinting with a brilliance that seemed to defy the darkness of the Dungeon.


    As her transformation continued, the prayers rose from whispered words to resounding chants of devotion.


    ¡®Be still and know...¡¯ Annalise whispered, her voice carrying on the wind like a storm as she raised an arm above her head. ¡®I am with you.¡¯


    She dropped her arm, heralding beams of brilliant emerald light from the heavens. Each stream pierced the titan, scorching holes through its gargantuan form as the sky above glowed resplendent, like a luminous jewel.

 Chapter 44: Equitable Compensation

    The survivors¡¯ campsite was a modest affair. Tucked beneath an overhanging stretch of the mountain wall, worn leather canopies sagged above bedraggled fur blankets. Blackened pots and half-coal skewers hung over the remains of burned-out campfires, the charred wood beneath them crumbling into soot.


    Havoc watched as the survivors moved with practised efficiency, replacing the charred wood with fresh, dry sticks. Each drifted toward their lodgings without a word, clearing debris with quick, tired motions before striking sparks over tinder to reignite their flames.


    Set apart from the rows of makeshift shelters, a single tent stood alone. Though weathered and worn, it offered a fragile barrier against the bracing chill in the air¡ªperhaps just enough to stave off frosting breaths and numbing fingers.


    As the rest of the survivors settled into place, Havoc moved toward the tent alongside Aaron, Lucia, Annalise, and three others he had yet to properly meet. Around them, the camp stirred with weary motion¡ªeyes drooping, shoulders slack, each person doubtlessly eager to slip beneath their humble bedding. Even so, he did not miss the stares and whispered remarks as his group passed. Though some gazes lingered on him, and others stabbed at Aaron and his fianc¨¦e, it was Annalise who drew the most attention. The survivors murmured her name reverently, as though holding a sacred object too fragile to touch.


    Havoc tightened his jaw, the heavy crease of his brows weighing on his expression. He could understand their admiration for the Seer; her display of power was awe-inspiring. But the survivor¡¯s yearning expressions went beyond respect for a powerful Inheritor, veering toward veneration for a promised messiah.


    Faith like that was dangerous. It dulled reason, replaced caution with blind, unwarranted trust. A man would give his life¡ªor take another¡¯s¡ªfor a god in whom he truly believed. He had seen it before. The slums were rife with faith: in the Inheritors, in their Mother Aarth, in wise men and self-appointed prophets. Even salesmen, charlatans, and thieves found followers. Hope was currency in the slums, and it was often spent on lies. He had watched it destroy lives¡ªmen trading bread for promises, women forsaking their own instincts for the words of peddlers who preyed on their fears.


    Even the true gods were unworthy¡ªshattering the cosmos, they condemned countless souls to the unrelenting tribulations of the Dungeon. Annalise had power, and she had insight, but she was no god. That did not stop her from walking in their example. Only four could leave the Forest of Desire¡ªone and all, the survivors were damned.


    Guilt churned inn his stomach, rising to flush his cheeks and tighten his muscles. He bit the corner of his lower-lip, shoving down the sensation with a deep inhalation. He sympathised with the survivors, but he would not sacrifice for them.


    Whatever fate Annalise has planned for them has nothing to do with me. I have my own goals to live for. I won¡¯t risk that for anyone¡ªlet alone people I barely know, he thought, smothering the last embers of his self-doubt with cold resolve.


    He could not allow guilt to flare up and burn down his own hopes of survival. Clenching his fists, he straightened, forcing his focus back to what truly mattered: his own path forward.


    Reaching the tent, a man clad in gold-plated armour lifted the hanging partition. He stood aside as Aaron walked inside, followed by Lucia and a robed man Havoc didn¡¯t recognise. When only Havoc, Annalise, and a dark-skinned woman dressed in form-fitting leather armour remained at the entrance, the armoured man turned to Havoc.


    ¡®Wait out here,¡¯ the man said, his voice youthful but weathered, carrying an accent that spoke of unprivileged beginnings. ¡®If the Selenarian doesn¡¯t have any spare, we¡¯ll find you some bedding and a place to lay your head.¡¯


    ¡®Nonsense!¡¯ Annalise said with a playful tone, patting Havoc¡¯s back. ¡®He¡¯s more than earned a seat at the table¡ªyou can trust me on that.¡¯


    Havoc swallowed his tongue, biting down on the ironic retort that no one should trust a word from Annalise¡¯s ruby lips.


    ¡®If it were up to me, I¡¯d have you wait out here too,¡¯ the man growled, his eyes narrowing at the Seer.


    At his remark, the dark-skinned woman stepped forward, resting her hand on a sheathed dagger.


    ¡®But I know this one wouldn¡¯t take that lying down,¡¯ the man added with a resigned sigh, lifting his palms in surrender toward the woman. ¡®And truthfully, I¡¯m more than a little curious to hear what you have to say for yourself.¡¯


    ¡®Watch yourself, Anton,¡¯ the woman warned, her voice low and sharp. ¡®My lady doesn¡¯t answer to you or anyone else here. Don¡¯t forget your place.¡¯


    Havoc considered volunteering to forgo the group¡¯s discussions, if only to escape the tension engulfing them like a viscous sludge. But he rejected the thought. After everything Annalise had put him through, he refused to be relegated to an observer¡ªvoiceless and ignorant, left to follow orders like a pawn on someone else¡¯s board.


    ¡®Respectfully,¡¯ Havoc started, his tone devoid of the respect he mockingly claimed. ¡®Anything decided that assumes my cooperation is going to have my input,¡¯ he concluded, brushing past the upheld flap and into the tent.


    ¡®You heard him,¡¯ Annalise said lightly, following him inside. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes gleamed with something sharper¡ªapproval, perhaps, or calculation.


    Lanterns hung atop wooden poles, casting a warm, flickering glow across the tent¡¯s vast interior. At its centre lay a shallow firepit, ringed with smooth stones. The robed man raised his staff, the tip glowing faintly as he pointed it toward the pile of wood nestled in the dugout hole. A flaming bolt shot forth, igniting the logs with a crackling burst of light. The warmth spread quickly, the smoke curling upward and drifting through a small, carefully cut vent in the roof. Around the fire, the light danced on weathered faces, a warming reprieve from the chill outside.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Fur bedding arranged in a half-ring encircled the firepit, their soft surfaces catching the flicking light. The robed man tucked one of the blankets into a tight roll and sat, his robes shimmering for a moment before vanishing to reveal a plain white tunic draped over his narrow shoulders and gaunt form. Following his lead, Aaron, Lucia, and Aaron did the same. Whereas the tanned-skinned woman walked to the corner of the tent, retrieving more bedding along with a scarlet pillow. With deliberate precision, she laid them down, completing the circle. She waited for Annalise to settle onto the pillow before taking her place by her side, then gestured for Havoc to follow suit.


    For a moment, no one spoke, all present exchanging narrow glares and tight lips. Then, balling his fist before his mouth, Aaron sharply cleared his throat, cutting through the heavy quiet, pregnant with the unborn fruit of silent accusations.


    ¡®Without question, you have all endured more than I could have possibly intended or foreseen. It gratifies me to find so many of you alive and well even in such dire circumstances,¡¯ Aaron said, his tone slick with practised diplomacy.


    ¡®It is as my darling says, truly gratifying,¡¯ Lucia added, her words laced with teasing inflections.


    ¡®Shut it, lady muck!¡¯ Anton snapped, his voice cutting through the tent like a whip. Though he dismissed his golden armour into his Spirit Chain, his broad shoulders and toned biceps left him no less an intimidating presence than he was fully clad. ¡®I¡¯d had enough of your nonsense before everything went to shit. Don¡¯t think you can waltz back in acting like nothing¡¯s changed.¡¯


    Lucia¡¯s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, though her eyes flashed with something sharper.


    ¡®Oh, Anton, I had almost forgotten your eloquence and charm,¡¯ Lucia chided, her voice lilting with mockery. ¡®But let me remind you of one thing: nothing has changed. You are still in our employ, and if you ever speak to me like that again, I shall have your skin flayed from your bones and wear it as a winter coat.¡¯


    Her lips curved into a cold smile as she watched him, daring him to respond. The firelight cast sharp shadows across her face, matching the edge in her voice.


    ¡®If you think you can¡­¡¯ Anton growled, his fist tightening at his sides.


    ¡®Care to find out?¡¯ she hissed, her smile planted firmly in place.


    ¡®Enough!¡¯ Aaron declared, his voice cutting through the mounting tension. ¡®These have been trying times for us all, yet we must not debase ourselves with futile squabbles!¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s right,¡¯ the gaunt man agreed, his tone coated in weary calm.


    ¡®My sincerest gratitude, Franklin,¡¯ Aaron said, inclining his head slightly. ¡®Now, shall we move on to more pressing matters.¡¯


    ¡®Oh joy, I¡¯m glad all that ugliness is behind us,¡¯ Annalise said, her tone rich with amusement.


    ¡®That¡¯s just great. Just what we needed¡ªfor the other she-devil to pitch in,¡¯ Anton sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.


    Hands planted on the soft fur matting, Havoc leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. It was rare for him to have such an instant fondness to a person. Their brief conflict aside, he imagined he and Anton would relate well with one another. Lucia¡¯s malignance was as clear as a cloudless sky, but anyone who could peer beyond the Seer¡¯s ruby-lipped, blushing fa?ade deserved some recognition. Clarity of word and intention¡ªhe did not predict how rare a quality that would be among Inheritors.


    ¡®I warned you...¡¯ the dark-skinned woman spat, her tone cold enough to freeze the fire. Her hand moved toward the dagger resting at her side, her fingers brushing the leather strap on its hilt. ¡®Do not disrespect my lady.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s nothing to be riled over, Shar. Given everything, his outbursts¡ªwhile childish...¡¯ Annalise said, glancing toward Anton with the kind of indulgent smile one might expect from a long-suffering bride toward a frivolous husband, ¡®are completely understandable.¡¯


    Anton¡¯s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his glare flicking between Annalise and Shar. The Seer¡¯s calm tone carried with it an unspoken authority, as if daring anyone to contradict her.


    ¡®Alright then, explain yourselves,¡¯ Anton said, his tone sharp and expectant, like a father waiting on the excuses of a disobedient child, weighing the punishment to come ¡®When you hired us¡ª¡¯


    ¡®I explained there were risks involved,¡¯ Aaron interrupted, raising a hand with measured calm to dissuade further questioning.


    ¡®Risks?¡¯ Anton spat, his nostrils flaring as though ready to spew fire. ¡®This place is Hell, and you three are the devils who dragged us here!¡¯ His finger jabbed toward Aaron, then Lucia, and finally Annalise, each accusation landing like a blow.


    Aaron¡¯s hand lowered, his features composed, but his eyes gleamed with quiet resolve. Annalise simply tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips, while Lucia inspected her nails, her disinterest only seeming to stoke Anton¡¯s fury further.


    ¡®Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve put us through¡ªwhat you¡¯ve cost us?¡¯ Anton shouted, his voice raw with anger, rising to a guttural roar that echoed through the tent.


    ¡®Anton raises a fair point,¡¯ Franklin cut in smoothly, his tone slick with ulterior motives. ¡®But before we get lost in recriminations, shouldn¡¯t we address more practical matters? We¡¯ll never get anywhere in our negotiations without first discussing equitable compensation.¡¯


    The firelight caught the edge of his smirk, and Havoc caught the way his gaze lingered on Aaron, measuring every flicker of his expression.


    ¡®I am not an unreasonable man,¡¯ Aaron started. ¡®I am more than willing to renegotiate the terms of¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Have you all lost your minds?¡¯ Havoc snapped, his tone sharp with exasperation, no longer amused by the group¡¯s quarrelling. ¡®Here¡¯s your ¡°equitable compensation¡±: you get to live longer than the next three days.¡¯ He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he glanced around the group. ¡®That thing is still out there and could appear at any moment. We don¡¯t have the luxury to sit here debating whose manhood weighs heaviest. I¡¯ll save you some time¡ªits mine. So lets skip past that part and figure out where we need to go next.¡¯


    ¡®Well said!¡¯ Annalise cheered, her smile radiant as she clapped her hands together.


    ¡®Who is this kid, and what is he talking about?¡¯ Anton growled, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward Havoc. ¡®What does he mean, something¡¯s out there? What have you led to our camp?¡¯


    ¡®About that...¡¯ Annalise hummed, her gaze flicking toward Anton. Her eyes gleamed, the light of the fire catching something wild and gleeful within them¡ªa spark of perilous delight.

 Chapter 45: Performance Of A Lifetime

    Hulking flesh sparked from the corpse of the slain Dungeon-Spawn. Resembling an immense tortoise with a thorned shell, the monster had opened the battle with a salvo of barbed projectiles. Though severed from its form, the projectiles followed its intent, slipping past the narrow breaches in Havoc¡¯s barriers to gouge thighs, arms, and stomachs alike. It was a miracle they all survived. Yet as Naereah hurried from one pale-faced mercenary to the next, drenched in sweat as she laboured to staunch the worst of their bleeding, Havoc could not say how many would wake to the light of the next day.


    ¡®It¡¯ll only get harder from here, but have faith in the Seer¡¯s design,¡¯ Shar called from behind, her tone soft, almost mothering.


    With her palm rested on the shoulder of one of the survivors¡ªSabine, Havoc recalled¡ªShar leaned close, whispering something inaudible into her ear before returning to Annalise¡¯s side. Her conviction seemed to radiate through her every movement, a balm to the fearful. Yet to Havoc, her faith was misplaced, a delusion of a mind warped by the searing flames of Annalise¡¯s enigmatic madness. Still, she was right about one thing: things would only become more difficult.


    To escape the Forest, they needed to carve a course toward a Temple. There, they would find the Tears of Desire, along with the means of returning to the world outside the Dungeon-Cell. But between them and salvation lay a gauntlet of monsters; each one brimming with profane power, teetering on the edge of Champion rank of their abyssal Inheritance.


    Their circumstances were not as dire as they seemed¡ªthey were far worse. Before them, monsters waited, but an Abomination stalked behind. Formed of splinted glass, at its touch flesh, bone, and viscera crumpled into a bloodied mess, feeding its ever-growing strength.


    Though relentless, the Abomination moved with measured advances¡ªits clinking and slithering motions alien and unnerving¡ªseemingly content to herd their group deeper through the mountain passage. Never further than a three-day trek behind, the group had no choice but to abandon their campsite and confront the Spawn ahead¡ªwhether they were ready or not.


    They were not ready¡­


    The wounded were few, but their numbers would swell with each battle; so too would the burden of facing the Dungeon-Spawn without their support. Catastrophic loss was inevitable. Before long, the wounded would mount, their Harmony would run dry, and their hope of reaching the temple would hang by a fraying thread. The desperation of their situation was evident, yet as Havoc caught sight of one of the survivors¡ªhis fist clenched with resolve, his eyes gleaming with unbridled optimism toward the Seer¡ªHavoc could only conclude he was alone in his cold appraisal of their condition. Where he saw ruin, they seemed only to perceive salvation.


    Blind fools, he thought, subtly swaying his head as disappointment and guilt swirled in his gut.


    Blended with his contempt was an acrid pang of envy. He would not allow himself to be swayed by Annalise¡¯s charm, but in these quiet moments, he longed to feel what the others felt¡ªswaddled in blind faith, unencumbered by the crushing weight of being accountable for his own survival.


    ¡®It¡¯d be nice, wouldn¡¯t it?¡¯ Anton said, his tone self-assured yet subdued, his palm resting lightly on Havoc¡¯s shoulder.


    Havoc stiffened at the man¡¯s touch, instinctively taking a step back. Turning, he locked eyes with the mercenary, the faint glint of Anton¡¯s gold-plated armour catching the night-sun¡¯s listless glow. Anton¡¯s posture remained casual, his knitted expression thread between camaraderie and world-weary caution.


    ¡®I¡¯ll give you some advice, kid. It¡¯s better to take the world for what it is, not for how you wish it could be,¡¯ Anton said, his voice steady but tinged with weariness..


    He paused, his expression drooping into something unreadable as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When his gaze returned to Havoc, it had hardened, determination glinting behind the lines of his face.


    ¡®She¡¯s turned my men into mindless followers. I don¡¯t like it, but more than that¡ªI don¡¯t trust it. You¡¯ve spent more time with her than most. What does she have planned for us?¡¯


    Nothing good, Havoc thought. The words scrambled to the tip of his tongue, desperate to break free, but he choked them down, swallowing the truth in silence.


    Havoc opened his mouth, feigned ignorance ready on his lips. Before he could voice his denial, Anton raised a palm, halting him mid-breath. He followed Anton¡¯s gaze as the crunch of boots on gravelled earth drew his attention behind.


    My lady wishes to speak with you,¡¯ Shar said, her tone dispassionate and steady as she gestured toward Annalise. The Seer curtsied playfully when Havoc and Anton glanced her way, her lips curving into a teasingly sheepish smile.


    Anton took a step toward Annalise but froze as Shar moved to block his path, her stance unyielding.


    ¡®Just the boy,¡¯ she said, her voice firm. With a slight tilt of her head, she gestured for Havoc to proceed, her dark eyes fixed on him, as if measuring his worth and finding him wanting.


    ¡®We¡¯ll talk later, kid,¡¯ Anton said as Havoc moved toward the Seer.


    As he approached, Annalise closed the distance between them without a word and continued past him, her steps light but purposeful. When they were a safe distance from the group, she stopped before a smooth boulder. Her fingers traced its surface with a lingering touch, as though drawing some silent comfort from the stone, before she hopped onto it and gestured for Havoc to join her.


    The night after we face the fourth Dungeon-Spawn along this path, Aaron¡¯s going to make an attempt on your life,¡¯ Annalise said, her tone light and devoid of the weight expected of such a proclamation. ¡®He¡¯ll invite you to join him on a hunt and strike you down, far from prying eyes.¡¯If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡®How do you know all this?¡¯ Havoc asked instinctively, flinching at the stupidity of questioning a seer about how she learned of present intentions and future actions.


    Annalise leaned toward him, her lips curling into a pitying smile, her eyes alight with something like amusement, as though lamenting his naivety.


    ¡®Surely even you must have seen this coming. I mean, be sensible¡ªwhat else could you expect?¡¯ she asked, teasingly exasperated, as though pointing out something painfully obvious.


    ¡®You¡¯re growing too strong too quickly. You¡¯ve embarrassed him in front of his men. And then there¡¯s something else¡­ What was it? Oh, right¡ªyou stole the heart of the woman he loves. I¡¯m not saying you deserve it or anything,¡¯ she added, a playful lift curling her words. ¡®but you kinda brought this upon yourself.¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s mind raced, straining to find the words to refute her accusations, but none came. She was right¡ªone and all, everything she said was true. From the beginning, he had no regard for Aaron¡¯s supposed authority, and that had not changed since joining the survivors. The others all stood to benefit from Aaron¡¯s goodwill¡ªhe was paying for that privilege, after all. But Havoc was never one of his hired swords, and he had acted accordingly, doing as he pleased, even in open defiance of Aaron¡¯s conflicting commands.


    Most of the time, his defiance barely grazed Aaron¡¯s pride, though there was always an undercurrent of resentment. But when Havoc informed the handful of Ugly¡¯s surviving men about their leader¡¯s demise¡ªand the role he and Aaron had both played in it¡ªwhatever lingering command Aaron held over hearts and minds, rather than just purses, dissolved completely.


    On reflection, he admitted his candour had not been the most prudent decision, but he was already weighed down with enough secrets to scuttle a warship. Even at the cost of drawing suspicion and disdain, it had felt like the right thing to do. And, if he were honest, he had relished the moment¡ªspeaking over Aaron¡¯s red-faced exclamations for silence with unapologetic clarity.


    His rapid progression spoke for itself. A new Inheritor, he had already reached the third-step of his Servant Inheritance¡ªa feat most would consider impossible within a few years, much less the two weeks it had taken him. Yet this very accomplishment marked him as a threat, a target for envy and mistrust.


    As for stealing Naereah¡¯s heart, unintended as it had been, the Seer¡¯s words rang true. He could not mistake the look in her eyes for anything less than the deepest of longings, nor the glint in Aaron¡¯s for anything other than malicious resentment. Havoc had done nothing to stoke the fire of the Selenarian¡¯s desire, but the distance he kept did little to extinguish her stolen, lingering glances.


    He could not ignore the friction building in Aaron¡¯s gaze, each stolen glance from Naereah fanning embers into a slow-burning blaze.


    Much ado about nothing¡ªLucia is also about ready to make her move,¡¯ Annalise hummed, her lips curving into an impish pout. ¡®Seeing as no one¡¯s going to survive the battle after the next, there won¡¯t be much need for a healer. Even if there was¡ªbless her soul¡ªNaereah would be long spent. Still, I need her, so I¡¯d prefer you kept her close for now.¡¯


    Havoc did not miss the harrowing foretelling so casually spoken. The battle after the next was fated to be the last for the survivors, their purpose to the Seer expended. He had long known they were not destined to leave the Forest, yet the callousness with which Annalise spoke quickened his pulse, rattled his nerves, and flushed his cheeks with futile ire. Whether it was her manipulations or his inability to change the survivor¡¯s fate which had him incensed, he was not certain. But he could not deny the churning frustration rolling in his gut.


    ¡®Why are you telling me this?¡¯ Havoc finally asked, his fists clenched tight.


    ¡®Could you please keep up!¡¯ Annalise sighed, her ocean-blue eyes lifting with in an exaggerated roll. ¡®You still have work to do. I need you to keep Naereah safe for when we reach the Temple of Desire. The other two are reaching the end of their usefulness, Their deaths won¡¯t even serve my purpose in this group¡¯s heroic last stand,¡¯ she said as she locked her fingers together in a mockery of prayer, lifting her face skyward.


    ¡®For the record, neither would yours. You have no faith in me¡ªor anything else, I¡¯d wager. But unlike our resident nobles, you¡¯re sensible. You¡¯re just looking for a way out. You¡¯re not going to get in my way over petty ambition or untempered greed.¡¯


    Whatever Annalise had planned, Havoc intended to remain far removed. She was right¡ªhis only goal within the Forest was to escape. Bountiful riches meant little to him; inheriting at all was satisfaction enough. Still, curiosity clawed at the edges of his mind, its razored tips piercing through caution like a needle through silken cloth. No matter how much he told himself to keep his distance, he could not shake one gnawing question:


    What does she want? What would make her do all this?


    ¡®Why do you need their faith?¡¯ he finally asked, unable to hold the question down any longer.


    Her eyes shifted toward him. She tapped her forefinger on her upper lip, as though weighing whether his question warranted an answer. Then, with a soft sigh, she turned to face him, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp as a blade.


    ¡®That¡¯s the role this Dungeon-Cell wants us to play,¡¯ she said, her tone resigned.


    ¡®What are you¡ª¡¯ Havoc started, but Annalise raised a hand, tilting her head gently from side to side, silencing him with the gesture.


    ¡®The despair of the faithful¡ªthe Tears of Desire,¡¯ she explained, her voice soft but edged with fatigue. ¡®We¡¯re re-enacting a fragment of this kingdom¡¯s ruin. The temple will only open once our performance is complete. The brave and noble must place their faith in a saviour born of their own imagination, only for that hope to be betrayed in the end.


    Silence drifted between them, its weight heavy upon Havoc¡¯s shoulders. But then Annalise smiled, a soft chuckle slipping past her lips as her eyes lit with a primal intensity.


    ¡®It¡¯s really the part I was born to play,¡¯ she said, all traces of doubt washing from her expression. ¡®Yes, I¡¯ll betray their faith in me, and no, I¡¯m not a god¡ªbut I will be. And when that day comes, I¡¯ll not forget their sacrifice. This is a necessary first step, and I would do it all again. So if you¡¯re waiting for me to regret my actions, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll be waiting an eternity.¡¯


    Havoc waited for a moment, his mind racing to process all that Annalise had told him, before settling on the one thing he had any control over.


    Aaron intended to take his life¡ªfine. Their confrontation, long expected, was now inescapable. So be it. If it was inevitable, he would cast the first blow.


    With purposeful strides, he returned to where the survivors had gathered. His eyes swept across the battlefield until they landed on Aaron, whose gaze was fixed on Naereah.


    Kneeling over one of the wounded, her blood-drenched hands hovered above a mangled thigh. She stood, swaying slightly as sweat trailed down her pale-blue face.


    Without hesitation, Havoc moved toward her, catching her in his arms before she collapsed. She trembled softly in his hold, her body weakened from exhaustion.


    ¡®Thank¡ª¡¯ she began, but the words faltered as Havoc pulled her closer, his palm cupping her face.


    He gazed into her lightless eyes, feeling the faint thrum of her beating heart against him. And then, without another thought, he planted his lips on hers.


    His first kiss, given not in love but in spite.

 Chapter 46: Shattered Pride

    Lucia had been patient. The long-suffering bride-to-be had endured degradation and humiliation all for the love and for the life that she deserved. She had bitten her tongue too many times. Forced too watch her future husband wag his tail, tongue lapping the air and drooling puddles beneath his feet as he leered at her slave girl.


    What does she have that I could possibly lack? she asked herself, incredulity coiling in her stomach like a serpent¡¯s bone-crushing grip. Her nails dug into her palms, but the dull ache did nothing to distract from the heart-piercing resentment slicing chamber by chamber.


    As she watched Aaron stomp toward the two miscreant mudlarks, his fists balled and his face flushed crimson, Lucia could only ask herself: where was this righteous fury when her honour had been at stake?


    Reaching the boy-lout, Aaron yanked him away from the slave-girl. Grabbing Havoc¡¯s collar in a white-knuckled grip, he hoisted the clod overhead, his jaw clenched tight with barely restrained fury.


    You will keep your filthy hands away from her. Do you hear me?¡¯ Aaron roared, his face so close to the lout¡¯s it could almost be mistaken for intimacy.


    ¡®Whatever could be troubling you, my good man?¡¯ the lout replied, his tone a measured mockery of noble decorum. ¡®I simply cannot imagine what has you so out of sorts. It was my understanding that the lady was free to pursue as she pleased. Even were that inaccurate, you are spoken for, are you not? I fail to see how I could have offended.¡¯


    He finished with a wide grin, his voice carrying just enough to reach the edges of the crowd now gathering. Spectators exchanged glances, their murmurs rising like the rustle of dry leaves, as the tension coated the air.


    With fists clenched tight, Lucia stood silent as Aaron¡¯s unintelligible, sputtered response mingled with the whispers, chucking, and pitying glances directed toward her.


    Aaron released his grip on the boy, who landed lightly, brushing imaginary lint from his collar with an exaggerated flourish. Havoc¡¯s grin widened, his mocking gaze dancing across the crowd before settling on Aaron. The spectators exchanged knowing glances, their amusement a searing blade pressed flat across Lucia¡¯s cheek.


    ¡®Go comfort your bride,¡¯ Havoc said, brushing Aaron¡¯s shoulder while he glanced past him, setting his sight on Lucia. ¡®I believe you have much grovelling in your future to redress this slight.¡¯


    Havoc leaned close, whispering inaudible provocations into Aaron¡¯s ear. Aaron¡¯s chest heaved with restrained fury, but Havoc did not wait for a response. With an almost dismissive air, he turned and grasped the slave-girl¡¯s hand, leading her away from the group.


    As Havoc retreated, silence fell¡ªa taut, fragile thing that shattered under the weight of loud, rolling laughter.


    Aaron glanced sheepishly at Lucia, mouthing words she did not care to interpret. Her glare cut past her philandering bridegroom, burning into the receding form of the slave-girl.


    Enough is enough! The words echoed in her mind, fury rising from her chest, enflaming every nerve and clouding her vision in red.


    ¡®Do not take another step, you gutter wench!¡¯ Lucia screamed, her voice sharp and shrill even to her own ears, cutting through the laughter like a jagged blade.


    Even she was uncertain of what she would do next. For years, she had endured Aaron¡¯s barefaced imprudence, tempered only by the thin veil of discretion he afforded her in public and the assurance that his name would one day elevate her to where she belonged¡ªthe highest echelon of elite gentry.


    More recently, it was the knowledge that he would soon be hers¡ªtruly hers¡ªthat had guarded her from his most garish intemperance. The Seer had shown her the path, she need only walk it.


    She had feared all was lost the day that brazen hussy had defied her command inside the dilapidated temple within the City of Monsters. But fortune favoured those who could stake it all on what they deserve. When that scarlet-trollop had pulled every Fragment from her coffer, Lucia carefully swept the collection until she found exactly what she needed.


    With the Fragments of Mind and Soul, the potion nestled safely between her breasts, and her Remnants, she possessed nearly everything for the powerful Sequence that would bind her love to her forever. All that remained was the timing¡ªand it was not now. Natheless, there was no excusing that lightskirt¡¯s continued existence. Even if the street-wench still had her use, she could be hauled underarm¡ªher legs and her spine broken clean.


    Before she even registered her own actions, twin talismans shimmered between her pinched fingers. With a sharp flick of her wrist, they sliced through the air. The talismans twisted and tore, each ripping into the wind as they transformed, forming towering wolves¡ªone crimson red, the other cobalt blue.


    ¡®Have your senses taken flight?¡¯ Aaron shouted, his arms outstretched as he stepped between Lucia and Naereah, his wide eyes betraying his disbelief.


    A sharp twitch pulled at Lucia¡¯s eyelids as the man she loved stood as a barrier against her righteous recompense¡ªanother shattering blow to the fractured plain of her pride.


    She did not hesitate. Pouring every drop of her roiling ire into a mental command, she sent the crimson wolf forward. With a single swipe of its massive paw, Aaron was flung aside like a discarded coat, lifted clean from his feet, dropping with a heavy thud, then sliding across the ground.


    No one is laughing now, are they? she thought, the cool wash of satisfaction momentarily easing the churn of her rage. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Like a doe caught between a cliff and the huntsman¡¯s bow, the wanton-strumpet trembled as she glanced between Lucia and the lowbred clod who stepped forward¡ªanother infuriating hindrance to Lucia¡¯s virtuous indignation.


    This ends now!¡¯ a man shouted, his voice etched with coarse authority.


    Clad in golden armour, Anton rushed forward, placing himself between the group and Lucia¡¯s bounding wolves. His whip ignited along its length, embers and ash cascading from the lash. With a sharp snap of his hand, he drove the wolves back, advancing without a trace of fear.


    ¡®If you continue this idiocy, you¡¯ll make enemies of us all!¡¯ he roared.


    Only then did Lucia notice the gathered unwashed, their weapons glinting in the pale light. Across the mountain passage, cross-brow faces and sharp eyes fixed on her, their silent condemnation more cutting than Anton¡¯s words. Her lips curled into a sneer, but the sight of something in the distance arrested her fury.


    A glimmer¡ªfaint but unmistakable¡ªdrew her gaze. It grew with each passing moment, closing the distance at a rapid pace.


    Dread cut through her rage like a razor parting sting. She had no intention of allowing this day¡¯s slight to go unanswered¡ªshe would have satisfaction. But as the faint glimmer became a fractured nightmare¡ªa barrelling storm of glass and malice¡ªsurvival took precedence over pride. She could not guess how much the Abomination had grown in power, but as it rose, blotting the horizon from view, she gripped her priorities with resolute clarity.


    This is not over, she swore silently. Climbing atop the sapphire wolf, she snatched her fianc¨¦ in the beast¡¯s jaws and spurred it forward, indifferent to whether the others followed.


    ****


    Sat across a laid-out ground cloth, Aaron¡¯s chest heaved as he opened his eyes, the dregs of his Harmony restored to viable levels. For a fleeting moment, his mind was clear, unburdened by thought or pride. Though his face was drenched in sweat, his features held a glow of cool serenity¡ªa facade soon shattered.


    As his taut muscles eased, the strain of restorative meditation faded, and reality came roaring back. The events of hours past tore through his thoughts like an ill-tempered bull. His grip paled as his fists tightened, molten resentment flushing his skin with an irate hue.


    Disgrace¡ªunforgivable, insurmountable disgrace. That low-born beggar had dragged his name, his honour, into the mud. The fool had pushed his magnanimity too far. No longer. He was Aaron Crest, rightful heir to the Great House of Crest, and no trifling provincial would make a mockery of him and live to spread word of the occasion.


    He had already fallen so low, enduring countless indignities unbefitting his station. It was all for love¡ªa love that had been trampled beneath muck-stained boots, and spit upon by the very object of his affections.


    Calm yourself, he commanded himself. It is not she who has spurned you, the fault is with the rogue. He forced his appetite upon her, and she was too timid to refuse. His jaw tightened as the thought hardened into conviction. She does love me¡ªI know she does. Her eyes call for me.


    Havoc was not the alone in blame. His fianc¨¦e¡ªthat coltish devil¡ªhad her share to claim. Without her insatiable ambitions, he would already be free to declare his love. There was no doubt in his mind¡ªNaereah was waiting for him. He could not blame her. She deserved better¡ªa love untainted by schemes. But as long as that treacherous vixen prowled the edges, her claws ever poised, Naereah would remain shackled by fear¡ªfear of the scorn of illegitimacy.


    Anger surged his veins, hot and unremitting, but with laboured breaths, he forced the inferno to cool.


    This humiliation will not be for naught. I need only wait a little longer, he thought, the words a salve to his blistered pride and scalded heart.


    It was true¡ªone way or another, all things would be resolved. With the fractured Abomination close on their heels, they could not rest for long before facing the next Spawn along the gauntlet. The path was merciless, and each step demanded more from the group. But after that, only one Spawn would remain before Aaron, his love, and the Seer slipped away to enter the Temple of Desire alone. Once there, he would seize the Tears of Desire¡ªfor Naereah¡¯s sake and for his own glory¡ªalong with any other treasures within. Then they would flee this dreadful place, his claim to a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance cemented at last.


    But not before I make that insolent guttersnipe suffer, he resolved, a rumbling growl in place of spoken word.


    He had originally planned to bait the boor on a hunting trip, ensuring only one of them returned. But that was no longer feasible. Dumb-witted as the boy might be, there was no disguising Aaron¡¯s intentions now. Still, subterfuge offered other possibilities.


    As his mind turned over his next move, his gaze drifted across the camp. He walked past tawdry canopies and fur bedding tucked close to the mountain wall, the charred logs of burned-out fireplaces still radiating faint warmth.


    Even by the low standards to which they had been forced to adapt, the state of their supplies was disheartening. With no choice but to abandon anything that could not fit in their meagre spatial-storage Remnants¡ªand with the extortionate toll demanded by Naereah¡¯s coffer¡ªthere was little left to go around. The loss of their threadbare tent was another blow. Simply possessing his own bedroll was now a privilege; most survivors had been forced to bundle together on the few that remained.


    The night carried a sharp chill, creeping down Aaron¡¯s tattered, knee-length tailcoat to raise his hair and frost his breath. Each exhalation hung briefly in the air, an ephemeral phantom of his discomfort. Still, he pressed on, carving a distance between himself and the slumbering masses.


    He halted his steps as one of the damned groaned loudly atop his bedding, tossing and turning, hands clenched tight across his stomach. Aaron recognised the man but could not recall his name. He was one of the useless¡ªincapacitated immediately in the previous battle by the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s opening barrage. Aaron had seen him face the six-armed giant prior, wielding his spear like a knave, his Harmonic purity nothing worth boasting.


    He sneered, looking down upon the young man. He could not fathom why his love had wasted her time patching the wounds of such a snivelling runt. His continued breaths only signified they would cease later.


    Thank the Stewards, not everyone I hired is so singularly useless, he thought, shoving down the unwelcome question of what it said about him that such incompetence could thrive on under his command.


    As the man settled, Aaron pushed further, his spirits lifting as he caught sight of his man. Though fallen low, Franklin was a man after his own heart. Noble in blood, even if no longer in station. Proof that true nobility endured all degradation.


    Of all the simpletons and dullards Aaron had hired, only one had consoled him following his disgrace. Only one shared his insight into what must be done to keep the dunghill rats in line. He was not among the Seer¡¯s fawning scrubs. He had the intellect and ambition to recognise opportunities and seize upon them.


    Only four could leave the Forest of Desire¡ªif Franklin acted correctly, with loyalty and poise, there was no reason the fourth place could not be his.


    After all, it was truly gratifying to have an ally on whom he could depend.

 Chapter 47: Do And Die

    Franklin raised his oak staff overhead. Harmony surged from his Core to his Spirit Chain, the air above him warping with rippling heat, as though the sky itself had been struck by fever. The warmth sparked into a bolt of cremating fire, hanging above the battlefield like the vengeful eye of a merciless demon.


    A symphonic resonance of chimes, strings, and wind instruments reverberated through the mountain passage, vibrating Franklin¡¯s bones and setting his teeth on edge. He channelled the power into his flame, intensifying the inferno until it roared with destructive might.


    As the Dungeon-Spawn closed in, its eight legs skittered across the barren ground, Franklin waited for the earth to collapse beneath it, casting the foul creature into a pit where he would unleash his noble power.


    The moment never came. Nimble on its eight gracile legs, the creature¡ªa bare-chested man fused from the waist into a spider¡¯s body¡ªleapt to one side as the ground crumbled beneath it. While in mid-air, it drew back the string of its longbow and loosed a green-tinged arrow. The projectile hissed through the air, hurtling past the spot Franklin had occupied only a heartbeat earlier¡ªbefore his former attendant tackled him to the ground.


    His heart hammered against his ribs, fear gripping him like a vice. Unable to maintain his hold over his power, the fire burst forth like an enraged predator unleashed too soon, the sky roaring like a ravenous beast denied its prey.


    He was meant to be safe. Concealed behind the bootless rabble, the perils of these battles was never supposed to reach him. His noble household might have been brought to ruin, their treasures handed out to ruffians and brutes like the ones he begrudgingly called allies, but that did nothing to change one simple truth¡ªhe was above them. He was their better, their leader by natural right. Theirs was not to question why, theirs was to do and die. Yet he was meant for greater things: the restoration of the noble house of Everquill, to ascend the path of power, and to take vengeance against the Skull¡¯s Rebellion¡ªthe allegiance of seven dark guilds that had ravished his household when he was but a child.


    I will not perish in this place! he resolved, gritting his teeth as shoved Myra from atop him and rose to his feet.


    The eight-legged spawn scurried closer, releasing bolt after bolt from its bow¡ªthe length of a man fully grown¡ªonly for each arrow¡¯s momentum to be arrested by shimmering barriers of light.


    Where was that defence when I almost lost my head, he sneered, barely noticing the slow trickle of Harmony refiling his tapering reserves.


    ¡®I can hardly blame Aaron for wanting that mutt done away with,¡¯ Franklin muttered beneath his breath.


    ¡®What was that, sir?¡¯ Myra asked, her tone formal and direct, like the good, little subordinate she had been before that brutish woman started whispering in her ear.


    ¡®Never mind that,¡¯ Franklin hissed. ¡®Just focus on your job! I need more Harmony. Drain the limpers dry if you must¡ªThey¡¯re only good for that now.¡¯


    ¡®As our lady wills it¡¯ Myra replied, her nerve-grating drone a perfect mirror, reflecting the mindless fawner she had become.


    ¡®Yes, yes! Our lady is with us,¡¯ Franklin dismissively replied.


    He could not fault the knuckle draggers and bootlickers for their admiration of the Seer¡¯s power. Even he could admit her show of force against the ravager-spawn in the midst of its evolution had been a sight to behold. Small wonder that lesser minds mistook it for divine intervention. But he hailed from the house of Everquill, a lineage steeped in reason and discernment¡ªqualities those sycophants sorely lacked. To Franklin, who could peer behind her curtain, her show¡ªimpressive as it was¡ªwas nothing more than chicanery and showmanship.


    A Sequence¡ªnothing more. A complex synergy of Remnants, Fragments, potions, and conditions designed to invoke the Dungeon¡¯s favour. With the right knowledge and components, anyone skilled enough could perform it. He could admit Annalise¡¯s Sequence was especially potent¡ªto slay a Champion-ranked spawn, even in its infancy, was not to be looked down upon¡ªbut as for being an act of the divine, it was as far removed as the sea from the bordered heavens.


    He had no intentions of exposing the Seer¡¯s deception¡ªit would not profit him to do so. Before she arrived¡ªbringing with her the noble purse, his fianc¨¦e, that most exotic healer, and the admittedly skilled ruffian boy¡ªthe spirits of the group were low. Even he had begun to wonder whether the forest would be his grave. But as Shar, with her unwavering zeal, spread the faith of her lady, and that faith spouted firm, nurtured by the waters of the Seer¡¯s miraculous display, even the most despondent among their ranks started to swell with hope anew.


    It galled him to rely on such trifles, but he could not deny their utility. Hope gave one the strength to keep fighting, and he needed them to fight, to break everything that stood against him so that when they too were broken, he could scale their corpses to safety.


    As Harmony continued to swell in his core, Franklin peered across the battlefield, watching as the frontline engaged the Dungeon-Spawn. In a clash of razored claw and bladed feet, Aaron led the charge. The clang of steel meeting stone rang out as Aaron¡¯s scaled talons blurred in a flurry of precise strikes and hasty deflections.


    The spawn scuttled across the passage wall, then leapt¡ªits sharpened legs arched like the reaper¡¯s scythe, cleaving a lethal arc to carve the purse into bloodied segments. But before the spawn¡¯s legs clamped down like the insatiable jaw of a half-starved beast, Aaron threw himself backward, beating his leathery wings with tempestuous force. The gust scattered loose stone beneath him, granting him not just distance but an opening to counter.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Franklin¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. Precision, yes, but it was base¡ªundignified¡ªfar beneath the ideal of a great household. That the scrappers and brawlers of the Crest household continued to rise while the vaulted scholarship of his noble house faded from mention was an insult to good reason.


    From its inception, the house of Everquill had dedicated itself not just to brute strength, but to the machinations behind the inner workings of Harmony¡¯s laws. Gathering Remnants centred around the arcane, they delved deep, grasping wisdom that, left to mature, could have placed their house at the pinnacle of might.


    To see Crest blood so effortlessly wield strength, while Everquill¡¯s scholars had been reduced to whispers, was a cruel irony he could barely stomach.


    That I need rely on this pretender to escape this place is the greatest insult, Franklin scolded, the bitter sharp of envy waxing his tongue.


    Still, he would pucker his lips and kiss the ring if he must¡ªat least for now. One day, Crest¡¯s shadow would bow beneath Everquill¡¯s light. But for now, submission would serve as the stepping stone.


    Aaron had divulged the secret of the Cell in which they stood: the Forest of Desire. Franklin now knew that only four could ever leave, and he was determined to be among that number. To secure his place, he need do only one thing¡­


    His gaze fixed on Havoc as the runt threw himself into the air, somersaulting backward as the Spawn lashed its legs in vicious sweeps, frantically cleaving the spaces the boy had been moments before. They continued their deadly chase, Havoc mere inches from death, only to dive to safety at the last moment.


    He makes a fine asset on the battlefield, but I am a man of my word, Franklin thought. His lips curled into a thin smile as a bolt of fire burst before his staff, its warmth prickling his skin. Stretching out his arm, he guided the flame¡ªnot toward the Spawn, but toward Havoc.


    ****


    In the blink of an eye, a bolt of fire raced toward Havoc, and in the same instant, the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s sharpened legs cleaved down upon him. There was no time to dodge. Mid-somersault, he could neither evade nor conjure a barrier, having just left the limited range of the Stone Guardsman.


    The heat hit first, prickling his skin like a warning before the bolt¡¯s full, incinerating wrath engulfed him. Pain erupted¡ªan all-consuming inferno that burned away the world. But the agony was not finished. A heartbeat later, the vivisecting lash of the Spawn¡¯s bladed legs tore through him, slicing downward with unrelenting precision, cutting through flesh and bone as easily as a knife through water.


    He was dead¡ªat least, he should have been. But at the last moment, he flared Harmony to his core, calling on the borrowed power of Anton¡¯s golden armour. It did not function as Havoc had imagined. He believed the Remnant to grant burst of neigh-invulnerability¡ªthat was not true. Instead, it mended all injuries in an instant, leaving him exposed to the full, excruciating agony of the fatal strikes. The wounds closed as they were dealt, but the pain lingered, raw and unremitting, as though deaths retribution upon those who would deny its rightful claim.


    There was no time to reflect on the moment. Though alive, lain between the Spawn¡¯s closing feet, he would not be for long. With the Flesh Weave Needle already buried deep in his thigh, he surged Harmony into its Link, unravelling the muscles in his arm. His body withered as his mass travelled to his lengthening limb, the grotesque contortion pulling him toward a nearby boulder. Every fibre of his being screamed against the unnatural motion, but desperation drove him onward. As his arm coiled around the rock, he pulled himself between the narrow slits of the Spawn¡¯s razored legs, escaping death by a breath¡¯s width.


    The spawn would not relent, charging toward Havoc as his body writhed, muscles contorting to regain their form. Just as the creature bore down, a flaming whip snapped around its throat, searing the flesh with blistering heat. Its six airborne limbs thrashed above him, unable to cleave down and carve him apart. A crackling slosh of clicks and snaps, brimming with rage, reverberated through the air as the spawn spun on its tips and lunged toward the man who had denied it its kill.


    ¡®Now? You do this now?¡¯ Havoc roared, pulling himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. His glare burned toward Aaron, who barely spared him a glance.


    ¡®This is neither the time nor the place for your baseless conspiracies!¡¯ Aaron shouted back, his scaled talons flashing as he re-engaged the spawn.


    ¡®He¡¯s right!¡¯ Anton interjected, diving to the left as the creature¡¯s legs scraped his heel.


    The spawn screeched, its limbs a blur of razored strikes tearing through the air, forcing the group to scatter.


    ¡®If you can still fight, then fight,¡¯ Anton huffed, his breath laboured. ¡®Settle your disputes later!¡¯


    Later? Havoc thought, his mind racing from one conclusion to the next. The Dungeon-Spawn was the more immediate threat, but though he did not take action directly, there was no question Aaron was behind the attempt on his life. He¡¯ll try again¡­


    Havoc¡¯s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as his eyes cut toward Aaron. But there was nothing he could do now. The Spawn was dire enough a threat as it was. Though every fibre of his being screamed for retaliation¡ªinstant and unyielding¡ªdoing so now would damn them both.


    He would settle the score. Not now¡ªbut later. And when he did, there would be no mercy.


    The battle drew Havoc back within range of The Stone Guardsman. Keeping his distance as Lucia¡¯s wolves leapt through the air, carving bloodied lines across the monster¡¯s chest, Havoc crafted a falchion of ethereal light in his grip and rushed toward the fiend.


    But then he halted. A beam of light reflected into his eye, and his breath caught. As if emerging from nowhere, a storm of glass and depraved intent loomed nearer, engulfing the horizon. It zigzagged through the seams of reality, vanishing and reappearing closer with every burst from the nether.


    The fractured Abomination¡ªthat unstoppable force. It was still a distance away, but moving rapidly closer. The air itself seemed to warp around the storm, the faint sound of shattering heralding its approach.


    It would soon be upon them, and when it arrived, no flesh would survive.

 Chapter 48: Fragmented Nightmare

    Death whispered in the winds¡ªthe chink and screech of splinters of shattered glass scraping over each other. The noise grew louder, and louder still, building into an all-consuming flurry, tinkering above like a windblown chime shepherding an agonized shriek.


    With his eye flared open, Havoc gazed upon the oncoming storm. No words lain on page nor brushstrokes on canvas could relate the tar-black dread that sludged through his veins, stiffening his joints, rooting him in place.


    We¡¯re dead¡­ The thought echoed in his mind, dragging him back to the memory of flesh crumpling at the fractured Abomination¡¯s touch.


    So lost in this certainty of doom that by the time he descried the shadow of the eight-legged Dungeon-Spawn cast down upon him¡ªthe fiend high overhead, its razored feet like death closing in¡ªthere was no time to react. And in that moment, he could not say he would have hurled himself from harm even were he able. It all seemed so futile: the sound, the fury¡ªamounting to nothing.


    A chuckle broke from his lips, fluttering high before rising into frenzied mirth. He lifted his arms to his sides and closed his eyes. But as he embraced the pitiless certainty of death, a rope lashed tight around his chest, and in an instant, he was hurled backward. The sheer of the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s limbs sliced through the ground where he had stood, spraying shards of stone into the air. His breath caught as he tumbled to safety, disbelief flickering in his mind as the world blurred around him.


    ¡®Hold your nerve, kid!¡¯ Anton shouted as he loosed his whip from around Havoc¡¯s chest. ¡®You¡¯re not done yet.¡¯


    He snapped his wrist, scoring the ground with his whip as it reignited along its length. Glancing down at Havoc, his whip looped above his head, embers and ash streaming from its breadth.


    A cloud of smoke and cinder plumed above as Anton roared his indomitable resolution. He leapt high into the air, lashing the chest of the Dungeon-Spawn. The whip struck true, a fevered line seared deep into mangled flesh. The Spawn screeched, its limbs flailing as the wound crackled and hissed.


    The storm of shattered glass loomed nearer, a ripple of fractured motion like the ocean¡¯s tide frothing high into a tempestuous wave. It stretched over the skyline like a claw, folding down to lay claim to the land.


    In mere moments, it would descend, collapsing all flesh into its splintered mass.


    Havoc¡¯s heart thundered against his ribs, every instinct screaming to flee, but there was nowhere to run. He could not halt it by force. He had no tricks, no traps; wit-lashed words would not constrict it in its hypocrisy. It was a force outside nature¡ªan unmaking destined to kill and destroy¡ªapathetic to spite, resolve, or any other tools in the arsenal Havoc had come to depend upon.


    ¡®Everything! Give him everything we can spare!¡¯ Annalise called, her voice carrying across the battlefield, her intentions impelled directly into Havoc¡¯s mind, her plan taking shape even as he rose to stand.


    The structure of her scheme etched itself into Havoc¡¯s consciousness like a design pencilled in his not in lead, but wisps of phantom knowledge. As though recalling a faded memory or dream, its form was hazed, but the impression held imperative. Though the mechanics of the plan remained obscured, he knew his part in the Seer¡¯s design: fight hard, kill fast, then run.


    Nothing else mattered.


    He gritted his teeth, unease swelling within him. Since freeing himself from Annalise¡¯s fate-spun snare¡ªhard earned, ripped from the malignant grasp of the Abominable Spirit¡ªhe was hesitant to depend on her again. But there was no other way to survive. And in the end, nothing had changed. He was always going to battle the Dungeon-Spawn¡ªthough the Abomination¡¯s premature arrival had shattered any fragile preparation. It set his nerves aflame to rely on others, but survival was not granted to the strongest¡ªit was clawed from chaos by those who could adapt.


    His chest tightened as he shoved aside the gnawing doubt clawing at the edges of his resolve. Tightening his grip on his ethereal blade, he forced himself to move. There was no room for doubt, not any more.


    Havoc, Aaron, Shar, and Anton encircled the eight-legged fiend, which scuttled across the circumference, clattering forward in one direction, only to pivot toward another, as if lost for choice. No longer did Havoc¡¯s muscles surge with power other than his own. He knew why. With the fractured Abomination looming above, the favour of all support-type Remnants had been directed toward one of the survivors who could slow its descent. The same was true of the Harmony distributed through the power of Myra¡¯s Anchor. Alone, the four remaining combatants would need to face the spider-like horror¡ªthere could be no retreat until the monster fell.


    Settling on its target, the spawn rushed toward Anton, its bladed feet slicing deep, slender tracks through the ground as it advanced. Leaping high, its legs curved down, poised to rend Anton¡¯s arms from his shoulder, and cleave though his skull. Before the creature could carry out its gruesome intent, Havoc conjured a shimmering barrier, ramming the monster¡¯s flank, forcing it from Anton¡¯s path. Unrelenting in his assault, he curved a blade of light across three of the monster¡¯s left chitin-plated legs. The Spawn screeched, an anguished, wet slosh of gravelly clicks reverberating through the battlefield. Froth spilled from the edges of its humanoid maw, pooling at its jaws as its legs dragged awkwardly across the ground. But Havoc¡¯s blade could not sever its limbs, leaving the creature wounded yet standing.


    Though unarmoured, the creature¡¯s human-like upper-half¡ªscantly lined with deep-purple fur¡ªwas no less resilient. It withstood strike after strike from Shar¡¯s curved blade as she raced across the battlefield, winds tunnelling around her as she moved at inhuman speeds. Her movements were fluid yet uncompromising¡ªcircling, evading, and striking with cutting precision. Each opportunity was pounced upon with unwavering decisiveness, her blade flashing in pursuit of the skittering beast.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    As Shar slowed and fell back, Aaron soared forward in her place, his draconic form casting a shadow over the battlefield. In a tangle of legs, claws, teeth, and tail, he crashed into the creature, jagged teeth clamping down on its armoured hide. Lilac blood burst forth like a fountain, spilling over the ground as the beast¡¯s screech tore through the air.


    Havoc¡¯s gaze caught the sheen of Aaron¡¯s scales as they began to retract, revealing smooth, pale skin beneath. Whatever strength had surged through him only moments before now faded, leaving Aaron staggering as he broke away from the Spawn, shrinking back to his human form.


    Without wasting a breath, Havoc and Anton engaged, Anton¡¯s searing whip lashing one side as Havoc targeted the blood-oozing exoskeletal abdomen on the other. His Harmony was waning, but he gave no quarter, wresting the fumes of his power to drive spears of light into the widening fractured mass of the beast.


    Pinned in place by the pincered barrage of light and cascading fire and ash, the creature wailed as blood pooled across the stone, dyeing the ground in amethyst slick.


    But it was not enough. Though it swayed with staggered steps, absent half of its limbs and its former agility thoroughly routed, the Spawn still stood. Its shattered legs scraped across the stone, leaving streaks of viscous blood as it clung to life.


    Drained of all but the final wisps of Harmony, sweat trailing his face, Havoc fell to one knee. His limbs trembled, and his vision blurred, the sharp ache in his chest a painful reminder of his dwindling reserves.


    The Spawn clawed nearer, its broken limbs scraping against the ground, fury and primal indignation palpable in its all-too human-like grimaced visage. Each agonized step dripped with malice, closing the distance in seconds.


    Straining against exhaustion, Havoc managed only to lift his head as the Spawn loomed closer. His will remained unbroken, but his body betrayed him, muscles refusing to obey. Again, laughter broke from his lips, but it was a wet, rasping sound, more fitting a skewered beast, sputtering and wheezing as its blood filled its lungs.


    Its shadow fell upon Havoc like an executioner¡¯s blade¡ªwide and grim, bearing no kind intent. Havoc glared up into its eyes, a bleak smile rooted on his face even as death salivated overhead.


    ¡®Kid, get up!¡¯ Anton groaned, his voice hoarse and strained as he fell to one hand.


    If it were only that easy, Havoc thought, as he softly laughed. His mind scrambled for an answer, clinging to the slimmest possibility. So then, he asked himself. I wonder how I¡¯ll make it out of this one; his gallows laugh rising, unsure whether he truly believed he would survive or was merely scraping bitter mirth from the hollow pit of certain death.


    As if savouring the moment, the spawn arched its back, looming over Havoc with deliberate menace. His heart hammered like a blacksmith bewitched, each thunderous beat reverberating in his ears. Holding eye contact, Havoc would not look away, he would not yield. If this was to be his final moments, if death were to take him at last, he would meet it head on¡ªafraid, terrified even, but unbroken.


    Resolute, he waited for the end. But then, he saw it. At the borders of his sight, fluttering motion caught his gaze, drawing his eyes upward.


    Splintered glass crept along the edges of the great mountain walls, spreading like cracks in a pane, gradually seeping down the sides to drown the passage. Overhead, it hung still, a frozen cloud shaped like a claw, poised to lay claim to everything. Yet while the greater mass remained motionless, shattered fragments drifted below like feathers on the wind.


    A scattering of splinters drifted above him, flickering in the light as they gently fell.


    So that¡¯s how¡­ he thought, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.


    He did not think further¡ªhe simply acted. He dismissed his Remnants into his Spirit Chain, severing their passive hold to reclaim the last sliver of strength. Holding still as the beast¡¯s limbs closed in, he waited for the splinters to descend. Then, in a burst of motion, he dived beneath the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s abdomen. His head buried beneath his arms, his heart thrashed as he waited, uncertain whether this was salvation or merely a fleeting reprieve. Each second stretched unbearably long, his mind torn between hope and despair. And then it came¡ªa sickening crunch. The creature crumpled above him, its lilac ichor showering him from head to boot as its limbs snapped and folded, completely undone. The ichor¡¯s stench filled his nostrils, and his chest heaved with every desperate breath as he realized he was still alive.


    The mangled remains of the spawn hung in the air, slowly dissolving into the fragmented nightmare of glass and malignant will. With no time to spare, Havoc rolled from beneath the shimmering swarm, stood and ran.


    ¡®What are you waiting for?¡¯ Annalise yelled. ¡®Run!¡¯


    Heeding her warning, the rest of the group burst into motion. Feet pounded the ground as they sprinted down the mountain path, the thin chime of glass shards echoing behind them. Above, the shimmering death hung patiently, exuding a thin air of satiation, like a predator toying with its prey, satisfied to herd them just a little longer.


    ****


    Still he survived. It was maddening.


    As Aaron clung to the azure fur of Lucia¡¯s summon, he grit his teeth, his neck craned backward toward Havoc, who grew faint in the distance. The danger lingered, fractured glass creeping along the ground and driving the group deeper into the mountain passage. Its terrible haste had slowed, but the threat had not abated.


    Aaron sneered as he watched the wounded carried on the backs of those with strength to spare, mockingly questioning the sudden vigour of those who now acted as saviours. Where had that strength been when he had risked his life? But he knew it was a distraction.


    It was not the Dungeon-Spawn or the Abomination that seared his thoughts¡ªit was Havoc, and the maddening fact that he still drew breath. It burned at him, singeing his patience, flaring his nostrils, and setting his resolve aflame.


    Subterfuge had failed. Fortune favoured the villain¡ªfine! It had always demeaned him to act contrary to his dignified state.


    Though his body ached and strength eluded him, Harmony swelled in his core, restoring his verve if not yet his might. Tightening his grip on the fur, resolution burned in his chest.


    This will end the way it always should have. No games, no tricks! We shall duel for Naereah¡¯s hand, and the better man shall have her.


    Of course, he was the better man¡ªhe was always the better man.

 Chapter 49: Armistice

    Havoc¡¯s sweat soaked into the amethyst blood that painted every inch of his body. It dampened the gore, keeping it slick and wet against his skin. The pungent copper stench saturated his senses, clawing down his throat and tightening around his unquiet stomach. Each breath he took carried more of the fetid reek, a haunting miasma that followed his staggered paces like a phantom aggrieved.


    His boots crunched the rocky path as he drove himself forward. Though the shattered Abomination appeared to have retreated, like the receding tide before the tsunami it would not be long before it would crash down upon the group once more. Drained of all but the last wisps of Harmony, rationed frugally by Myra to aid their escape, every breath felt like a battle and each step a war. Yet he could not slow. Wherever the survivors chose to stop, it would not be for long. Hounded by the Abomination, they would have no more than three days before facing the last of the Dungeon-Spawn. Time was a precious commodity¡ªhe would not waste a second.


    Recovering his Harmony was his most pressing concern¡ªthe lurching shadow of helplessness that came with his depleted reserves was too oppressive to ignore¡ªbut then there was Aaron.


    Havoc¡¯s breath caught as his gaze settled on the receding back of the bastard atop Lucia¡¯s summoned wolf. Fresh adrenaline surged through his veins, quickening his pace.


    He tried to kill me! he seethed, his fists clenching as his arms pumped like pendulums, driving his momentum forward.


    In the heat of battle, Havoc had not seen who cast the flaming bolt that had struck him, but he did not need to. Among the group, only Franklin possessed the Remnants for such a feat. The perfidious snake may have launched the attack, but Havoc had no doubt whose order he had followed.


    Noble bastard! he simmered, his teeth clenching as his stomach churned violently. Whether it was the stench flooding his nostrils or the bitter pang of vengeance stirring within, he could not say¡ªbut the feeling burned all the same.


    Light dimmed in the sky as the day-sun sank below the horizon, giving way to the pale ascent of the night-sun. Havoc¡¯s breaths came ragged and strained, his, legs dragging like lead weights. He could not say how many hours had passed, but even with his Inherited constitution, his body was near its braking point. Comfort and rest were a distant memory, and only the burning urge to survive and his seething rage kept him upright. Yet even that had its limits.


    The two stiff-necked lordlings had long vanished from sight, taking with them the barbed urgency that had driven him onward like a merciless rider with crop in hand. As the fire of his ire dimmed, Havoc¡¯s exhaustion surged to the forefront, clawing at the edges of his resolve.


    His staggered steps slowed, his breath ragged and uneven, until a faint wheeze of words pricked his ears. At first, their meaning was lost in the haze of his fatigue, but as the message passed from survivor to survivor, growing clearer with each repetition, it ignited a flicker of hope.


    ¡®Just around the corner,¡¯ he rasped, relaying the message to the few struggling behind him. His legs screamed in protest, but he quickened his steps, pushing his body beyond what he thought it could endure.


    He rounded the corner of the mountain passage, the barren terrain giving way to a field of bioluminescent fungal-grass, its indigo hue painting the ground in otherworldly light. Though still enclosed by the mountain walls, the path widened significantly, opening into an expanse that resembled the Forest proper. A lake rested within a deep groove to one side, its still waters reflecting the faint glow of the fungal-grass. Woodland creatures gathered at the edge, their heads dipping cautiously as they drank. Across the expanse, a soft, steady glow flickered from a cave dug into the wall, its faint radiance a beckon signalling respite.


    A figure emerged from the cave. Even from a distance, Havoc did not mistake the shimmer of pale light upon Annalise¡¯s gold-threaded hair. She raised a hand, motioning for him to approach, then offered a graceful curtsy before retreating into the shadows of the cavern. The flickering glow of the firelight danced over the stone as her form disappeared from view.


    With ragged breaths and trembling hands, the strain of his flight from the fractured Abomination crashed into Havoc. His knees sank into the damp, spongy ground, the soft squelch of displaced soil rising to his ears as he rested his palms on the earth. Sleep gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, pulling at him like a tether.


    Though the breeze carried a biting chill, frosting the air with his breath, the exertion of the journey left warmth radiating through his body. Slumber nearly claimed him as he knelt, his heavy eyelids drifting closed. But Havoc forced them open, shaking his head before the veil of dreams could fall completely.


    His body yearned for rest, but something burned deeper¡ªa need blazing through his veins to ignite his heart aflame. With gritted teeth, he stood and made his way toward the cave. Entering, his gaze swept across the survivors settling around a campfire. Apart from the group, leaning against the stone wall, he found Aaron.


    The bastard glanced up, a smirk etched across his face, before turning his attention back to Franklin, who stood beside him.


    Without hesitation, Havoc marched forward, ignoring the glances, sneers, and sleeve-covered noses of those he passed. He stopped in front of Aaron, who wrinkled his nose and recoiled slightly, his pale face tinged with green as Havoc stepped closer.


    ¡®Good heavens, man. Go bathe this very moment!¡¯ Aaron snapped, his sleeve draped across his features.


    ¡®Is that all you have to say?¡¯ Havoc growled, voice more biting and cold cold than the air outside.


    ¡®What could possibly be of greater import? Your odour offends all reason,¡¯ Aaron said, flailing his palm dismissively as though chasing away a buzzing nuance.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Havoc¡¯s head bobbed in mock contemplation, and he turned to leave. But then he stopped, his fist clenching so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Without another thought, he spun on his heels, his fist connecting with Aaron¡¯s chin with a satisfying crack, slamming the noble¡¯s head into the wall.


    ¡®By the Stewards, what¡ª¡¯ Franklin began, stepping forward. But he did not finish. Havoc¡¯s fist struck with equal ferocity, breaking Franklin¡¯s nose and leaving him crumpled on the ground, blood streaming from his face.


    ¡®Have you lost your mind!¡¯ Anton shouted from behind, his boots scraping against the stone as he rose from his place around the fire.


    ¡®¡°Settle your disputes later,¡±¡¯ Havoc shouted back, mimicking Anton¡¯s words with biting mockery. ¡®Well, here we are at ¡°later,¡± and this is how I¡¯ll be settling our disputes.¡¯ His voice dripped with scorn as he stomped his boot through the barrier of Aaron¡¯s crossed arms, driving it down onto his chest. Aaron gasped, the air bursting from his mouth in a strangled wheeze.


    ¡®Remove this feral creature from me!¡¯ Aaron wheezed, his voice thin and desperate. The words had barely left his lips when Havoc¡¯s boot struck his ribs, the sharp impact forcing a strained gasp. A heartbeat later, Havoc¡¯s sole landed heavy on Aaron¡¯s stomach, once again driving the air from his lungs and leaving him retching on the ground.


    Havoc pulled back his leg like an executioner¡¯s blade, arced and ready to swing down with devastating force. But before it could make impact, muscular arms clamped across his chest and yanked him backward. His legs flailed in the air, the strike lost to the sudden interruption.


    ¡®Stop this madness!¡¯ Anton shouted, his voice sharp with authority as Havoc thrashed in his grasp.


    Though Anton¡¯s presence was commanding, Havoc, as a Servant of the third step, was the stronger of the two. He strained against the hold, his muscles burning with effort. Anton grunted, his grip faltering as Havoc wrenched free. With a final heave, Havoc tore Anton¡¯s arms apart, sending the man stumbling backward with a frustrated gasp.


    Aaron staggered to his feet, one hand braced against the wall. A scarlet globule hit the floor as he spat, his lips curling into a sneer. Reaching into the inside pocket of his tailcoat, he withdrew a black cloth and dabbed at the blood staining his mouth. His gaze turned to Havoc, now restrained by a number of the gathered survivors, his chest heaving as he struggled against their hold.


    ¡®Let ''em fight!¡¯ one of the survivors chanted, his voice carrying over Havoc¡¯s grunting. ¡®Bout the most entertainment there¡¯s been for an age!¡¯ The man threw his head back, roaring with laughter that echoed through the cavern like a jeering spectre.


    ¡®Do you even know where you are?¡¯ Anton shouted, pulling himself to his feet. ¡®Everything out there is already trying to kill us! We can¡¯t turn around and start killing each other!¡¯ He stepped in front of Havoc, his back to Aaron, blocking him from view. His shoulders squared, his voice carried a mix of frustration and command.


    ¡®Tell that to the bastard sons of bastard¡¯s sons who tried¡ªand failed¡­¡¯ Havoc snarled, spitting the words with venom. His gaze bore into Anton as he drew out the last phrase. ¡®...to kill me.¡¯


    ¡®This child is insane!¡¯ Aaron spat, his voice sharp with indignation. ¡®I have done nothing to deserve being set upon by this uncivilised clod!¡¯


    From the floor, Franklin stirred, his movements sluggish as he pushed himself upright. His back scraped against the wall as he stood, a pained hiss escaping his lips. Dragging a palm across his face, he smeared the blood beneath his nose before wiping it on the wall. He rubbed his hands together, scraping away the sticky remains as his eyes darted toward Havoc.


    Stepping forward, Franklin raised his palms, his movements slow and deliberate, a gesture of surrender. His expression was unreadable¡ªcalm, almost disarming¡ªas he spoke.


    ¡®The fault is mine,¡¯ he said, his voice steady and low, each word carefully measured. ¡®I saw you struggling against the Dungeon-Spawn and sought to provide my assistance. It shames me to know that my efforts to help instead endangered your safety. I deserve your ire, but I implore you, do not misdirect your frustrations toward our most gracious patron.¡¯


    ¡®Did you hear him?¡¯ Aaron spat, his tone dripping with scorn. ¡®You slander my name, jeopardise the cohesion of our group, and set upon me like a wild beast¡ªfor what? An honest mistake?¡¯


    Pushing Anton aside, Aaron strode toward Havoc, who no longer strained against the arms holding him, his body limp yet tense, his arms stretched wide as though crucified.


    ¡®No, this cannot be allowed to stand!¡¯ Aaron declared, holding out his open palm as though for dramatic effect. ¡®I demand the right to combative restitution.¡¯ Without hesitation, he clapped his palm across Havoc¡¯s face, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern.


    For a moment, all was still. Gasps rippled through the gathered survivors, whispers rising like dry leaves rustling across stone. A few exchanged wary glances, others stepped back, their unease palpable.


    Havoc stood unmoving, his head tilted slightly to one side. His cheek stung faintly, but it was the insult, not the pain, that burned deep. Inhaling deeply, his chest rising as he held his silence. When he finally spoke, it came as low rumble, a growl reverberating through the cavern.


    ¡®Fine,¡¯ he said, his gaze burning into Aaron¡¯s, his voice low and edged with menace. ¡®Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡¯


    Aaron¡¯s lips twitched in a faint smirk, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease.


    ¡®No!¡¯ Anton commanded, stepping between them. ¡®Get a hold of yourselves. We don¡¯t have time for this!¡¯


    Aaron ignored him, glancing briefly at Naereah before turning back to Havoc. ¡®The night after we face the next Dungeon-Spawn,¡¯ he declared, his tone icy and resolute.


    ¡®Idiots! There¡¯s no telling how many foes we¡¯ll face before reaching the temple! If you¡¯re going to tear each other apart, at least wait until we leave this godsforsaken Dungeon-Cell!¡¯ Anton demanded, his plea drawing murmured support from the bystanders.


    Havoc could understand his stance. Under different circumstances, he would have agreed. But he and Aaron were always going to come to blows. One of them would surely die¡ªwhile the other¡¯s death was only slightly less certain.


    As Havoc and Aaron held each other¡¯s glare, a silent accord settled between them. Aaron¡¯s challenge was not a threat, they both understood that much. It was an armistice¡ªa grudging promise to hold arms until the external dangers had passed and they could settle their score without dooming them both.


    ¡®No games,¡¯ Havoc growled.


    ¡®No games,¡¯ Aaron repeated, his face stern, his voice steady, his gaze unflinching.


    ¡®No tricks¡¯, Havoc said.


    ¡®No tricks,¡¯ Aaron replied again.


    ¡®What about him?¡¯ Havoc asked, tilting his face toward Franklin.


    ¡®Only you and I. The better man takes all¡¯ Aaron assured, his tone resolute.


    Havoc¡¯s scowl shifted to a faint smile. Then there¡¯s nothing to worry about, he thought. Even in the company of wife beaters and brothel-keepers, he still wouldn¡¯t be the better man.

 Chapter 50: The Precipice of Ruin

    Anton opened his eye, the golden ray of the day-sun momentarily blinding him as his pupil adjusted to the sharp light of morning. His muscles throbbed with a dull ache, a twinge of discomfort tightening the fibres in his arms, legs, back, and chest as though the night had been spent under ceaseless exertion. Still, it was worth it. Restorative meditation¡ªthe secret of rapid Harmony restoration, tightly hoarded by those who needed it least¡ªwas enough of a boon to outweigh its raw, thrumming cost.


    It must have irked those bastards to teach someone like me, he thought, a smile lifting his expression as birds chirped a gleeful tune.


    His serenity did not last. His smile faded, memories crashing through his thoughts like the pounding hooves of a stampede. Not even the tranquil sight of deer, rabbits, and foxes grazing nearby could quell the storm of unease swirling inside him¡ªnor could the salivating fragrance of spit-roasted meat wafting from the cave¡¯s entrance.


    We never should have come here, he silently bemoaned.


    He was never a wealthy man, but neither had he known the abject destitution that plagued so many among their patchwork group of miserable wretches clinging to fragile hopes of survival. As an Inheritor of relative youth, he had lived a comfortable life¡ªa life he desperately yearned to return to.


    All he wanted was a better life for his wife and two daughters. A life where they could hold their heads high and want for nothing. Those weak-chinned bastards had promised him that life¡ªbut what good were promises to a corpse?


    His children would grow up without a father. His wife would be forced under the sheets of another man. And for what?


    Greed?


    Renown?


    The chance to have more than what had already been enough?


    He hated Aaron, Lucia, and the Seer for leading him here. He blamed them for everything, but more than anyone, he blamed himself. They made the offer, but no one had forced him to accept it. The peril he now faced, the losses he had sustained, he understood better than anyone¡ªit was his own insatiable ambition that had brought him to the precipice of ruin.


    Many of his friends¡ªhis brothers and sisters in arms¡ªwere already gone, lost to the ceaseless horrors of this godsforsaken place. Even his captain had not survived, skewered by the thorns of a plant like nightmare as he held off the beast for the others to escape.


    Now it down to Anton to lead¡ªto ensure that at least the few survivors from his Guild made it out in alive. No one needed to tell him he was unequal to the task. He could barely secure his own survival, much-less that of those who no longer even looked to him for leadership.


    Another thing those devils took from me, he thought, scorn deepening his scowl.


    Castro and Sabine had been his men once, loyal and steadfast¡ªbut that was before the Seer had stolen their hearts and minds. Now, they were blind followers, their lives and deaths clutched in the palm of someone so unworthy. And they were not alone in their beguilement. In truth, of the original group, Anton believed only Franklin remained immune to that she-devil¡¯s deceit, and he posed another problem unto himself.


    He knows something I don¡¯t, he thought, unease bubbling into a simmering boil.


    Anton was no fool. He had noticed the change in Franklin¡¯s comportment almost immediately. For as long as they had known each other, Franklin had always been a polished-tongue, back-scratching opportunist¡ªeschewing loyalty and honour for gain at every turn. Yet the way he now clung to that over-groomed sop of an employer went beyond mere opportunism. It reeked of certainty¡ªan unsettling conviction that he alone understood where this path would end.


    ¡®You should come eat with us, sir,¡¯ a voice called from behind. He did not need to turn to recognise the gentle hum of the girl. Sabine¡ªthe one he had sworn to protect.


    ¡®It¡¯s a beautiful day, isn¡¯t it, Sabe?¡¯ Anton replied, his tone calm and contemplative. He still had his pride¡ªhe would not allow his charge to find him in distress. ¡®I just wanted to enjoy it for a while.¡¯


    ¡®Of course, sir,¡¯ Sabine said, her gaze briefly falling to the ground, her tone uncomfortably formal for a woman whose hand he had given in marriage only a few years prior.


    ¡®Why don¡¯t you join me for a spell? I wouldn¡¯t mind the company,¡¯ Anton said, patting the flat of his palm atop the fungal bedding. The brush of the grass-like shrooms tingled the soft sides of his fingers as he traced small circles over the pliant surface.


    Sabine moved to her knees, her head slightly bowed as she faced Anton.


    ¡®What did you wish to discuss, sir?¡¯ Sabine asked, her voice hesitant but polite.


    ¡®It¡¯s just the two of us here, Sabe. Relax,¡¯ Anton said, his calm tone drawing a sigh from Sabine as the tension visibly rolled from her shoulders.


    ¡®It is a beautiful day, Si¡ªAnton,¡¯ she said, catching herself mid-address. Leaning back, her hands rested behind her on the soft earth, the day-sun¡¯s rays painting her expression with radiance.


    Together, they sat in a shared silence, their breaths mingling with the rustling of small woodland creatures scurrying within the fungal underbrush. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    So rarely did Anton find space to relax that he did not want to tarnish the moment. Yet, he knew such fantasies¡ªno matter how stout¡ªcould not hold. Reality always seeped through, possessive in its claim over everything.


    ¡®I want you to distance yourself from from the nobles, and the Seer. Whatever they have planned, I want both you and Castro by my side when it happens.¡¯


    Sabine¡¯s eyes flashed wide as she held Anton¡¯s gaze, her mouth ajar.


    ¡®I don¡¯t understand¡ª¡¯ she begun, but then faltered as Anton pressed on.


    ¡®I don¡¯t trust them, Sabe. And I swore to your husband that I would bring you back alive.¡¯ He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, his gaze steady. ¡®Please, don¡¯t make me a liar. I couldn¡¯t live with myself¡ªnot when there¡¯s still something I can do to protect you.¡¯


    Sabine¡¯s expression cycled through concern to sadness, to indignation before settling on resolve.


    ¡®I can¡¯t do that...¡¯ she said, her tone soft yet resolute. ¡®Not even for you.¡¯


    ¡®They can¡¯t be trusted!¡¯ Anton pleaded, urgency gripping his voice like a lover¡¯s hand clutching another as they dangled over the edge of an abyss.


    ¡®They can¡¯t, but she can!¡¯ Sabine shot back, her voice sharp and unwavering, leaving no room for argument. ¡®This is bigger than us! Bigger than your promises¡ªor even whether we live or die, Anton! You¡¯ve seen the world¡ªall the suffering, all the dying while the powerful do nothing! She can change all of that! The gods abandoned us, so we need a new one.¡¯


    Though the words came from Sabine¡¯s mouth, Anton could hear Shar¡¯s voice bleeding through them.


    I should have stomped out her fanatical proselytizing long before it got this far, Anton thought bitterly, shrinking back as though seeing something grotesque and deformed in the woman he had sworn to protect.


    Unwilling to surrender his charge to the Seer¡¯s predations, Anton parted his lips, a retort poised on his tongue. But before he could give voice to his unsettled concerns, a motion in the distance drew his attention.


    Cloaked in whirling winds, the Seer¡¯s acolyte darted along the side of the mountain passage wall, her silhouette growing sharper with every heartbeat. She leapt from the rock, spiralling through a vortex of gales, twisting mid-air before landing with barely a whisper at his feet.


    ¡®Come,¡¯ Shar said, her tone brisk, forgoing any pretence of pleasantries. ¡®We need to discuss strategy.¡¯


    ****


    With the group¡¯s strategy decided, Shar Badr strode beside her lady, the serene field of bioluminescent fungi fading behind them, replaced by the cold austerity of the gravel-strewn path ahead. The soft glow of the fungi¡¯s light surrendered to the harsh gleam of stone underfoot, mirroring the unyielding clarity of their purpose.


    They walked far from the pitiless rabble that trailed behind¡ªShar would not allow their frivolous chatter to taint her lady¡¯s presence.


    Many within the group had come to share in the Seer¡¯s vision, but Shar saw the truth of their faith: it was shallow, brittle. They believed only what comforted them, ignorant of their sacred role in the greater plan. Should they learn the truth of their sacrifice, she doubted their resolve would hold.


    To give oneself fully to the ultimate cause was a privilege beyond measure¡ªone no true believer should question. That her lady insisted on secrecy spoke volumes of the group¡¯s inadequacy. They were unworthy even of the Seer¡¯s concern, let alone her favour.


    ¡®The preparations have been made, my lady,¡¯ Shar said, her tone clipped and precise, each word chosen to spare the Seer even a moment¡¯s unnecessary thought.


    ¡®Just wonderful,¡¯ Annalise replied, her radiant smile igniting a fervour in Shar¡¯s chest. ¡®And the key?¡¯ she asked, her tone as warm as it was expectant.


    ¡®The stage is set to lure the Fractal Beast to the altar. The moment the Desmond girl enacts the Sequence, it will bind to them, and you shall have the bow,¡¯ Shar answered without a heartbeat¡¯s hesitation.


    Annalise¡¯s expression weighed heavy with rumination. Shar knew what burdened her heart. Though the Seer¡¯s resolve was unshakable, her compassion bled beneath the surface. If there were another way to grasp divinity, her lady would have seized it. But there was not.


    They had just over three hundred years before the Dungeon Cell would open, and only those who held a key would be permitted entry. Her lady was of the Soldier rank in her Inheritance¡ªpowerful, yes, but against the might of the noble classes, against the few who had climbed to a Lord¡¯s Inheritance, her strength was a drop in the ocean.


    That, of course, would change. She would ascend¡ªshe had to. To rise to the pinnacle of power, she must first become a Lord herself.


    For that, she needed the key.


    It was not the only one in existence, but the others were spoken for. Clutched in the hands of the unworthy, passed down to their progeny like toys to bolster influence over a decaying world.


    These Lords¡ªcontent in their rule¡ªwere blind fools. Thinking themselves invulnerable, they had stagnated for centuries, unwilling to risk their lives for greater power. They were relics draped in finery, incapable of daring to grasp what lay further down the path of divine Inheritance.


    ¡®Who should we take with us?¡¯ Annalise asked, her voice cutting cleanly through Shar¡¯s thoughts, causing her to stagger mid-step.


    ¡®Myra,¡¯ Shar replied instantly, her tone measured, though her mind raced. ¡®Perhaps¡­ Anton as well. He would need to be subdued¡ªhe will not follow our cause¡ªbut his bravery is¡­¡¯ Her face tightened as though reaching for an elusive word. A faint stutter bubbled on her lips before she finally managed: ¡®...commendable.¡¯


    Only in her lady¡¯s presence did she falter so.


    Annalise hummed a melodic tune, tapping her forefinger gently against her top lip as if orchestrating her thoughts.


    ¡®What about Havoc?¡¯ Annalise asked, her voice soft but deliberate. ¡®He is talented and pragmatic. If he survives this place, I believe he will go on to do great and terrible things. He will be a force of turmoil and change¡ªand this world could use a bit of both, don¡¯t you agree?¡¯


    Shar hesitated, loath to dissent with her lady¡¯s predilection. But the Seer desired devotion, not hollow sycophants. To disgrace the value Annalise held in conviction with honeyed lies spun from a venomous tongue would have been unforgivable.


    ¡®The boy¡¯s abilities are exemplary, and were he to join us, he would make a powerful ally. But his bond with the Selenarian has grown too strong. He will oppose your design for her, and his grievance would likely hound us long after her bones have crumbled to dust,¡¯ Shar advised, her tone weighed with solemnity.


    ¡®You have a point¡­¡¯ Annalise hummed, her lips curving into a faint smile. ¡®Still, when the time comes to take the girl, leave him alive. We¡¯ll give him a fighting chance and leave the rest to his own luck and capabilities.¡¯


    ¡®By your word, my lady.¡¯


    As their boots crunched against the gravelled terrain, drawing them closer to the final Dungeon-Spawn on their path, Shar struggled to contain her anticipation¡ªher marvel¡ªat her lady¡¯s unfurling design.

 Chapter 51: The Final Push

    They were coming. The rattling storm of feet scraping against gravel rose from the distance, pricking at Havoc¡¯s skin, raising the hairs along his arms, electrifying his senses as though lightning crackled through his veins. Though still a distant silhouette, the horde was visible¡ªtheir jerking, shuffling motions rippled like a wave over the bedrock, surging ever onward, irrepressible, indifferent to all it would drown.


    The day-sun clung low in the sky. Its sovereignty fading, it bled scarlet light into the approaching dusk. Gone was its basking warmth. In its place, a chill gripped the air, biting at Havoc¡¯s fingers, forcing him to clench them tight against the creeping numbness. Yet this was a boon. It was in pale light that his captive Spirit grew, and as the glow of the night-sun supplanted the day, his Anchor thrummed inside him. The Midnight Urn stretched its reach through the mountain passage, tasting the power around it like a serpent flicking its tongue, hunting for what it would consume.


    But he could not mimic everything. A cub may set its sights on a tiger, but it does not dare step into the beast¡¯s den. Of the powers beyond his Servant rank, he could only taste their presence¡ªdistant, untouchable. He could not grasp the Dungeon-Spawn¡¯s might, nor Annalise¡¯s esoteric insight.


    Still, there was much to choose from. Anton¡¯s fleeting invulnerability had already redeemed him once, sparing him from death¡¯s grasp when they faced the arachnoid monster two days prior. But that had been a battle against a singular, towering force¡ªa far cry from the swarm now surging toward them.


    He needed something that would allow him to fight¡ªand keep fighting¡ªamidst the unceasing chaos of war. His own Remnants were ill-suited for the task. While the Stone Guardsman¡¯s barriers were both an irresistible offence and an impregnable defence, they bound him to the statue¡¯s reach, severely constraining his mobility. Against a solitary combatant, this limitation was manageable. But against a horde? It was a death sentence. He would need to push forward, carve a path, adapt¡ªand for that, his current arsenal was lacking.


    I should¡¯ve held on to the Buried Strike, he lamented, watching the dust cloud rise in the swarm¡¯s wake, drawing ever nearer.


    His gaze shifted to the side where Aaron stood. Instead of restricting his Armour Remnants to their natural form, Aaron had extended and refined their structure, forging a full suit of ebony scales that lined his frame. The plates stretched from his shoulders to his shins, a seamless layer of draconic protection.


    As Havoc understood it, this was a unique trait of Armour-type Remnants. The Dungeon¡ªever-fashionable¡ªpermitted disparate armour pieces to meld into a cohesive whole. A single gauntlet could unfold into full-plated armour; a cloak could weave itself into a cuirass, vambraces, and greaves, forming its own perfect ensemble. All form, little substance. The process did not strengthen the Remnants¡ªif anything, it diluted their integrity. By forgoing focal protection, the Inheritor gained full-bodied coverage, but at the cost of resilience. A suit pieced together from fragments would never match the fortitude of armour crafted as a whole. Yet even knowing that, Havoc could not ignore the way Aaron moved¡ªthe sheer adaptability of his form, perhaps that, at least, was worth borrowing.


    He turned his attention to the rear of their formation, there Franklin and Myra stood. Myra¡¯s control over the flow of Harmony was an asset, for certain. But it required assent to function. Even as her bond coiled around his core, with a thought, it would unravel. It could only court, it could not ravish.


    A shame, he thought. The idea of turning the horde¡¯s might against them was enticing, but it could not endure the vitiating maw of reality.


    Havoc briefly considered Myra¡¯s other abilities. Clutched in her grip was a bow that, when drawn, would release bolts of ruinous lightning, its potency fortified by the charm around her neck. He had seen the devastation her power could unleash, but it would not suit his needs¡ªthe delay was too long, and the display too unmistakable. With his duel with Aaron set, now more than ever, it was vital to keep the true range of his capabilities concealed.


    He had masked his survival of the spider-like spawn¡¯s bowel-rending cleave as an effect of the Flesh-Weave Needles, but no such contrivance could pass off a crash of lightning as anything other than an altogether separate ability. Similarly, Franklin¡¯s elemental bolts and Anton¡¯s flaming whip were too conspicuous to be duplicated.


    The assortment of support-type Remnants merited contemplation, but they too lacked what he truly needed.


    ¡®Take this,¡¯ Shar called from behind.


    As though slipping from the shadows, her presence came without warning. One moment, she prowled near the Seer; the next, she was there¡ªsword clutched in her grip, held out for Havoc to take.


    He gazed at the scarlet falchion, recognising it instantly. It was the Thirst Edge. The blade that had shepherded him through the first days of his endless trials. His stare lifted to Shar, then shifted to Annalise, who waved from the rear line.


    ¡®It is not the blade you knew,¡¯ Shar said, her tone blunt as she motioned for him to take the weapon. ¡®This is Thirsty Strike. It won¡¯t mend your wounds, but when bathed in blood, it can discharge a severing wave.¡¯


    ¡®How¡ª¡¯ Havoc began, but Shar cut him off before the through could form.


    ¡®My lady suggests you exchange the charm. The statue and needle still have their uses,¡¯ she said, pressing the sword¡¯s grip into his half-raised hand. ¡®There¡¯s not much time. Bind the blade and prepare¡ªthis will be a long campaign.¡¯


    Without so much as a parting word, she leapt toward the mountain wall, the wind scattering the gravelled ground in her trail.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She was right¡ªtime was short. Already, he could hear the rasping snarls of the approaching drove. Their features were no longer obscured¡ªhe could see them clearly now, their raw, hideless forms exposed in the fading light. Each stood the height of a man, their bloody footprints staining the earth in a relentless march. Their danger was not in any single one of them¡ªhe was confident he could cut down any lone creature with ease. Together, they were a writhing mass of flesh and hunger¡ªmore terrible, more deadly, than anything he had faced before.


    Until the group was decimated, their numbers would never wane. Though they appeared as separate entities, it was an illusion. In truth, they were one¡ªdisjointed pieces of a singular, appalling whole: a Champion-ranked Spawn they could never hope to overcome.


    This was their final battle. It would start as a trickle, but the trickle would swell to a tide, and the tide would flood the land. It would not happen all at once¡ªbut it would happen all the same. None would survive but those the Seer had forewarned.


    I can¡¯t save them, he told himself as the Scouts-Eye crumbled to dust, replaced in his Spirit Chain by the Thirsty Strike. If there was anything I could do¡ª


    He shoved down the thought and pushed himself to his feet, the scarlet falchion forming in his grip. It was not that he could do nothing¡ªhe simply would not. Not without sacrificing his own survival. Shame twisted through his gut, coiling in barbed knots, but he would not surrender his life for another¡¯s. He would not even jeopardise his prospects. The sharp ache of conscience gnawed at him, and guilt pressed upon his chest, but guilt could fade. The finality of death offered no such reprieve.


    ¡®Ready, kid?¡¯ Anton asked, eyes fixed on the nearing swarm. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled¡ªjust slightly, barely noticeable beneath his dauntless display.


    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ Havoc replied, his tone clipped as he stepped forward, readying his stance.


    Anton exhaled through his nose. ¡®You¡¯ve got potential, kid. More than I ever had. If we make it out of this, don¡¯t throw it away in some pointless brawl with a noble,¡¯ he said, his whip igniting along its length.


    The horde surged closer, sinewy faces stretched over skulls, amber teeth gleaming against lipless maws¡ªbathed in the red glow of the dying sun.


    ¡®Promise me,¡¯ Anton said. He broke his gaze from the swarm just long enough to glare at Havoc before snapping his attention back to the oncoming flood of bodies. ¡®Swear it!¡¯


    Havoc glanced at the man clad in gold-plated armour. His lips curled into a half-smile before turning his gaze toward Aaron.


    ¡®No,¡¯ he whispered.


    Anton¡¯s focus snapped back to him. Havoc shook his head, slow and deliberate.


    ¡®He tried to kill me. There¡¯s no coming back from that,¡¯ he said, loud enough for Aaron to hear. His eyes locked onto the noble, his voice cutting through the charged air. ¡®So you better survive this¡­¡¯ he paused, his silence coiled like a drawn bowstring. ¡®¡­Because when this is over, I am going to kill you.¡¯


    Across the battlefield, Aaron¡¯s gaze met his own. His lips curled, more snarl than smirk.


    ¡®You can try,¡¯ he mouthed, his voice lost to the rising tide of the horde.


    With that, the time for words had passed. Without hesitation, Havoc charged toward the swarm, blade poised to cleave shoulder through hip.


    ****


    Naereah fell onto her back as a ghoul lunged toward her, claws outstretched to rend flesh from bone. She barely had time to brace herself before¡ª


    A blur.


    A severed head spiralled through the air.


    Havoc¡¯s blade had already found its mark. He stood over her, hand outstretched. Without a word, he pulled her to her feet before vanishing back into the fray.


    Her heart clenched as she watched him move¡ªa contradiction of savagery and grace. He glided through the battlefield like mist, cutting down foes with brutal efficiency, his sword carving a path of ruin. She wanted to fight. She wanted to stand at his side¡ªnot as a burden, but as his equal. To be the saviour, not the saved.


    But the will was not enough. Not here. Not against this.


    A rasping breath snatched her from her bleak reverie. It was true, she lacked the strength to stand in battle, but she was not useless.


    Far from it, she resolved.


    She pressed her palms over a claw-torn chest, radiating warmth into the torn flesh. The wound flushed tender¡ªraw, but sealed.


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ the man gasped, slowly raising himself from the ground, already bracing to return to the fray.


    A shadow fell over her, and Shar landed with a grunt, her boots scraping the dirt, a man twice her size cradled in her arms.


    ¡®We''ve got another one,¡¯ Shar said, setting him down without ceremony. ¡®Work fast. We need to push forward.¡¯


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ Naereah replied quickly. She gripped the man¡¯s lacerated shoulder. The squelch of torn flesh churned her stomach, but she pushed the nausea aside and closed the wounds.


    ¡®Praise the Seer,¡¯ the man murmured as a spear shimmered into his grasp. He dug the pole into the ground, hoisting himself upright before staggering back into the fray.


    The horde seemed endless, yet their group held. With her love at the vanguard, they pushed the swarm back, steadily carving a path deeper down the mountain trail.


    But it was hopeless.


    Naereah watched as the group clashed against the horde, the ignorant survivors fighting with unrestrained fervour¡ªno doubt believing that with a final push, they would win the day. The belief was understandable. A desperate struggle, and then reprieve¡ªwas that not the way of things? One yank, and the tooth is out.


    She had never found it so. Except in tales of dragons and knights. She knew the truth of the world. Nothing improved¡ªonly worsened. At least until someone took a stand. She would be that someone. She would take her stand and with her own hands she would seize her storybook ending¡ªone where she could rest in the arms of the man she loved, and be loved all the same.


    The Seer had shown her the path to liberty, and she meant to walk it.


    After the wave of horrors¡ªwhen Havoc and Aaron clashed, when Lucia made her move¡ªher time would come. With the crystal dagger hidden within the newly forged link of her Spirit Chain, she would pierce Lucia¡¯s tar-black heart.


    And finally¡ªshe would be free.

 Chapter 52: By Faith Alone

    The wind whipped through Havoc¡¯s hair as he soared across the battlefield, his scarlet blade crossed diagonally at his side. In a burst of savage motion, he thrust the sword upward, the edge of his blade carving through muscle and bone without resistance, cleaving the skinless ghoul from hip to shoulder. His momentum never faltered¡ªdarting from fiend to fiend, severing heads from shoulders, limbs from torsos, each strike painting a trail of ruin.


    Having mimicked Shar¡¯s acceleration, he moved like the storm, the gales ever driving him forward, his blade ever poised to reap grim desolation, a trail of broken bodies marking his wake. Where stood his foes, there flashed his blade, its sundering fury scatting viscera into the twilight as the cold stench of iron and rot lifted to the heavens.


    Yet no matter how many ghouls fell to his blade, a multitude surged to take their place. There was no end in sight; the horde surged endlessly forward, their sinewy masks stretched taut over skulls, their vicious grins seeming to mock all exertion.


    Keep going! he urged himself as he drove the flat of his boot into the gut of a fiend. As the creature hurtled backward, Havoc tilted his blade and unleashed a crimson wave of severing force, its arc cleaving through ribs, arms, and necks in a single stroke.


    ¡®There¡¯s no end to them!¡¯ Anton huffed, his flaming whip lashing through the swarm as embers and smoke billowed from its length, igniting the fiends as it cascaded over them. Where the smoke settled, fire raged; it spread through the horde like a blistering plague, leaving scores of bodies alight, their burning embers crumbling to dust.


    Streams of lightning forked through the sky before crashing into the drove, annihilating hundreds, the charge chaining from body to body. Scorched flesh and ozone choked the air, the acrid stench clinging to every breath.


    Yet even as lightning, fire, wind, and ice ravaged the horde¡ªeven as Havoc¡¯s blade parted flesh and Aaron¡¯s claws tore limbs from their joints, even as the battalion of survivors unleashed their full might upon the enemy¡ªthe swarm remained unbroken.


    No¡ªits worse than that, Havoc thought, realisation dawning like a blood-red star. They¡¯re getting stronger.


    No longer did his blade slide freely through their flesh, meeting no resistance. As he kept cutting through the swarm, their muscles grew taut, clinging to his edge. Still, they came apart, spraying their fetid blood into the air, but each cut became more taxing¡ªeach strike straining Havoc¡¯s arms and chest as he forced his severing will through their hardening frames.


    ¡®You¡¯ve noticed, haven¡¯t you?¡¯ Anton grunted, ramming into the horde, ignoring the claws raking his cheeks as he drove a multitude staggering backward. ¡®We have to retreat!¡¯ he said between heavy breaths, tearing himself free from the mound of toppled ghouls before lashing his whip downward, scorching their flesh and charring their bones.


    ¡®No retreat!¡¯ Shar howled, her voice resolute. Soaring through the eye of a vortex, she whipped through the swarm in a blur, winds carving a path before her as heads spiralled into the air.


    Havoc glanced ahead as Shar leapt from shoulder to back, crouching just long enough to sever heads from necks before carving a path of carnage, using their toppling remains as footholds.


    ¡®Do you have faith in the Seer?¡¯ Shar bellowed, her voice carrying the length of the mountain passage, rising above the horde¡¯s rasping snarls.


    ¡®We have faith!¡¯ the survivors roared as they crashed into the swarm, spears, blades, and shields clashing against mangled flesh and hardened bone.


    ¡®The moment is now!¡¯ Shar howled, her tone saturated with fervent zeal. ¡®Let your faith rise!¡¯


    The darkening sky ignited in emerald radiance, beams of brilliant light streaming down from the clouds. They bathed the bloodstained ground in jade, its vibrant incandescence flooding the mountain path.


    As though the world held its breath, all was still. Even the ghouls¡¯ scratching snarls seemed to recede. Then, the ground began to tremble, and thunder crashed in the domed heavens. The emerald light warped overhead, curving and winding into the symbol of a solitary eye of effulgent splendour¡ªindecipherable runes etched in light enclosing its pupil.


    ¡®You have believed in me, and I shall deliver you,¡¯ Annalise said, her voice descending like falling feathers.


    As she spoke, the scattered bodies carpeting the mountain path began to shine. Their disjointed remains rose and knitted together, their monstrous forms renewed.


    Havoc¡¯s stomach fell as he stood surrounded by the restored ghouls, his mind racing, seeking an escape where none was to be found. But then, as the corpses continued to lift into the air, they transformed¡ªfibrous meat hardening into crystal, light curving into beryl scimitars within their grasp.


    ¡®Children of light, go forth!¡¯ Annalise proclaimed, her voice chiming through the breeze as the emerald warriors descended, marching into the fiendish throng. Their blades sliced through with synchronised precision, trampling the fallen as they advanced.


    ¡®Praise the seer!¡¯ Havoc heard someone say, the man¡¯s voice echoed across the battlefield. No sooner had the chants began did the survivors charge behind the crystal legionaries, clashing with the horde with restored vigour.


    Together with the jade warriors, the group cut through the horde, driving them back down the gravelly trail. The cold slick of blood squelched underfoot. They pressed forward, beating back the swarm until the path forked en-twain, countless fiends pouring through each pass. At the fork, the group held¡ªtheir strength waning, their movements slowing. Havoc¡¯s muscles burned from the incessant strain of battle¡ªbut they had reached their mark.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    This is it, he thought, his gaze snapping to Aaron¡ªwho, even as he tore a ghoul apart with his black, scaled hands, locked eyes with him in a glare.


    Havoc did not need Annalise¡¯s directives to know this was where they would part from the group¡ªnevertheless, they came. Her thoughts crashed into his mind, tangling with his own as her instructions took shape. Hers was a silent command¡ªtake the other trail.


    ¡®The true form of the creature lays at the end of the forking path,¡¯ Annalise declared, her voice washing over the mountain pass. ¡®Hold the line, and have faith. With my own hand, I will slaughter progenitor, and shall return!¡¯ Her voice lifting with pious fervour, as though a celestial being were pronouncing blessed consecration.


    The voices of the survivors lifted above their heavy breaths, their proclamations of faith seeming to tremble the sky.


    While Annalise¡¯s command surged across the passage, her voice whispered something different in Havoc¡¯s mind. Absent her haunting aggrandisement, her tone carried a playful lilt¡ªsteeped in brazen satisfaction.


    ¡®Go have your little tussle. To the victor, the spoils.¡¯


    ****


    ¡®They think you¡¯re a fool,¡¯ Annalise whispered, her palms trailing down Lucia¡¯s ribs to her waist. ¡®Look at how he takes what¡¯s precious to him and leaves you behind to rot with the others. It¡¯s indecent¡ªshameful, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡¯


    ¡®I would,¡¯ Lucia hissed, watching from atop her wolf as Aaron bundled that wretched slave-girl into his arms, slipping from the battle down the forked path.


    ¡®I¡¯ve seen how he demeans you,¡¯ Annalise purred, pouring only truth into Lucia¡¯s ears, her chin resting upon Lucia¡¯s shoulder. ¡®This cannot stand,¡¯ she hissed, echoing the very thoughts seething in Lucia¡¯s mind.


    ¡®No, it cannot!¡¯ Lucia repeated, her grip tightening around crimson fur.


    ¡®Hush, darling. This isn¡¯t the time for words, but for action. Go take what you are owed.¡¯


    ¡®Only what is rightfully mine,¡¯ Lucia growled, her eyes twitching with barely contained fury.


    With that, she broke from the group, trailing her love down the fork in the road.


    ****


    Even as her skin crawled at his touch, Naereah did not resist as Aaron snatched her into his arms. This was where she was supposed to be¡ªthis was how she would seize her freedom.


    As Aaron rushed down the fork in the path, she retreated into herself. These were not her fortified battlements¡ªthat place in her mind where she stood so small. No, she was beyond that now¡ªin the future, yes. She hid within a time yet to come, where she would walk beside her hero, and together, they would shake the world. Yet she also inhabited a cherished recollection¡ªHavoc¡¯s lips on hers while the world would not still.


    She was no fool. She knew their kiss was not about her. She was used, but for the first time, she was glad for it. Whatever animosity her love held toward her captor, it paled in insignificance compared to how she despised his touch¡ªhow she longed for his leering gaze to be cast elsewhere. But there was more¡­


    To be used by him was to be useful to him¡ªshe yearned for nothing more deeply. Yes, she would have preferred the moment to be sincere, disentangled from the webs of scandal and vainglorious pride that tainted every aspect of human nobility¡ªnot that the race that had discarded her were any better. But even taken for what it was, she had felt his passion, and it had shaken her.


    If this is only a sample of what¡¯s to come, I¡¯ll take it all the same, she thought, barely noticing as Aaron¡¯s razor-edged wings bisected throngs of fiends along their path.


    She knew what had to be done to grasp the future she ached for. Though panic swirled in her stomach at the thought of taking sapient life¡ªeven that of one as cruel as her mistress¡ªshe would do it.


    She would stand beside her hero¡ªfree¡ªthrough forever. That is what she had been promised, and she would not wait much longer.


    So come follow us, you bitch! she thought, her fists clutching sharp resolve as she glimpsed Lucia¡¯s crimson wolf skulking the mountain walls, leaping from jutted edge to jutted edge as she stalked from behind. Today, I repay each one of your cruelties.


    ****


    Franklin was no fool. The moment he saw Aaron break from the group, he knew where he should go.


    Let the imbeciles dance like puppets on a string; I, for one, prefer to live, he scorned, allowing the jade warriors to march ahead into the endless horde as he slipped silently from their ranks.


    He could admit, the ¡°Seer¡± had acted ingeniously. She must have long planned this ending for it to unravel so flawlessly.


    She seems too young to be a venerable demon, he mused. Still, in the world of Inheritors, looks could be deceiving, and he could imagine no other way she had schemed this so completely.


    Of course, there were Remnants of foresight, but they revealed only what could be, not what would be, and he knew the Sequence of the Jade-Born Legion¡ªit required absolute precision of temperament and timing, far beyond what any oracle could predict.


    A regressor, perhaps? he wondered. It would make sense of it all. They were scarce beyond reason, but the Everquill Library held knowledge of such Remnants¡ªthose with dominion over time itself, allowing an Inheritor to return to their past, redeem their errors, and reshape the future. But that would make her a monarch¡­ It couldn¡¯t be¡ªnone have ascended from any of the races.


    A chill ran down his spine as his thoughts shifted from incredulity to wavering doubt¡ªspeculation to a harrowing truth.


    A monarch was not a god¡ªtwo steps short of divinity. Still, in this world, there was nothing closer to the divine, their power dwarfing even the might of the greatest houses. If she was one of them¡ªthe only one¡­


    Franklin may have lacked faith, but he did not lack sense. He had believed Crest Sop would be the one to butter his bread¡ªhe was wrong. It would be the Seer. Even if she no longer wielded the full extent of her sovereign might, being in her favour was far more valuable than ingratiating himself with any noble house.


    This was how Everquill¡¯s light would be reignited. He would serve her cause¡ªbe useful¡ªand rise alongside the only wise queen.


    Fervour burning within his heart, Franklin broke from the group. He did not know what his lady desired, but it would be his privilege to oblige.

 Chapter 53: Forsaken

    He was coming.


    Aaron watched from a craggy perch overlooking the mountain passage as that low-born villain carved a path ahead. A smirk curled on his lips as he scrutinised Havoc¡¯s heaving chest, watching him carve a path through the tide of ghouls. They were to have a clean duel, yes¡ªbut he owed the rogue no favours.


    Had he not toiled just as fiercely?


    Was his noble blood not also shed upon the rugged trail?


    He had laboured his share¡ªfar more than that. Whatever consideration owed to equity on the battlefield had been paid¡ªnone could demand more.


    Indeed, merely thinning the ranks of those ghastly fiends was already far beyond the call of a noble¡¯s integrity. The cur did not deserve such even-handedness¡ªbeing a reprobate through and through¡ªhe had not earned the right to honourable contest.


    In saner times, the miscreant would have been bound to a splintered scaffold, his head locked within the executioner¡¯s block¡ªbut these were not saner times.


    That I would need to lower myself to the level of a knave¡­ Aaron griped, before shifting his gaze to Naereah, clutching her knees on the far edge of the overhang.


    For love¡ªtrue love¡ªhe would debase himself. That was the devotion his beloved required. She had been led astray, but little wonder why. He had yet to prove himself¡ªthis day would change that.


    He would liberate himself from the bounds of infernal matrimony¡ªa future he would need drink to endure. And in doing so, he would prove himself the redeemer his love had been waiting for. She required security, and he would be the one to provide it. With Lucia swallowed by the ocean of ghouls, destined never to leave this Dungeon-Cell, nothing stood between him and the life he deserved with the woman he desired¡ªnothing but the rogue.


    ¡®I¡ªI¡¯ll never love you,¡¯ Naereah lied, her voice quivering with the fear that wretched cur must have driven into her.


    Aaron understood her trepidation. He could admit the cur¡¯s sharp lethality was fearsome as he approached their waiting place. Though clearly fatigued, the mongrel had not slowed¡ªhis every severing strike bore down with savage efficiency.


    Were he a lesser man, he might hesitate. But he was a scion of the great house of Crest¡ªa lineage borne of a Lord Inheritor. Undoubtedly, his grandfather had contended with his share of trials. Now it was his turn. The first step in his valorous trail; a journey denied to all but those fated for greatness.


    He shifted on the ledge, drawing closer to her. Resting his hands on her trembling shoulders, he eased her onto his lap, stroking her ivory hair until she grew still.


    ¡®You do not have to fear him. Before this day ends, his head shall rest at your feet¡ªfor what he has done to you,¡¯ Aaron swore, his grip tightening as Naereah stiffened beneath him.


    Poor, delicate creature, he mused. She could not possibly grasp how that knave has terrorised her¡ªhis leering eyes, his licentious tongue, forced into her mouth.


    The thought churned Aaron¡¯s stomach, a boiling rage that would not settle until he ripped out that offending organ and rammed it down the villain¡¯s throat.


    ¡®I¡ªI don¡¯t fear him. I love him,¡¯ Naereah stammered, her laboured deceit breaking in her throat. ¡®It¡¯s you. You and Lucia¡­ You¡¯re both too cruel,¡¯ she said, her lies slicing deep into Aaron¡¯s heart.


    ¡®Stop it!¡¯ Aaron muttered softly. ¡®This is not yo¡ª¡¯


    ¡®You two!¡¯ she snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. ¡®You¡¯re perfect for each other!¡¯


    ¡®I said stop it!¡¯ Aaron growled.


    ¡®You treat me like an ornament¡ªsomething to flaunt to make yourself seem fascinating!¡¯ Naereah screamed, her tears soaking Aaron¡¯s trousers as she struggled to free herself from his lap. ¡®Even if he didn¡¯t exist, I would never love you.¡¯


    ¡®Enough!¡¯ Aaron roared, his fury spilling over as he seized Naereah by the throat. In one motion, he rose, lifting her above the ledge, his grip ironclad.


    A strangled whimper slipped from Naereah¡¯s lips as she locked her tear-filled eyes onto Aaron¡¯s, her defiance burning into him.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t love,¡¯ she croaked as Aaron¡¯s grip softened, his mind and heart reeling between rage at her lies and the fear that he might truly harm her. ¡®You don¡¯t love me¡ªyou just want to own me. But you won¡¯t! Not today, not ever!¡¯


    ¡®Let her go!¡¯ the mongrel barked from below, his path littered with the torn remains of ghouls.


    ¡®Hav¡ªoc,¡¯ Naereah gasped, her pulse racing in Aaron¡¯s grip.


    Aaron drew a deep breath as his thoughts settled. He glared at the slave-girl, seeing her as though for the first time. She was no different from the others¡ªunworthy of his devotion. He saw that now. All this time, she had been using him, bending his affection for her convenience just to throw it aside at the slightest breath of a better offer.


    Of course, she was deluded in thinking the mongrel was his better, but that was not the point. Her quality lay bare before him¡ªit did not entice. She was no different from the scarlet wenches who sold themselves to the world¡ªmoaning sweetly at the touch of each coin-bearing hand. And for his humiliation, she would face the same fate as they.


    ¡®You can have her,¡¯ Aaron growled, his jaw clenched tight as he glared down. He snapped his gaze back to the wanton harlot, his lips twisting into a sneer. ¡®You are a beautiful thing¡­ A pity you are as ravishing on the outside as you are putrid within.¡¯


    With that, he hurled her from the ledge. He did not watch her fall. Whether she survived or not was beneath his concern. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ****


    All had unfolded just as her lady had foreseen. Since the day the Seer had found her¡ªbody and mind broken and bleeding, forsaken by the world¡ªShar had never failed to be astounded by the unfathomable depths of her lady¡¯s wisdom.


    Shar looked down, watching as Havoc caught the Selenarian before she hit the rocks. The healer was an Inheritor, certainly¡ªbut she was frail as glass. Shar doubted she would have survived a fall from that height.


    The noble could have snapped the girl¡¯s neck or crushed her skull to a grisly pulp¡ªthe final sacrifice claimed by his wounded pride and puerile temper¡ªbut no. As the Seer had foretold, he had cast her away, and the boy had caught her, leaping from barrier to barrier to slow their descent.


    ¡®Is it time?¡¯ Myra asked, her tone weighted with the reverence due their sacred task, her bow angled down toward where Aaron and Havoc were circling.


    ¡®Have patience. Our lady¡¯s will is absolute, and her design shall not fail. We act our roles, and nothing more, assured in the certainty that her will be done,¡¯ Shar instructed, her gaze fixed below.


    Havoc struck first, his crimson blade arcing toward Aaron¡¯s neck. No words were exchanged. No foolish posturing. The moment Naereah was clear, he moved with sharp intent.


    Yet, the noble was no milksop. With scaled arms, he deflected the strike and countered, claws flashing as he drove Havoc back in a furious assault.


    They exchanged blow for blow, the extended reach of Havoc¡¯s sword blunted by Aaron¡¯s unrelenting ferocity.


    Whenever Aaron gained the upper hand, Havoc drove him back with shards of shimmering light. Yet no sooner would Havoc seize the initiative than he would be forced to retreat before plumes of incinerating fire from Aaron¡¯s mouth. The two were evenly matched, neither conceding an inch that was not torn from them by force.


    ¡®Impressive, are they not?¡¯ Shar mused, shifting her gaze to her apprentice.


    ¡®They are, ma¡¯am,¡¯ Myra replied, her eyes locked on the battle below. ¡®I must confess, I could never match their strength. I fear our lady may have erred in granting me her favour.¡¯


    Shar¡¯s tone hardened. ¡®You have much to learn about our lady.¡¯


    ¡®Ma¡¯am?¡¯ Myra questioned.


    ¡®If brute strength were all the Seer required, neither of us would suffice. But observe¡ªdespite their power, they still dance to our lady¡¯s tune. She seeks your faith and devotion above all else. Offer that freely, and you shall be truly worthy of her favour.¡¯ Shar said, her tone softening as Myra¡¯s eyes lit with understanding.


    The scrape of glass against glass snapped Shar¡¯s attention skyward. She looked to the sky, the pale light of the night-sun glinting off the shifting mass of the Fractal Beast. Like a skyward wave, it surged over the horizon, cresting before cascading down.


    Myra¡¯s bow clattered against the stone, her wide eyes fixed on the Abomination as strands broke from its mass, slithering toward the mountain passage. Shar rested a firm palm on her apprentice¡¯s shoulder, and the trembling eased.


    ¡®Will any survive?¡¯ Myra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡®No,¡¯ Shar said, unflinching.


    It was better that Myra understood the truth of this world. She would need to, if she was to fully understand why it had to end¡ªwhy the Seer must end it.


    ¡®The greatest causes demand the greatest sacrifices. Ready yourself¡ªthe time is nigh. Our lady¡¯s design unfolds.¡¯


    ****


    Even as Sabine caught sight of the shimmering mass in the sky, not even a tremor of doubt touched her heart. The Seer was with them¡ªthe symbol of her power suspended above.


    As long as the emerald light shone and the crystal warriors stood beside her, they could not fail. The tide of ghouls would abate, and the lady would triumph over Abomination and Spawn alike.


    With jagged breaths, she stretched her arms forward, fingers curled like talons. With a grunt, she wrenched her arms apart, and the ground fractured along her line of sight. The fissure widened, swallowing hordes of fiends into its depths. Then, sweat trailing her face, she brought her arms in¡ªthe earth heaved shut, grinding the fallen fiends into crimson ruin.


    ¡®We must leave this place!¡¯ Anton commanded, his whip cracking into the swarm rushing to replace their fallen.


    ¡®The Seer¡¯s instructions are clear¡ªwe hold the line, and she will do the rest,¡¯ Sabine spat, her tone leaving no room for doubt. ¡®I have faith!¡¯ she roared, her cry echoed by the voices at her side. A war hammer shimmered into her grip, and with a savage swing, she shattered the skull of an advancing ghoul.


    As she prepared for another strike, a grip on her sleeve halted her motion. She spun toward Anton, breaking his hold with a sharp swipe of her hand.


    ¡®There¡¯s not much time!¡¯ he insisted, his voice tight with urgency. ¡®That¡¯s where Annalise went¡ªit¡¯s the only way out!¡¯ he shouted, pointing toward the fork in the passage, where shattered glass slithered up the mountain walls toward the opening.


    ¡®I am with you,¡¯ the Seer¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, soothing, banishing the hesitation Anton¡¯s plea had stirred. ¡®Do not allow him to take you from your path,¡¯ the voice commanded.


    ¡®Leave if you have to, but I¡¯ll not stray from our lady¡¯s cause!¡¯ Sabine shouted, shoving Anton back with defiant force.


    ¡®If I have to take you by force, I will!¡¯ Anton roared, advancing toward Sabine¡ªonly for two jade warriors to step into his path. ¡®Sabe¡­ please,¡¯ he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. ¡®There¡¯s no time left!¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ Sabine said bluntly, glaring past the gap between the two crystal shoulders, her grip tightening on her hammer, Heavy Blow.


    She turned from Anton and marched back into the fray.


    She watched her oldest friend break from the group, but not a flicker of doubt touched her heart¡ªshe had done rightly.


    As long as they had faith, the Seer would preserve them.


    They would not be abandoned to perish in vain.


    ****


    Standing upon the All-Seeing Owl, its form restored to full titan size, Annalise surveyed the battlefield.


    She could feel the faith of the damned cresting as they battled against unwinnable odds. At its peak, only one step remained¡ªthe betrayal of their faith, and the sorrow of their deaths.


    She would not rejoice in their sacrifice, but neither would she lament it.


    People die all the time, what¡¯s a few more? she pondered, as one by one, the radiant runes etched around the pupil of the emerald eye faded, taking with them scores of jade legionaries.


    As the first mournful wails rose to the sky, a spear-bearing youth was torn to bloodied pieces, his screams swallowed by the amber jaws of the swarming horde. Annalise exhaled a tepid sigh.


    The survivors scurried in retreat, only to find their path cut off¡ªbarred by the shimmering, looming horror of the Fractal Beast. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. They had been abandoned¡ªshe had abandoned them.


    Even by her standards, it was a harrowing sight. Yet, as the last survivor fell¡ªher entrails wrenched free within the swarm¡¯s amber jaws, her war hammer clutched like an infant¡¯s blanket¡ªAnnalise did not allow her mood to sour. Why should she? The Temple of Desire had emerged¡ªthick veins twisting across its grand domed structure.


    I should be off then, she thought, shrugging as she mentally directed her owl into flight.


    ¡®It¡¯ll all be over soon, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us, can¡¯t we?¡¯ she whispered, stroking her summon¡¯s feathered plume.

 Chapter 54: Combative Restitution

    Havoc darted forward, sweat flung from his brow as his blade flashed upward to cleave his foe asunder. Yet his edge found no purchase, glancing off the dense, draconic scales that plated Aaron¡¯s arms. Havoc did not falter. As Aaron¡¯s razor-edged wings sliced downward, seeking to carve him from shoulder to groin, he hurled himself back¡ªonly to launch forward once more. His blade sparked against Aaron¡¯s chest, shearing through scale and flesh, carving a deep groove into his plated hide.


    There was no hesitation in Havoc¡¯s assault, yet Aaron was no less ferocious. Sparks flared from their every exchange¡ªblow for blow, stripe for stripe. The mountain passage blurred as the two collided, their motions fluid, as though a dance¡ªgraceful yet deadly¡ªblood spattering the rocky terrain only to sizzle into vapour as Aaron unleashed streams of immolating fire, melting through Havoc¡¯s barriers of ethereal light.


    Heat warped the night air, rippling above the molten terrain. But as the flames waned, Havoc burst from the smoke¡ªriding the eye of the whirling winds. He lashed out, his blade cleaving downward, a shock of bone-rattling pain surging through his palms as Aaron¡¯s crossed arms caught the strike above his head.


    Using the noble as a foothold, Havoc launched skyward. As he plummeted, his hand shot outward. Jagged shards of light shimmered to life around him. He hurled them down, the ground below showered in baleful radiance.


    Still, it was not enough. Havoc hit the ground in a roll, springing back to his feet. He pivoted toward the noble, heart pounding, as Aaron remained unshaken¡ªethereal shards glinting off his leathery wings before crumbling to nothing.


    ¡®How do you imagine this ends?¡¯ Aaron asked, his tone even yet edged with quiet fury.


    ¡®With you dead,¡¯ Havoc did not hesitate. His stance shifted, blade ready to strike again.


    ¡®Ha!¡¯ Aaron howled, a primal cry dripping with conceit. "Even if you could, do you know what would happen?" He stepped toward Havoc, his growl thick with menace. "Even now, I can see it¡ªmy father, commanding his oracles, scouring the land for the one boy who dared slay his greatest son. His endless resources bearing down on you like a storm.¡¯


    Instinctively, Havoc shifted back, his feet scraping against the gravelled earth. In his growing disdain for Aaron, he had not considered the weight of his lineage, nor the prideful retaliation his victory would provoke. They had been trapped in the Dungeon-Cell for so long¡ªhe had almost forgotten the vast world beyond this accursed Forest.


    ¡®You see now, do you not?¡¯ Aaron spat, shifting to a crouch, arms extended, claws spread wide.


    ¡®Die now, or die later¡ªit makes no difference. There is no victory¡ªno future¡ªfor you.¡¯ He hurled himself forward, claws clashing against Havoc¡¯s steel.


    ¡®Blood is the divide that cannot be bridged!¡¯ Aaron roared, his claws flashing down from overhead, missing Havoc¡¯s face by the width of a hair.


    ¡®The haves have it all!¡¯ Aaron snarled, his claws slicing a shallow red across Havoc¡¯s throat. ¡®And for people like you¡ª¡¯ He spat, lunging on all fours, fire spewing from his maw, hurling himself at his hated foe.


    ¡®Even the little you have will be taken!¡¯


    Aaron¡¯s words rang true¡ªevery one striking a repellent chord. Havoc knew of no other way the world could be. Even in the Bereft partitions of Stone Garden, there existed a hierarchy¡ªone where he had subsisted at the lowest rungs. Those with even a scrap power took what they pleased, their privilege unchecked. And when the powerless fought back¡ªhad he not been sentenced to die?


    But I¡¯m still here, aren¡¯t I? Havoc thought, as he threw himself backward, sweeping the Thirsty Strike wide, unleashing a scarlet wave of cleaving force.


    I¡¯m still here while that bastard rots! He landed hard, rolling fluidly back to his feet.


    When did it ever stop me? he asked himself, the answer needless to say.


    He had known the consequences of killing the man who dared harm his sister¡ªand he had done so without regret. Enduring months of ruthless cruelty, even as he waited to die, he had never once wavered. He would do it again, without hesitation.


    His aggressors were more powerful now¡ªbut what did that change? He was who he had always been¡ªan obstreperous reprobate who would never accept his place in the world.


    Then what does it matter? When those high-and-mighty bastards come for me, I¡¯ll kill them too! His blade plunged deep into Aaron¡¯s shoulder, the noble howling in pain as Havoc¡¯s boot slammed into his gut, sending him crashing to the ground.


    But there would be no respite for the noble. Even as he scrambled to stand, Havoc was upon him, his blade swinging down in a final, ineluctable stroke toward Aaron¡¯s neck.


    ****


    It was not in Myra¡¯s nature to interfere in a brawl. Having come of age among nomadic warriors, she understood the pride at stake when warriors clashed. Better to die than to claim a tainted victory. But when she had watched her brother bleed out, a spear lodged in his thigh, she could stay her hand no longer.


    She had seized the dagger from the dirt, its handle still warm from another¡¯s grip, and driven it deep into the chieftain¡¯s son¡¯s back¡ªdragging the blade through his vertebrae, sawing through bone until he stopped moving. There was no gratitude¡ªonly stern condemnation, and with it, her exile.


    Poverty clung to her like a stench, thick and inescapable. Without a token to her name¡ªfor her people held no concept of possessions¡ªeven when she reached civilisation, she learned that civility was not for the stranger nor the destitute.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    She had nothing to offer but her flesh. Many nights, she had considered the bargain¡ªif only for the promise of a warm place to lay. But she was the daughter of warriors. Even though they had rejected her, she had not forsaken their ways.


    The nights had been cold, and she had been so very afraid. But she was a nomad in spirit¡ªshe would not shrink from instability. She would never let that become her fate.


    So she had done as she had learned. Foraging was theft. Hunting was plunder. Forever on the run from man and monster alike¡ªstill, she survived.


    Then, she met him. Though a scar ran his face, she never found him unsightly. She never understood why he called himself Ugly.


    In the city of rising emerald falls, he had lifted her from the dirt, sponsoring her Inheritance.


    She had to be certain, he had warned. If she lacked the potential, even if she succeeded in her trials, Inheriting would kill her.


    She knew nothing of her potential, but she was sure of one thing¡ªshe would rather die in the dirt than live powerless and afraid.


    Peering down from the ledge, she watched the two men clash, the string of her bow pulled taut, a streak of lightning sparking along its shelf.


    Both men carried blame for Ugly¡¯s demise¡ªfrom his own lips, she had heard Havoc confess. Yet there was no spite in her veins as she locked the bolt in place, only the quiet weight of inevitability.


    She could not restore the dead, and vengeance would bring nothing. Her act was not retribution¡ªit was simply another cog in the Seer¡¯s grand design. Yet if she claimed to feel no satisfaction in disgracing their pride, she would be lying.


    As Havoc raised his blade to reap Aaron¡¯s life, her grip loosed on the string, unleashing a golden streak that sent Havoc reeling back.


    If the noble falls, his punishment is death. Yet, even if he wins, his conquest is spoiled, she determined, shuffling back from the edge of the overhang.


    However it ended, there would be no honour in victory. It was not much, but for her friend¡ªno, for the man to whom she had never confessed her heart¡ªshe had done what she could.


    ****


    The night-sun hung high in the heavens, its pale luminescence stretching into the entrance of the shallow cavern where Lucia waited.


    Peeking out to see her fianc¨¦ fall, a thin-lipped smirk spread across her lips. To see the man who had shamed her time and again brought low in disgrace¡ªit was a satisfying sight.


    Still, she sighed in relief as nature itself seemed to come to her love¡¯s aid¡ªHavoc forced back by a crackling fork of lightning, thunder heralding its arrival.


    She had not imagined the little gutter-rat could possibly pose her love such strife. Aaron was of higher birth¡ªeven to her¡ªthat was why she loved him. It was not proper for the masses to raise arms against their betters¡ªhow much more egregious was it for them to truly contend?


    Though she surged with joy at Aaron¡¯s struggle, there was a proper order to things¡ªone that she meant to restore. Soon, her love would be hers¡ªhis very soul coupled to her in obedience.


    And he had, in part, redeemed himself in discarding the slave. She was not above showing kindness to her future husband¡ªdeciding in that moment to hunt down and slaughter whatever brood had come from the gutter-rat¡¯s den.


    Had he mentioned a sister? Lucia pondered, idly attempting to recall the petty concerns of her lesser. With a shrug, she dismissed the thought as one would a coddling servant. There were far more pressing matters at hand.


    She observed Aaron¡¯s change¡ªthat bestial scene¡ªassured that it was almost her time. Aaron dropped to all fours, ebony scales creeping over his form from head to toe. His form swelled, spikes jutting from his back as his leathery wings unfurled to match his monstrous frame. Twelve feet tall, he stood on blackened paws, his knife-like claws poised to sear flesh from bone.


    Lucia could barely contain her excitement at the thought that he would soon be hers¡ªtruly hers. Docile and submissive, yet with a bite more tearing than his bark. He would be her perfect man¡ªfangs bared for her alone. She deserved nothing less.


    It was not long before the wretched upstart was overwhelmed by Aaron¡¯s noble might. Had she been a lesser woman, she might have spared a thought of pity for the whelp. He flailed admirably, parrying strike after strike¡ªuntil her love¡¯s shearing claws carved deep into his chest. Even then, he rose, scrambling to his feet, scaling a ladder of barriers to rain shimmering spears down upon steel-like scales.


    Harmless. Pointless.


    She doubted he even had time to comprehend his failure before Aaron¡¯s monstrous tail lashed out, whipping him into the stone-face with bone-rattling force.


    Smoke coiled from Aaron¡¯s open maw, azure fire churning between his teeth.


    The moment was now.


    Atop her scarlet wolf, she raced toward the battlefield, muttering words inscrutable to reason, the weighty shroud of the Dungeon¡¯s will submerging her like a rising tide. Though she noticed the Fractal Beast creeping behind, she was too close to her goal to care.


    Reaching into her dress, she withdrew a vial from between her breasts, its tar-black glass swallowing all light. She did not hesitate. She unstopped the potion, flung the cork aside, and drank deep, a rush of heat overtaking her.


    Her pulse surged. Her eyes widened.


    The Fragments of Mind and Soul were already in radiant bloom, and golden threads spooled from her fingertips as she continued her chant. Emerald fissures lined her vision¡ªreality crumbling beneath her borrowed power.


    The realm accepts your plea. The voice in her mind was not her own, yet it did not matter.


    She would have what she deserved.


    She would have it all.


    A star ignited in the captured sky, burning with viridescent fire. As she closed the distance to her love, two chains of brilliant light burst from the star¡ªone burying into her chest, the other spearing through Aaron¡¯s scales.


    She had done it. The world had bowed. He would be hers at last.


    ****


    Naereah had waited for this moment. Though her heart bled for Havoc as Aaron¡¯s power transcended reason, she knew she could do nothing until her time.


    But now was that time.


    As blazing chains dragged her tormentors together, she willed her crystal dagger into her grasp and stepped forward.


    Lucia, lost in her own cackling triumph, did not even notice as Naereah raised her blade high. But as the dagger plunged into her back, Lucia twisted around, her eyes like burning coals.


    ¡®What have you done!¡¯ Lucia wailed, snapping her arm inward before hurling Naereah backward with a bone-crunching strike.


    Pain seared through her ribs, guilt churned in her gut¡ªbut she did not regret it. She had seized her freedom with her own hands.


    Her vision blurred, the world tilting into darkness¡ªbut she fought to remain conscious.


    A blur.


    A glint.


    The shattered Abomination swirled around Aaron and Lucia¡¯s melding forms. Then, the world grew dark.

 Chapter 55: Origins Of Calamity

    Pain ground deep into Havoc¡¯s bones, slicing through his broken form like jagged glass. He should have been dead. As he coughed¡ªa thick, sloshing hack of blood¡ªhe wondered if he soon would be. He had not reacted fast enough to evade the devastating lash of Aaron¡¯s draconic tail. In those final moments, all he could do was prepare for the strike. With the Flesh-Weave Needle buried deep in his thigh, he had remoulded himself¡ªcoating his body in layers of hardened scales. It had been enough to survive. But it had left him broken and defenceless.


    His eyes flicked open, the world tinted red with blood. Through the haze, Aaron loomed¡ªmonstrous, inescapable, the certainty of death made flesh.


    Then there was light.


    A star of emerald fire ignited in the heavens, golden threads knit into otherworldly patterns orbiting its light. Two chains lashed out from the blaze, one striking beyond his vision, the other spearing through Aaron¡¯s blackened scales. In an instant, the beast was undone, stripped back to the man beneath.


    As through a spectre compelled by holy might, Aaron howled, his feet carving grooves through the gravelled earth as the chain towed him toward his cackling bride.


    ¡®Mine at last,¡¯ Lucia shrieked, arms outstretched, ready to seize her fianc¨¦ as he was dragged into her embrace. ¡®Only mine¡ªforever mine!¡¯


    Yet her joy was short-lived. Lost in her revelry, she never saw her slave-girl creep from behind¡ªnever felt the dagger until it plunged deep into her shoulder. She lashed out, sending Naereah sprawling, but the damage had already been done¡ªthe crystal dagger buried in her flesh, the viridescent star burning charcoal flames.


    Even though agony ripped through Havoc¡¯s form, the iniquity searing through the path struck harder, the profane ebony light of the tarnished star seeping through his skin, igniting the very marrow in his bones.


    Yet he was not the target of the defiled light. As the creeping blackness spread, link by link, the chains binding groom and bride began to twist¡ªflesh merging into flesh, bone splintering as it sought to reform.


    Their limbs slithered, no longer flesh but writhing tendrils; their legs, fused into something that slumped and coiled, lacking the grace of beast or man. Their two heads collapsed into one grotesque visage¡ªteeth bared within sunken cheeks, their bulbous skull pulsing like something still trying to form.


    Once, they had been human. Havoc could see no trace of that now. Their cry was a shattered cacophony¡ªwet, gurgling, half-formed shrieks layered atop one another in a mindless wail.


    Can I kill it? He gritted his teeth, wrenching his arm free from the wall, his bones snapping back into place¡ªrealigned by the Flesh-Weave Needle.


    Only the dregs of his Harmony remained in his Core, its faltering power barely keeping his body intact. He could move, but not much else, and the moment his power failed, he would crumple¡ªbroken beyond repair.


    Still, he would not surrender.


    He staggered, barely catching himself before sinking to one knee. With laboured breaths, he summoned his scarlet blade to his trembling hands and rose, the creature that had once been man coiling toward him.


    ****


    The Selenarian had failed, but in her wisdom, the Seer had foreseen this. Though the nobles were dying, they were not dead. The Sequence was failing¡ªbut Shar would see it fulfilled.


    Peering down, she watched as Havoc peeled himself from the mountain face. Though bloodied and swaying, he stepped forward before sinking to one knee.


    She had observed his battle, watching as he had been cast into the stone. That he could stand at all was a testament to his indomitable will. Yet again, the Seer¡¯s words struck true¡ªgreat and terrible, his deeds would be. The Dungeon would tremble at his feet.


    Perhaps he too would claim a Lord¡¯s Inheritance one day¡­ If he lives long enough to try, Shar pondered.


    With a subtle nod of approval, Shar acknowledged the boy¡¯s resilience. In her want of faith and understanding, she had questioned the wisdom in allowing Havoc to live. He would surely oppose the Selenarian¡¯s sacrifice. Still, she could not help but admire his resolve. Yet resolve alone would not suffice to save him. His death would smooth the path of her lady¡¯s ascension, but Shar had her orders, and they would be executed.


    Without hesitation, she dived from the overhang, riding the wind toward the writhing monstrosity, her eyes locking onto the crystal dagger buried deep in its shifting flesh. The world blurred around her, hair whipping behind her, and in an instant, she was upon the thing, the heel of her boot driving the dagger deeper through writhing muscle.


    A chime of glass on glass cut through the chaos, snapping her gaze skyward. A ring of splintered mirrors circled above, malice and hunger radiating from its shattered form. The Fractal Beast slithered down, its broken edges arcing toward the creature on whose shoulder Shar stood.


    No time to think. At the Abomination¡¯s faintest touch, she would be crumpled meat. She reacted on instinct. She leapt, landing hard on the stone, grunting as pain flared through her palms¡ªher skin raw from the impact. But the work was not yet finished. As the Fractal Beast consumed the writhing mass, the ritual required one final offering. Not the blood patting the stone from her palm, but another¡¯s.


    She staggered toward Naereah and unsheathed her blade. Without hesitation, she drew a narrow line across the unconscious girl¡¯s palm. Blood welled at the cut, dark against her skin.


    Shar pressed a rune-lined cloth into the wound, soaking it in the sacrifice. Then, she cast it into the churning abyss of flesh and glass.


    Your resolve is acknowledged. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The foreign whisper coiled around her thoughts, not hers, yet inseparable. The approval sank into her, deeper than flesh¡ªdeeper than bone.


    The swirling mass of meat and mirror began to glow and compact, collapsing like a dying star¡ªjagged bone snapping, marrow spilling as the orb continued to contract.


    Her work was done. She had served her lady¡¯s purpose. There was nothing left to ask for¡ªnothing left to want.


    ****


    ¡®You did excellently,¡¯ Annalise praised, extending her hand as Shar knelt before her.


    Havoc could only watch, breath shallow, as Shar presented a rectangular slate of glass and bone¡ªthe collapsed remains of whatever the nobles had become.


    His strength waned. The last of his Harmony flickered within him, barely holding his shattered body together. The Flesh-Weave Needle struggled to keep his broken legs bound, and at last, he crumpled to the ground, the weight of his wounds overtaking him.


    ¡®It¡¯d be hardly sporting to leave him like this,¡¯ the Seer hummed, her tone light¡ªas though the world itself were nothing more than a game. She turned, her gaze drifting toward a hooded woman standing beside Shar. ¡®Myra, was it?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, my lady.¡¯


    ¡®Give him some of mine,¡¯ Annalise said, languidly flicking her fingers, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. ¡®So he may tend to his wounds.¡¯


    ¡®At once, my lady,¡¯ Myra murmured, stepping forward.


    Foreign Harmony poured into his Core. He did not resist its intrusion¡ªits surge was dense and weighty, a palpable churn of swirling power. This was the Harmony of a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance. Even a mere wisp of its strength through the Needle was enough to knit his shattered legs back together. Then, drawing from Naereah¡¯s Anchor, he summoned her warmth¡ªsurging healing power through his form. Bone set; flesh mended. His body was whole again.


    ¡®Isn¡¯t that much better?¡¯ Annalise hummed, her voice lilting with amusement as she strolled toward Havoc.


    The world tilted as he swayed on his feet. His body was whole, his Harmony restored¡ªbut exhaustion remained, relentless as a hound at his heels. He could not outpace it. It gnawed at his consciousness, barking its demands.


    ¡®Say, Havoc¡­ You¡¯ve been through so much.¡¯ The Seer¡¯s whisper slipped into his ears like a soothing balm¡ªcomforting and warm, yet slick to the touch.


    ¡®Come with me, and it¡¯ll all be over.¡¯ Her voice curled around him, gentle as silk, cloying as honey.


    ¡®I¡¯d like you to join me, but even staying out of my way would be enough. Swear it¡ªpromise me that much¡ªand you¡¯ll be done. No more fighting. No more struggle. We leave this Cell together.¡¯ Her words wrapped around his weary mind, pulling at the edges of his resolve.


    ¡®Just rest. Give me your word¡­ then you can rest,¡¯ she sighed, her voice almost pleading.


    Havoc surveyed the battlefield. Fallen ghouls. Flame-scorched earth. Blood smeared across stone. Each was a mark of struggle, a testament to what he had endured. Since entering the Dungeon Cell, he had been cast from one battle to the next¡ªfacing impossible odds, pitted against nightmares made flesh.


    He had done enough. More than enough.


    Why should he not rest?


    His enemies were dead. No obstacles barred his path. The All-Seeing Owl circled overhead¡ªfreedom lay in its wings. They could leave. He could leave. Yet, as Shar lifted Naereah onto her shoulder, doubt coiled around his mind, its venomous fangs pierced deep. He wanted respite¡ªbut he could not still the unease churning in his gut. His gaze locked with the warm ocean of the Seer¡¯s. He needed to know.


    ¡®What will you do to her?¡¯ he croaked, fatigue weighing his voice.


    ¡®Don¡¯t ask me that.¡¯ Annalise¡¯s tone was warm¡ªsoft, even¡ªbut edged with cold resolve.


    ¡®Can you swear she won¡¯t be harmed?¡¯ Havoc¡¯s whisper barely carried between them.


    ¡®I cannot.¡¯ Annalise¡¯s reply came swift.


    ¡®Can you swear she won¡¯t be killed?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ her response was immediate, unflinching.


    He had heard enough. Surging Harmony into his Spirit Chain, he recalled the Thirsty Strike to his grip, it¡¯s edge lifting toward Annalise.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be silly, put that thing away,¡¯ Annalise said, her tone dismissive.


    The Owl touched ground. As Naereah¡¯s limp form was slung onto its back, Shar moved, stepping into Havoc¡¯s path, her dagger poised to strike.


    ¡®You would dare raise your blade against your own benefactor?¡¯ Shar growled, her nostrils flared, her gaze sharp and unwavering.


    Annalise took a step closer, her voice a whisper, her ocean-deep eyes locking onto his.


    ¡®You have so much potential. I¡¯ve seen it.¡¯ She exhaled, voice thick with certainty. ¡®Inevitable Havoc¡­¡¯ she mused, the words falling like prophecy. ¡®Calamity¡¯s Edge, they¡¯ll call you.¡¯ The title hung in the air, heavy as the world itself.


    ¡®Oceans will rise, mountains will fall at your word. You will tear down tyrants and slaughter dragons. The winds of ruin will trail your coattails.¡¯ She tilted her head, almost wistful.


    ¡®Don¡¯t throw it away,¡¯ she growled, her tone cold, her ocean-blue eyes like frozen steel. ¡®Not for some girl you barely know.¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s glare burned into her, his grip tightening around his blades.


    ¡®You¡¯re the oracle here,¡¯ he spat. ¡®I can''t believe you don''t already know my answer.''


    Without another word, he lunged.


    Shar moved to intercept¡ªbut Annalise raised a hand, nudging her aside. She flicked her wrist, and a pulse of psychic force slammed into Havoc, hurling him backward before suspending him mid-air.


    ¡®Oh, I know,¡¯ she whispered as he thrashed against her invisible grip. ¡®Still, I had to try.¡¯


    Turning away, she strode toward the Owl.


    ¡®I¡¯m not going to kill you, Havoc,¡¯ she called, stepping onto her summon''s back.


    ¡®I am going to stop you,¡¯ he snarled.


    ¡®You will try,¡¯ she murmured, her voice brushing against his mind. ¡®And you will fail.¡¯


    The Owl¡¯s wings unfurled, lifting them into the air.


    ¡®I¡¯ll see you at the Temple,¡¯ she mused, her playful lilt returning, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than an amusing diversion.


    As Annalise vanished into the distance, her psychic grip faded, releasing Havoc to the earth. His boots struck rock with a crunch, the weight of yet another trial pressing down upon his shoulders. He tilted his head back and howled. This was not a cry of anguish. Not the roar of frustration. It was something deeper¡ªsomething primal. He had survived. But survival was no longer enough. He wanted more. Fate had tossed him like a leaf in a storm, and he was sick of it.


    Naereah was innocent. She did not deserve whatever Annalise had planned for her. Yet it was not for her sake that he would save her. He had been powerless to stop the massacre of the mercenaries. He had been overwhelmed by Aaron¡¯s noble might, his life spared only by chance¡ªor Annalise¡¯s whims. That was why he would save the girl. Not out of duty. Not for justice, and not for love. But because fate had decreed she die. And he would obey no longer.

 Chapter 56: Oathbreaker

    ¡®You knew, didn¡¯t you?¡¯ Anton roared, his fists clenched tight around Franklin¡¯s collar, lifting the gaunt man from the ground. ¡®You knew this would happen, and you did nothing!¡¯


    From a ledge overhanging the mountain passage, Anton had watched his comrades die. One and all, they had been slaughtered. Those who were not slain by the ghouls¡ªbellies clawed open, their entrails spilling into the dirt¡ªhad been crumpled to meat and devoured by that thing.


    He had done all he could to avoid the Abomination¡¯s idle touch. Leaping from ledge to ledge, clinging to jagged rock, he had fought to stay ahead. But when the moment came, when his comrades needed him most, he had been powerless.


    Oathbreaker.


    His throat clenched. He could still see them, hear them¡ªscreaming, fighting, dying. And he had done nothing.


    ¡®If I had known¡ª! If you had told me!¡¯ His grip tightened, dragging Franklin closer, the warmth of his breath brushing the man¡¯s gaunt face.


    ¡®Unhand me!¡¯ Franklin snapped, voice thin with panic. ¡®I knew nothing of their scheme!¡¯


    ¡®Liar!¡¯ Anton bellowed, his voice reverberating through the trail.


    ¡®We do not have time for this!¡¯ Franklin shrieked, clawing at Anton¡¯s wrists. ¡®The path is finally clear of that fiend¡ªwe must reach the Temple before it is too late!¡¯


    When Anton had broken from the group, the shattered Abomination had already descended. Its mass had slithered down the walls, coating the path like a shimmering glaze, crawling over rock like a living disease. His journey had been staggered¡ªbursts of frantic movement, interspersed with desperate climbs, his every step threatening to be his last.


    Then, something shifted. The sky had filled with viridescent fire. And the Abomination had fled¡ªdrawn toward the emerald star.


    Anton had barely registered its retreat before his gaze fell upon him¡ªthe spineless bastard who had stood idly by, lifting not a finger as the men and women he had fought beside for months were slaughtered.


    Fury overtook him. He tackled Franklin to the ground, blood boiling, fists clenched. And he meant to do worse.


    ¡®We can still leave this place with riches¡ªwith her,¡¯ Franklin rasped, his tone steady but edged with urgency. ¡®Their deaths don¡¯t need to be in vain! What she can give us¡ªwhat she can teach¡ªour futures would be set! We can recompense their sacrifice!¡¯


    ¡®Who¡ªwhat are you saying?¡¯ Anton snarled, confusion furrowing his brow, his eyes wide as he tried to make sense of the weasel¡¯s words. ¡®What¡ªthe Seer?¡¯


    ¡®Yes! The Seer!¡¯ Franklin clamoured, his voice alight with the zeal of a tutor pleased with the progress of his slowest student. ¡®She is¡ªor once was¡ªthe closest to divinity. Do you understand what that means? We must reach her!¡¯


    ¡®You self-indulgent fool!¡¯ Anton snarled, slamming Franklin into the passage wall. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping.


    ¡®It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s true!¡¯ Franklin wheezed. ¡®The Jade Legionaries! Only a Demon could have the foresight¡ªand they couldn¡¯t enter this Cell! That leaves only memory!¡¯


    Anton had heard whispers of the Venerable Demons¡ªa cult that drew power from the Eye of Kronos. Their name was legend throughout the Dungeon, their members ancient and mighty, moving unseen, yet shaping history at their whim. Coincidence became certainty. Their collective will outmatched even the noble castes of every race.


    No seer could equal their providence. And yet¡­ Annalise was merely a Soldier. She could not be of their ranks.


    But if such impossible precision was required to weave events as she had done¡­


    Anton¡¯s breath hitched. No.


    ¡®You believe she¡¯s from times yet to come?¡¯ he muttered, his grip faltering. His fingers loosened, and Franklin dropped to the ground with a thud.


    ¡®I do,¡¯ Franklin gasped, dusting his robes as he climbed to his feet. His eyes gleamed with the fervour of revelation. ¡®Do you see it now? Only a Monarch could wield such power. For what reason she has returned to this time in her weakened state, I cannot say, but¡­¡¯ He took a step forward, voice lowering as though imparting a sacred truth. ¡®Even a queen without her throne will surely know the path to her crown. We must follow her.¡¯


    Anton staggered back, his hands clutching his head, his mind spinning with possibilities, each one more grievous than the last. Have we been pawns this whole time? Pieces in a game we could never win¡­ Damned from the start.


    A shudder ran through him, his breath ragged, his pulse hammering against his ribs. Then¡ªa thought struck like flint. A single spark catching deep within his chest.


    Could she do it again?


    The spark spread¡ªflickering, struggling against the chill of despair¡ªbefore catching flame. His breath steadied. His fingers curled into fists. The embers blazed, a fire surging through his veins.


    Could¡ªcould she do it again?¡¯ Anton stammered. ¡®Can they still be saved?¡¯


    Franklin stepped back, his spine pressing against the jagged stone. Anton studied him, watching the cogs whirl behind his eyes before he finally spoke.


    ¡®There are few known Remnants with dominion over time. Each one can only be bound by a Monarch or greater. It¡¯s possible she possesses one that permits multiple regressions. We cannot be sure without asking her. But, yes¡ªit is possible.¡¯Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    He hesitated, gaze flickering to the ground, eyes darting side to side as though weighing his next words.


    ¡®Out with it!¡¯ Anton barked, jolting the craven fiend from his deliberation.


    Franklin exhaled slowly. His gaze lifted, but he did not meet Anton¡¯s eyes.


    ¡®You should know¡ªwe cannot save them all. This is the Forest of Desire.¡¯ His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. He hesitated, just long enough to make Anton lean closer, desperate for the answer. Then, in a whisper:


    ¡®Only eight can ever leave,¡¯ Franklin finally murmured, his gaze to the side, daring not to meet Anton¡¯s eyes.


    Anton exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging, his hands balling into trembling fists. ¡®I only hope to save two,¡¯ he admitted, voice thick with shame.


    ****


    Anton was a boor¡ªbut even the dullest beast could be led to truffles. To Franklin, every instrument had its use. Crude as he was, Anton burned brightly against the dark. Too bright. But not yet. The night was full of terrors, and Franklin had no intention of extinguishing him¡ªnot before his time. His lies had bought him a reprieve. Even if his queen could turn back time for a few, would she?


    Ridiculous. Beneath her.


    Whatever her design, this massacre was deliberate. She had orchestrated their deaths with neither hesitation nor regret. Would she¡ªcould she¡ªbe swayed from that path by the cries of one grieving fool?


    Preposterous, Franklin sneered, tilting his head, his teeth clicking against the hush of night.


    Still, if the delusion kept Anton in line, Franklin was more than willing to indulge it.


    The boy will be a greater problem, he scowled, his gaze drawn ahead by the clash and spark of Havoc¡¯s crimson blade against the plated hide of some Dungeon-Spawn.


    ¡®Ready yourself to assist,¡¯ Anton commanded, his golden armour already forming as he darted toward the battlefield.


    Just what I needed, yet another to compete with.


    He had told Anton that eight could leave the Cell. In truth, there could only be four. The Seer¡¯s survival was unquestionable, and she had chosen her favourites. That left only one place by her side. No matter the cost, he was determined to seize it.


    Their aid was not needed in the end. By the time they reached the scamp, he had already landed the killing strike¡ªhis sword cleaving down from shoulder to hip, the Spawn¡¯s flesh already sparking from its corpse.


    Though of the lowest kind, it was a Soldier Spawn. The lout¡¯s slaying of the beast was as impressive as it was wasteful, for him alone to nourish his Core with its power. Yet Franklin could do nothing but wait for the swine to gorge himself on the Spawn¡¯s remains¡ªshackled as he was by Anton¡¯s damnable sense of fair play.


    The creature¡¯s bones crumbed to dust, and the boy stood. His face stern, he glared toward Franklin, his fist balled tight. The boy stepped toward him, no doubt still fretting their earlier pettifoggery¡ªthat small matter of Franklin¡¯s attempt on his life. But before Havoc could reach him, Anton held himself between the two, his arms outstretched.


    Some people truly lack perspective, Franklin griped, shuffling further back as the boy pressed past his guard.


    ¡®Just wait!¡¯ Franklin yelped, as Havoc¡¯s grip tightened around his collar. ¡®We need each other!¡¯ he insisted.¡®Boy!¡¯ Anton snapped, yanking Havoc backward. ¡®This isn¡¯t the time or the place for this.¡¯


    ¡®Learn another line!¡¯ Havoc growled, shoving Anton to the ground.


    ¡®What about this!¡¯ Anton shouted, scrambling to his feet. ¡®You owe me! You knew what the Seer had planned, but you just let it happen, didn¡¯t you?¡¯


    Silence fell as Anton and Havoc locked eyes. They held contact for a moment before, finally, Havoc looked away.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Havoc muttered at last.


    Franklin bit down his smirk, disinclined to further provoke the dolt. Havoc had surrendered the high ground. Dull as he was, Franklin knew that meant he could be reasoned with. Sinners, not saints, were always open to compromise.


    ¡®We have all made our share of mistakes,¡¯ Franklin murmured, carefully modulating his tone, his skittish movements betraying a calculated balance of remorse and resolve. ¡®But we have something many never will¡ªthe hope of a second chance.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s he blathering about?¡¯ Havoc scoffed, his tone all too impertinent for one of his station.


    ¡®There might be a way of fixing this mess,¡¯ Anton interjected, his fist clenched white, his tone resolute.


    ¡®That¡¯s right,¡¯ Franklin chimed in smoothly. ¡®We have uncovered the truth of the Seer. She is a regressor¡ªa time-tuner, able to undo the wrongs she alone has wrought.¡¯


    None spoke for a moment¡ªuntil the brute let out a snorting, sniggering laugh, tugging Franklin¡¯s lips into a scowl.


    ¡®There¡¯s nothing funny¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t be an arse,¡¯ Havoc spat, cutting him off before he could finish. His tone was sharp, contemptuous. ¡®We can¡¯t change what¡¯s already happened.¡¯


    ¡®It is possible,¡¯ Franklin insisted, his mind scrambling for another way to keep the two within his grasp.


    ¡®Even if she is a regressor¡ªor whatever you called her¡ªshe¡¯ll never help us willingly,¡¯ Havoc said, his insight as exact as it was vexing.


    ¡®Then she will do it unwillingly,¡¯ Anton shot back, his voice ironclad, his eyes blazing. ¡®I made a vow. It will be honoured.¡¯


    ¡®If you two want to waste your time pissing up rope, be my guest. I¡¯ll be focusing on someone who can still be saved,¡¯ Havoc said, turning away.


    ¡®Wait!¡¯ Franklin called. ¡®The slave girl, right?¡¯


    He had watched as the Crest sop carried her away. Neither nobles nor slave were to be seen, but he doubted the lout would care much for the noble brats. Indeed, that he still breathed at all was a good sign they were dead. The Selenarian was the only one Havoc could be seeking for.


    His mind ground through the possibilities. There was a way to secure the brute¡¯s support until time came to discard him, he just had to reach for it.


    ¡®I know what the Seer means for her,¡¯ he blurted, the words spilling from his mouth before his mind could catch up. ¡®The key! She seeks the key!¡¯


    Astounding. For once, he was actually being truthful.


    He had not deduced his queen¡¯s design before, but as the words fumbled from his lips, certainty took root.


    ¡®The nobles¡ªdead, yes?¡¯ Franklin pressed, his confidence solidifying as the cur bobbed his head. ¡®And their bodies, were they refined?¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ Havoc stuttered.


    ¡®Reduced to a slate¡ªlike a Fragment. Surely you know what one is!¡¯ Franklin¡¯s words came rushed, his excitement growing. A second nod from the boy confirmed his suspicions.


    The path to a Lord¡¯s Inheritance was one of patience just as much as it was of power. There were only nine Cells within which a Lord could be born. None could be entered without a key. The Everquill house never laid claim to such treasure, but they hoarded knowledge of their procurement.


    The Seer was a queen who longed for her throne. Now that he knew what she wanted, he would do all he could to give it to her.

 Chapter 57: Noble Pride

    The little shit was likely dead. With eyes far larger than his stomach, it was little wonder Aaron would find himself consumed. Still, Theodor Crest had been put to task. When the Vanquishing Drake issued his orders, questioning them was not an option. Unlike his dearly departed younger brother, Theodor knew the proper order of things¡ªhis was not to question why, his was to secure his household¡¯s pride.


    Whether the bugger had brought about his own demise was of little consequence to the Crest Household. All that mattered was what was proper. It was not fitting for even the most disgraceful heir to a Lord to perish while any commoners survived. Theodor would do as told and correct that injustice. It was no bother, he had long grown tired of the Necroregnum anyway.


    While his older brother oversaw Vanguard Territories graced with sandy shores and the golden hues of a cloudless day-sun, and his younger sister luxuriated in idle days being pampered and served within the main estate, he had been banished to a land of eternal night.


    Lightning never ceased, the dead never lay still¡ªthis Necroregnum was a nightmare from which he had waited three long years to awaken. At long last, he had been recalled from his station. Even if the cause was beneath him, he would not decline the opportunity to once more see the light of day.


    ¡®We approach the Flight, sir,¡¯ one of his men called out from the head of the carriage.


    Accompanied by the dregs that could be spared by the Black Drake¡¯s main force within the fifteenth Floor, Theodor rode across rocky terrain, the rapid crunch of the Infernal-Steeds¡¯ hoofs grinding on jagged stone as the carriage wheels whirred onward.


    For days he had travelled, his path across unsteady overpasses and searing rivers of tar marked, not in hours, but by persistent irritation.


    Perhaps they could not see that he had a window¡ªebony monoliths blurring as the carriage sped forward. Perchance, they believed he was ignorant of the terrain¡ªhe had only spent three years within the barren lands, after all. Whatever the cause, it irked him that the obvious had not gone unannounced.


    He did not need to be notified of his position, nor instructed to prepare for the significance of their arrival. He knew quite well that no path leading out of the Vanguard Territories was ever left unguarded.


    ¡®Sir, the Corpse-Groom approaches,¡¯ the same vexatious voice cried out, his tone sharp with dread.


    ¡®How unexpected!¡¯ Theodor wailed, his tone dripping with derision. ¡®Could they not have spared someone competent?¡¯ he grumbled, his voice nearly lost to the crack of thunder resounding through the night.


    ¡®Go easy on them, Theo. They¡¯re still new to all this.¡¯ Octavia said, her fingers over her lips as she chuckled lightly.


    Octavia sat upon the velvety bench opposite him, her scarlet hair cascading over her shoulders. Though slight of frame, seemingly too delicate to touch, Theodor knew her appearance was deceiving. He would not have chosen her as his commander otherwise.


    Already, she was preparing for the battle ahead¡ªher violet-petal embroidered dress melting beneath black-scaled plating until she stood fully donned in the signature armour of the guild. Diligent as ever, she clasped charms to her ears, their faint glow hinting at enchantments woven into bone and silver. Her ivory-bone sickle coalesced in her grip, the weapon through which she could summon skeletal warriors to her side. Yet none of it would be necessary. Theodor had no need of her assistance to dispatch something as trifling as the Abomination ahead.


    The carriage ground to a halt, the Infernal-Steeds braying and stamping their forelegs as jagged stones clattered beneath their hooves.


    ¡®Wait here, would you? This will not take long,¡¯ he mumbled, motioning for Octavia to retake her seat as he moved toward the carriage door.


    ¡®That¡¯s not how this works,¡¯ she replied, trailing Theodor down the carriage steps. ¡®I go where you go¡ªyour esteemed father wouldn¡¯t have us part,¡¯ she added, a sliver of ridicule lining her otherwise earnest intonation.


    Theodor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. He could not understand his father¡¯s fixation with pomp and ceremony. Had he been permitted to journey alone, he would already be at Stone Garden¡¯s steps, returned at last to the estate. With women and wine in abundance, he would indulge for a time before stomping down the unruly upstart the moment he departed the Dungeon-Cell.


    Havoc Gray. The name drifted through his thoughts, leaving him uncertain whether to be grateful to the clod for granting him leave of the Necroregnum or incensed that he was the cause of his present irritation. Whichever it was, it changed nothing. The runt was slated to die¡ªthe mighty House of Crest would crush him beneath its heel.


    Guildsmen poured from the surrounding carriages, each raising their arms in hasty salutes as Theodor and Octavia approached.


    ¡®Your orders, sir?¡¯ blurted his coachman, his hands shaking as his wide eyes peered toward the charred horizon, gaze locked onto the approaching horror.


    ¡®Yes, of course,¡¯ Theodor replied, directing the man toward the assembling formation of guildsmen. ¡®It is crucial you heed my every word. In fact, all of you¡ªI need your attention,¡¯ he called out, drawing the gazes of his men as he took his position in front of them. ¡®Now, I need you all to stand right where you are, looking oh-so-very frightened while I go and defeat that thing.¡¯


    ¡®Was that really necessary, Theo?¡¯ Octavia asked as she took to his side.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ he replied, sparing her a moment¡¯s glance before directing his focus ahead.


    Shrouded in plumes of billowing smog, the Corpse-Groom streaked across the sky, its skeletal arms and flame-veiled skull piercing through the pitch-dark fumes. It made for an intimidating sight. Though he did not appreciate his men¡¯s trepidation, it could at least be understood.


    The Black Drake Guild held territories across five floors of the Vanguard¡ªit was a formidable band, their armies numbering tens of thousands. Led by the Vanquishing Drake himself, under the guiding claws of the Black Dragon, few could hear their esteemed name without a shiver running down their spine. Yet while the Guild¡¯s fearsome reputation swelled its ranks year after year, it also diminished the quality of new recruits.


    For many of Theodor¡¯s escorts, this was their first excursion into the Vanguard¡ªtheir re-deployment permitted only because they could be spared. He had not bothered to familiarise himself with most of the rabble under his charge¡ªtoo many expired before they could cut their teeth in real battle. But he remembered some of their faces, though none he recalled had resided in the city-fortress for more than a few months.


    They will not fare well through a cataclysm, he mused, recalling the tears and screams that had marked the previous city¡¯s annihilation.


    The Corpse-Groom¡¯s strangled wail cut through the air, its tortured howls trailing behind the shrieks of the white-clad ghouls chained to its sides.


    ¡®You again!¡¯ the Abomination roared.


    ¡®Disgraceful husband,¡¯ one of the chained ghouls cried.


    ¡®Useless husband,¡¯ the other squalled.


    ¡®Foiled by something so tiny,¡¯ the first ghoul scolded.


    Theodor stepped beneath the Abomination as it arrived, its colossal shadow sprawling across the ground. He tilted his head upward, meeting the burning orbs set deep within the Corpse-Groom¡¯s eye sockets.


    ¡®Must we do this each time?¡¯ he moaned, exasperation weighing in his voice. ¡®By the Stewards, avail yourself of a day¡¯s respite.¡¯


    ¡®He mocks you!¡¯ one of the wives spat.


    ¡®Pathetic husband, belittled by a thing,¡¯ the other wife added.


    ¡®You shall not mock my might!¡¯ the Abomination groaned, its voice almost drowned out by the shrill sneers of its wedded tormentors.


    Theodor did not harbour any true hope of reasoning with the Abomination. Though they possessed consciousness, their souls were too twisted¡ªtheir minds too warped by malice¡ªto apply reason. Perhaps, when the creature had first turned, it might have clung to some semblance of sanity. But with each rebirth, an Abomination fell further into madness, its fractured soul splintering a little more with every return.


    Still, it would have been nice, he silently grumbled as fractured bones shimmered into existence. Piece by piece, they aligned, slotting together as though a macabre puzzle, forming into a dragon¡¯s skull.


    He would have preferred to be stationed anywhere else, yet he could admit the Necroregnum was not without its worth. Within the countless catacombs burrowed deep beneath the earth, there were treasures in abundance.


    Naturally, the most valuable acquisitions were to be handed over without delay, escorted by the collectors to be secured within the Guild¡¯s treasury. But that did not mean a piece would not go unaccounted for here and there.


    The Dread-Dragon¡¯s Maw was one such prize of which his father had no need to learn. True, it was a Prime Remnant of astounding power, but only suited to the Champion Rank of Inheritance. While it could be copied, in his experiments, each iteration had been inherently flawed. The clones degraded to the Servant Rank yet demanded the Harmony wielded by a Soldier. They were altogether worthless to the Guild¡ªhe had done his house a service by retaining artefact.


    ¡®Shall we commence our proceedings?¡¯ Theodor murmured with languid disdain, dark, leathered wings tearing from his back as he rose effortlessly to the Corpse-Groom¡¯s level, the dragon¡¯s skull hovering beside his shoulder.


    ¡®You dare command me!¡¯ the Abomination bellowed, winds lashing as its titanic hand swept toward Theodor. Yet before it could swat him aside like an insect, the arm shattered, its splintered pieces clattering below like shards of glass.


    ¡®Our pitiful husband is wounded!¡¯


    ¡®You will not harm our worthless husband!¡¯


    The ghouls¡¯ desiccated, shrivelled faces contorted with fury as they lunged through the air toward their groom¡¯s assailant, their bridal gowns billowing behind them.


    Theodor drifted through the air, dispassionately evading the wives¡¯ frantic assault. Scarlet points of light ignited within the dragon¡¯s sockets as he surged Harmony into the skull. With a wave of his arms, the shattered bones carpeting the ground clattered together, reforming the limb it had once been. Seizing one of the undead brides within the skeletal hand, he commanded its grip to tighten.


    ¡®Save me, my miserable spouse!¡¯ the captured ghoul wept.


    ¡®Sister!¡¯ the other wife screeched.


    Yet their cries went unanswered, the cadaverous grip clamping down, soaking the earth with viscous black as the Abomination groaned, as though a weight had been loosed from its shoulders.


    The flames veiling the Abomination¡¯s skull burned brighter as one of its chains crumbled to dust. Seized by an invisible force, the creature wrested control of its reassembled arm from Theodor¡¯s command, the limb snapping back into place at its joint.


    Spreading its arms wide, flames erupted around the guildsmen, their upturned gazes drawn toward the new threat.


    From within the towering inferno, the dead emerged¡ªskeletal swordsmen marching forth from the blaze.


    ¡®Should I take care of it, sir?¡¯ Octavia bellowed from the ground, her teasing lilt discernible even from a distance.


    There really was no need, Theodor sighed, even as he glimpsed Octavia¡¯s ghoulish summons break from the ground to battle the skeletons.


    He had indulged in sport long enough but would delay no longer in leaving this dreary place. Even if his return to the Settled Floors was to fulfil a mission, he did not anticipate that crushing one Servant peasant would take much time at all. If the boy had backing, it would be a different matter, but he was a Gray¡ªan orphaned son of Stone Garden. With no support or protection¡ªno household or guild sheltering the youth¡ªTheodor would make quick work of the clod and would be undoubtedly returned to the Vanguard.


    If he was to indulge in this respite, there was little time to spare¡ªhe could waste no more on such an insipid obstacle.


    With the taste of wine and sweet-meats already whetting his tongue¡ªflavours sought but scarcely found within the Necroregnum¡ªhe unleashed his full might, the skeletal swordsmen shattering into jagged pieces, driven through the skull of the Abomination.

 Chapter 58: Best Laid Schemes

    Havoc held still, the edge of his scarlet blade angled toward the hulking beast. He had read the spawn¡¯s violence¡ªits next strike plain as day. The barbed mace would come crashing down, seeking to pulp his skull into shapeless ruin. If it missed, it would swing right¡ªbut Havoc would be at its left. The Thirsty Strike would carve through its thigh¡ªmuscle, bone, and sinew. The battle would end in a single breath.


    Birds chirped their morning song as the day-sun peeked above the horizon. The beast growled low and guttural, its muscled arms twitching with anticipation. Soldier-ranked power radiated from its frame¡ªsuffocating and unruly, poised to drown all in its path. But its might would break against the one who would not fall.


    As a feather drifted from the sky, its vibrant hues shimmering in the dawn light, the battle began¡ªand ended¡ªin a single breath. Havoc¡¯s blade carved through the beast¡¯s tendons, dropping it to its hands and knees. Crimson steel flashed again, cleaving through its neck, and the creature slumped to the ground, flesh crackling from bone as its form decayed.


    ¡®Masterful work, boy,¡¯ Franklin said, as he clashed his hand on Havoc¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡®You know, you didn¡¯t need to act alone,¡¯ Anton added as he joined Franklin by the glowing remains of the slain Dungeon-Spawn.


    It was not pride or mistrust that drove Havoc to contend with the beast alone¡ªthough he could not say he had much confidence in his present company. Instead, it was the need to grow stronger. He had been tempered like steel in the crucible of the Dungeon-Cell, his strength exceeding anything expected of a Servant Inheritor. But it was not enough.


    Alone, the Seer was a terrifying adversary, her power and foresight eclipsing his own. Yet she would not be alone when he finally reached the Temple¡ªher two disciples would be at her side.


    And what did he hope to achieve? She had orchestrated a symphony of ruin, conducting every rise and fall within her measure. Against such a force, he felt powerless.


    But that would not stop him.


    Link by link, she had bound him in chains cast not of iron, but of fate. But he would break free of those fetters¡ªand he would live to tell the tale.


    As for how such a feat would be accomplished? He was not yet certain. But he knew the first step...


    ¡®It¡¯s fine,¡¯ he said, settling cross-legged before the glowing remains. ¡®Unless we come across something I can¡¯t handle, I¡¯d prefer to fight alone.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s all well and good,¡¯ Franklin chirped, his gaze drifting to the corpse of the Dungeon-Spawn. ¡®But as we¡¯re working in consort, it¡¯s only fitting that we proportion the spoils.¡¯


    ¡®They¡¯re mine¡ªevery kill,¡¯ Havoc shot back, his tone ironclad, leaving no room for compromise.


    ¡®Now, boy, you must be reasonable,¡¯ Franklin retorted, circling around to meet Havoc¡¯s glare, his tone laced with insistent greed.


    ¡®They¡¯re yours,¡¯ Anton interjected, gripping Franklin¡¯s shoulder and pulling him back with a firm hand.


    Dismissing the ongoing quarrel as distant noise, Havoc closed his eyes, drawing the spawn¡¯s volatile power into his being. Strength coiled through his muscles, taut and brimming, as the boundaries of his Core stretched and expanded. When the bones of the spawn crumbled to dust, he rose to his feet, more formidable than before.


    The morning¡¯s events recurred over and again, his blade cleaving flesh and bone, slicing through gaps in shell and exoskeleton alike. With fervid intent, he pitted himself against the fiends scattered across the mountain passage, carving a bloodied path toward the trail¡¯s end. It was as if the Dungeon yearned for his growth, each battle tailored to test his limits. Challenging, yes, but never beyond his reach. And by night of the sixth day, his Core thrummed at capacity¡ªthe peak of his Servant Inheritance.


    Within him, dualistic Harmony surged¡ªtwo opposing forces entwined, swelling to measureless bounds inclined toward the inexhaustible. Through the favour of his Heritage, honed on the wheel of continuous battle, his prowess had been tempered to a lethal edge.


    It¡¯s still not enough, he silently griped.


    Concealed within a narrow space beside the mountain wall, Havoc slowed his breaths, waiting for the flock of blight-feathers to abandon their hunt. Their razored talons scraped against the rocky ground as they scurried from boulder to ledge, searching for the meat they had glimpsed from above.


    Champion-ranked spawns. Havoc did not entertain the hope of contending with them¡ªthat was not their purpose. Though still new to the world of Inheritance, he had adapted quickly. His growing insight told him what the blight-feathers were¡ªa blockade to endure, not foes to confront.


    Having suffered beneath the Dungeon-Cell¡¯s unending trials, he found it difficult to accept the realm¡¯s truth, but he could not deny it: the Dungeon was fundamentally fair.


    He understood why Cells were coveted resources among noble households. Harsh and unyielding, yet steeped in the Dungeon¡¯s will¡ªa will that burned with the desire for growth. Quick to discard the unworthy, yet to those who earned its favour, the Dungeon always offered a path forward. And if one found themselves held in place, there was a reason for that as well.


    So he waited, choking down a heave at the coppery tang of iron and rot wafting from the blight-feathers¡¯ foul breath as they scurried past his narrow refuge, tar-black sludge oozing from their slick, rubbery wings.


    With only his thoughts for company, Havoc let his mind wander. At a guess, he had spent a little over two months inside the Forest of Desire¡ªa time that was fast approaching its end. When he emerged from the Cell, his world would be changed. For good or ill, he could not yet say.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    He was more powerful now, and whatever the future held, it would lie beyond the borders of Stone Garden¡¯s slums. Anticipation and trepidation churned in his gut at the thought.


    Will I join a guild?


    Even a street rat like him knew the gains that came with membership in a prestigious guild, though his true education on the subject had only begun under Ugly¡¯s guidance.


    Among humans, five great guilds stood above all others, each tied to one of the five great human settlements, ruled by a noble household whose head bore the title of Lord¡ªan Inheritor of unfathomable might.


    As a citizen of Stone Garden, Havoc knew the Crest Household as the city¡¯s ruling elite, their branch families and allied houses woven into the city¡¯s fabric. Even Lord-Mayor Kaine, as he had learned, was tied to the Crests by blood.


    Yet their dominion extended far beyond Stone Garden. The Crests¡¯ domain stretched across the entire eighth floor of the Dungeon, with lesser nobility stewarding the settlements within their reach. While tribes of other races made their homes within the eighth floor, and some colonies fostered greater diversity, the floor¡¯s expanse was largely human territory.


    I¡¯ll need to leave the entire floor, he thought, the weight of Aaron¡¯s threat pressing heavily on his mind.


    His thoughts drifted to his sister. Long had she toiled to keep their stomachs from empty, taking on as many posts as the day allowed, while he laboured without end. Yet even together, they could barely scrape by.


    It was during one such assignment that she had caught the eye of the bastard he killed.


    To him, she was an easy mark¡ªlike a rod to lightning. No standing, no power¡ªthey only had each other. And what did a man like him have to fear from vagrants like them?


    Quite a bit, as it turns out, Havoc thought, his lips curving into a smirk as he recalled his frenzied strikes within the teahouse walls.


    Of all that had happened that day, his only regret was the spoiled d¨¦cor¡ªshattered pots, broken chairs, and blood staining the floors Hurricane had polished to a gleam.


    Maybe the Vanguard?


    As a subject of the Settled Floors, Havoc had only heard whispers and rumours of the Vanguard Territories. When humanity first entered the Dungeon, the races that preceded them had already claimed the first three levels of this cosmic plane. He knew the tenth floor was home to the Selenarians¡¯ capital city¡ªa place of power and mystery¡ªand from Naereah, he had learned that they held sizeable numbers within the third level as well. As for the other races¡¯ domains, his knowledge was scarce.


    Yet within the Vanguard lurked a race feared above all others¡ªthe Vorgath. Whispers of their existence slipped through the cracks of civilization, carried like warnings on the wind.


    Unlike others who sought safety within fortified settlements, the Vorgath thrived in constant battle. To them, war was not a means to an end¡ªit was their purpose. Believed to cast out all who failed to Inherit, theirs was a society forged from strength alone. No weak bloodlines persisted, no failures were spared. Theirs was a race of warriors shaped by battle, their bodies hardened by the Dungeon¡¯s trials, their eyes alight with the hunger of predators who knew no fear. To most, they were demons¡ªthe embodiment of violence and strength unbound.


    They were not the only ones to hold settlements within the perilous terrain. From what little he knew, allied guilds had established border towns and fortifications deep below the Settled Floors. Yet the nature of the Vanguard was to bring civilizations to ruin. No settlement could persist indefinitely within its expanse¡ªthe Dungeon would never allow it.


    Where civilization took root, cataclysms would follow. Inevitably, any settlement within the Vanguard would face desolation¡ªno stone placed on stone was ever left standing. The only question was how or when.


    Ugly had told him of a mobile city¡ªa construct of metal and steam, its iron legs bearing down upon rough terrain as the metropolis wandered the twentieth floor. None knew its origins, though it was believed to be a Remnant possessed by an unknown Lord.


    For most others, survival meant constant migration. When the cataclysm fell, they scattered like leaves before a storm, but when the land settled, they returned to rebuild¡ªdrawn by treasures too precious to forsake, no matter the cost in blood and lives.


    We can make it work, she¡¯ll have me to protect her, he thought, weighing the challenges of fleeing with his sister beyond the House of Crest¡¯s reach.


    Barely registering the blight-feathers¡¯ beating wings and sputtering wheezes betraying their mounting frustration, he turned his thoughts Edgar Grace.


    As a high-warden of the Guild of Enforcers, he was pledged to neutrality. The Enforcers being among the great guilds, under his protection, even the mighty House of Crest could not act with complete impunity.


    Yeah, but nothing comes without a price, Havoc thought bitterly.


    He could not say what Graceless would demand in return, but it would be no small charge. Though mighty enough to hold land within the Settled Floors, and even holding within the Vanguard, of the five great guilds, the enforcers were known to be the weakest, the guilds under their banner constantly assailed by enemies on all sides.


    On the surface, it was dark guilds, criminal clans, bandits, pirates, and abyssal sects that harried their ranks. But as Ugly had once told him, their true enemies dwelled in high places. The nobles tolerated the Enforcers, but they did not want them¡ªschemes cloaked in shadows, always lurking, waiting to unravel their ranks.


    ¡®Prolly made some sense back in da time, ya know?¡¯ Ugly had said, his tone rough with grievance. ¡®Now, dem buggers do little else but badger folks like us. Don¡¯t do everythin¡¯ fairly¡ªhold my ¡®ands up to dat. But next ta da shit dem nobles pull? You¡¯s lookin¡¯ at a freakin¡¯ saint.¡¯


    The irony was not lost on Havoc that the very same group tasked with his execution might yet become his salvation.


    Will I need to join one of their chapters?


    It was not unlikely. He was an Inheritor of extraordinary potential¡ªhe doubted Graceless would pass on the chance to conscript him into their ranks.


    Just what I need¡ªmore nobles.


    A guild might swell their numbers with the low-born, but their leadership was indubitably comprised of the upper-class. He did not doubt that even among a group claiming impartiality and fairness as their core tenets, there was no escape from hierarchical predilection, corruption, and vice.


    Still, to stand against fate and the order of the world, he would do well to secure allies¡ªif only for a season.


    The thought lingered like a bitter taste on his tongue, broken only by the thunderous beat of countless wings. Peering out, he watched as the flock withdrew. Exhaling a breath he had not realised he had been holding, he waited until the last of the fiends vanished beyond the skyline.


    Sliding loose from the jagged stone, its rough edges scraping against his palms, he peered into the distance. There, rising against the horizon, stood the Temple of Desire¡ªwithin its domed ceiling, he would cast his first strike against the chains of fate.

 Chapter 59: My Promised Hero

    With gritted teeth and fists balled tight, Naereah lunged toward Annalise. She clawed at the air, desperate to scrape, gouge, and score the Seer¡¯s unblemished complexion. But her efforts were in vain. No matter how desperately she dragged herself forward, the Seer remained forever out of reach. Her vision blurred. Her head grew light. She collapsed, the chain at her collar rattling against the marble of the Temple¡¯s inner sanctum. Gripping the cold, hard chain, she heaved with all her might, her bare feet skidding against the smooth marble. It was pathetic; she was pathetic. But still, she would not surrender¡ªshe had done enough of that to last too many lifetimes.


    ¡®Liar!¡¯ she wheezed, her feet giving way as she landed hard on the floor. Rising to her knees, she took hold of the chain once more and continued to pull, her palms throbbing with bone-aching pain. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her limbs trembling under the weight of exhaustion.


    ¡®You¡¯re making this so much more unpleasant than it has to be,¡¯ Annalise sighed, taking a hurried step backward as Naereah clawed for her again.


    ¡®Liar!¡¯ Naereah croaked once more, the collar tight around her neck choking the word to a rasp. ¡®I trusted you!¡¯ she gasped as she slumped to her knees, her vision clouded by tears.


    ¡®You did,¡¯ Annalise whispered, her voice almost motherly, crouching to Naereah¡¯s level and holding her lightless gaze. ¡®You should know, this isn¡¯t personal.¡¯


    ¡®Then why?¡¯ Naereah shrieked, her tone raw, breaking with despair. She trembled. Her shoulders slumped, head bowed low as her tears spattered atop the marble tiles. ¡®Why?¡¯


    ¡®Ad maiorem Dea gloriam,¡¯ Shar intoned, her voice hushed in solemn reverence, her footsteps muted as she entered the inner sanctum. ¡®For the greater glory of the goddess,¡¯ Shar repeated in the common tongue. ¡®You should feel honoured.¡¯


    ¡®You do it then!¡¯ Naereah spat, her tone dripping with venom and despair. ¡®If it¡¯s such an honour, you do it! You be chained like an animal¡ªsacrifice your own damned life!¡¯ she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.


    She wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve, then gripped the chain and yanked back, the metal clanging against the ground with each heaving motion.


    ¡®We each serve the lady in our own way,¡¯ Shar muttered.


    ¡®And if you promise not to run, I¡¯ll remove the chain,¡¯ Annalise added, causing Naereah to cease her struggle and glare into her eyes.


    ¡®I swear,¡¯ Naereah said quickly, her pitch-black eyes narrowing as she peered into the wily blue of Annalise¡¯s gaze.


    Annalise waved her palm. With a hollow clank, the collar unlatched, the iron snare falling to the ground like a severed shackle. For a moment, all held still. Naereah exchanged a restless glance with her captors.


    Then she moved.


    On her hands and feet, she scrambled toward the exit¡ªan ivory, arched opening leading to tunnels branching through the temple. She pushed herself to her feet, the passage¡¯s turn within reach¡ªthen the world tilted. Her feet left the ground, her body weightless and flailing, legs kicking into nothing.


    ¡®No!¡¯ Naereah wailed, her scream closer to a pike-pierced swine than any sound from sapient lips. ¡®Let me go!¡¯ she howled as she was wrenched back, her body dragging toward the chain, the iron collar clamping tight across her throat.


    ¡®There, now we¡¯re both liars, aren¡¯t we?¡¯ Annalise said, her tone rich with playful satisfaction, as though triumphant in a contest of childhood play.


    But it was no game to Naereah. Having just gained the will to defy her slavers, she would not¡ªcould not¡ªlet it be for nothing.


    He wouldn¡¯t give up! she thought, the memory of Havoc¡¯s battle against the Abominable Spirit¡¯s overwhelming might replaying in her mind.


    ¡®He would, actually,¡¯ the Seer replied to Naereah¡¯s unspoken resolve. ¡®When there¡¯s no hope¡ªno moves left to play, he wouldn¡¯t needlessly struggle.¡¯ Annalise crouched slightly, her treacherous, ocean-blue eyes locking onto Naereah¡¯s as she smiled sweetly. ¡®Sweetie, that¡¯s where you are. You have no moves left. Don¡¯t make this more painful than it has to be.¡¯


    ¡®Just tell me why¡ªwhy me? Why did you choose me for this?¡¯ Naereah sobbed, her gaze cast downward, her eyes swimming, drowned in fresh tears pattering the ground like rain¡ªgrey clouds abound.


    ¡®Why not?¡¯ Shar spat. ¡®Why shouldn¡¯t it be you? Would you have preferred to die with the others? Or maybe like the nobles you helped kill?¡¯ She stooped down, gripping Naereah¡¯s face between her vice-like fingers, lifting her chin to meet her steely gaze.


    ¡®You¡¯re a hypocrite,¡¯ Shar hissed, forcing Naereah¡¯s face to the floor. Cold marble bit into her cheek, white-hot sparks bursting across her vision. ¡®Everyone else can suffer and die, and that is just the way things are? But when it is your turn, that is when life becomes cruel?¡¯ Her grip tightened in Naereah¡¯s alabaster hair, her lips pressing close to her ear.


    ¡®Life is cruel¡ªunbearably so. It is the strong preying on the weak, the hungry devouring the hungry. In this world, for something to grow, something else must shrink. What is given to one is seized from another.¡¯ Shar¡¯s breath came heavy, her voice cracking with barely restrained sorrow.


    ¡®It cannot go on like this. That is why we do what we must. That is why¡ªfrightened and alone¡ªthis is where you¡¯ll end.¡¯ She released her grip on Naereah¡¯s hair, seized her shoulders, and hauled her upright. ¡®But take heart; from your field of suffering, the hope of a gentler world will bloom.¡¯


    Annalise stepped forward, her palm clasping Shar¡¯s shoulder as she drew her to her feet.


    ¡®That¡¯s enough,¡¯ Annalise whispered as she moved toward Naereah, stooping low to embrace her.


    ¡®No!¡¯ Naereah murmured as she struggled against the Seer¡¯s embrace. ¡®Get¡ªget off me,¡¯ she said weakly, her voice muffled by the silken fabric of Annalise¡¯s dress as the Seer pressed her face into her bosom.


    ¡®Shush now,¡¯ Annalise sighed, her tone gentle and warm even as Naereah continued to struggle. ¡®It¡¯ll all be over soon¡ªjust a bad dream, forgotten in the morning. When the day-sun rises, you¡¯ll be at peace¡ªforever at peace.¡¯


    Stolen story; please report.


    Beaten and broken, Naereah sank to the floor, her body trembling as she held back heavy sobs. Her world collapsed around her, hope smothered under its weight. Helpless, she lay still¡ªlacking, as she always had, the strength to resist.


    Then she rose.


    Her trembling stilled as she wiped her face clean, her dark eyes locking onto the Seer¡¯s.


    ¡®He¡¯ll come for me,¡¯ her voice barely a whisper, she balled her hand into a fist, and inhaled deeply. ¡®He¡¯ll come for me, and you won¡¯t be able to stop him¡ªnothing will stop him. He is my promised hero!¡¯


    ¡®Sweetie, please. I made all that up¡ª¡¯ Annalise started, her words cut short by the silencing swipe of Naereah¡¯s hand.


    ¡®No!¡¯ she bawled. ¡®I¡¯ve watched him overcome monsters, and slaughter devils. He¡¯ll cut down whatever stands in his way. He¡¯s going to save me¡ªand you¡¯re in his way. Unstoppable; inevitable Havoc! I only hope you¡¯re ready.¡¯


    Annalise clicked her tongue, exhaling sharply as she flicked her hands to her sides.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know why you have so much faith in the boy, but I¡¯ll heed your warning,¡¯ the Seer sighed. ¡®You heard her, make sure you¡¯re ready.¡¯


    At the Seer¡¯s words, Shar unsheathed the blade at her hip, and Myra stepped out from the shadows. Atop a ledge overhanding the circular chamber, she drew back the string of her bow, a bolt of lightning sparking across the arrow-rest.


    ¡®It¡¯s time,¡¯ Annalise proclaimed.


    Blood-painted runes surrounded Naereah, ancient glyphs pulsing with an unnatural glow. As Annalise paced the circle, the Dungeon-Script flared to life, their scarlet radiance bleeding into the chamber¡¯s walls, drenching the sanctum in crimson light.


    She sat cross-legged within the circle. From an emerald haze, reminiscent of the crimson smog of Naereah¡¯s storage Remnant, Annalise extracted a transparent orb. Within its glassy prison, a barbed, fleshy vine writhed. It slithered against its invisible barrier as though seeking escape.


    The mist thickened, revealing Fragments and potions orbiting Annalise in a slow, mesmerizing dance. Finally, she unsealed a scroll. With a flick of her wrist, the paper unravelled from its cylindrical casing and hovered before her eyes, ancient script etching itself across the surface.


    ¡®Once I begin, nothing can stop it¡ªnot until it¡¯s done,¡¯ Annalise warned. ¡®Do not allow disturbances. There¡¯ll be no second chances¡ªat least, not any more.¡¯


    With her instructions given, the Seer began to chant. The potions circling her simmered, boiling within their vials. Thick tendrils of coloured mist coiled above, weaving into a luminous ring.


    ****


    Havoc felt it before he saw it¡ªa profane iniquity clinging to the stale temple air, choking his breaths, and surging dread through his veins with each staggered beat of his heart. Still, he pressed on. His boots fell heavy upon the white marble, the passage stretching endlessly ahead. Torches flared to life in the walls as he passed, the Temple itself illuminating his path.


    ¡®They¡¯re close!¡¯ Anton growled, keeping pace at his side, Franklin trailing just behind. ¡®She will undo this great wrong¡ªno matter the price.¡¯ His breath came heavy, his arms swinging wildly.


    Believe what you want¡ªjust stay out of my way.


    Havoc quickened his stride, his pulse hammering as the passage¡¯s end came into view¡ªbathed in a crimson glow.


    A golden light flashed in his periphery. Without hesitation, he dove aside¡ªforked lightning crackling against the ground where he had stood moments before.


    The Thirsty Strike was already in his grip. He slashed the air, a severing wave cleaving toward an overhanging ledge, carving through marble pillars like butter beneath a heated blade.


    Stone rained down as Havoc rolled to his feet. No sooner had he stood than Shar descended upon him, her curved blade flashing for his throat. He barely raised his guard in time. Steel met steel, the force of her strike reverberating through his bones.


    ¡®Impressive,¡¯ she murmured, landing gracefully as her attack was rebuffed. ¡®I had hoped to end this in a single blow, but¡ª¡¯


    Before she could finish, Havoc surged forward, the winds howling around him as his Anchor took hold of her power. Shar clicked her tongue in irritation, meeting his charge without hesitation¡ªher blade moving like liquid silver, effortlessly turning aside his whirling strikes.


    ****


    Anton stared, mouth agape, as Havoc and Shar blurred across the vast sanctum¡ªtwo opposing storms clashing with whirlwinds of steel and killing intent. They leapt from ground to ledge, ceiling to wall, gravity reduced to nothing more than a suggestion.


    The sanctum trembled. Steel clashed against steel, a shrill symphony of battle echoing through the chamber. Marble pillars shattered like glass, their ruins exploding into jagged debris as blades carved through stone.


    ¡®Do not interfere,¡¯ Myra warned, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.


    Anton barely turned before he saw it¡ªlightning crackling from her bowstring, a golden bolt aimed squarely at his chest.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to fight,¡¯ Anton said, his tone gentle but unyielding. ¡®Put your weapon down.¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to fight either,¡¯ Myra replied, her voice a mirror of his resolve. ¡®But I will not stray from the Seer¡¯s design.¡¯


    His jaw tightened. ¡®You¡¯re outmatched, and you¡¯re outnumbered. Surrender¡ªjust surrender!¡¯


    A sudden roar of air.


    Anton threw himself backward as Shar crashed between them¡ªripped from the sky by the crushing force of Havoc¡¯s kick to her gut.


    She staggered upright, legs trembling beneath her. A growl rumbled from her throat. She spat blood onto the floor, then whipped her blade above her head¡ªjust in time.


    Steel met steel.


    Havoc came down like a hammer, his sword cleaving toward her skull as he hurled himself from the ceiling. Shar¡¯s arms shook beneath the impact, but she held firm.


    ¡®I¡¯m taking the girl!¡¯ Havoc snarled.


    Shar pushed back with a vicious swipe, forcing him to drop to the ground in a crouch.


    Chained within the heart of a swirling storm of radiant colour, Naereah screamed, but no sound escaped. The air rippled like water as she pounded against the unseen barrier, her body wracked with desperate fury.


    ¡®Without the Seer, you can¡¯t hope to stand against us,¡¯ Anton growled. ¡®You shouldn¡¯t even want to¡ªyou should be on our side. We just want to save lives.¡¯


    ¡®Enough, you babbling fool!¡¯ Franklin hissed, stepping forward, breaking from Anton¡¯s side. He came to a halt beside Myra and Shar, his glare searing into Anton.


    ¡®That I¡¯ve had to endure your self-righteous delusions for days on end!¡¯ He spat the words, his lips curling in disgust. He paused. Then, slowly, his scorn deepened into something colder. ¡®They¡¯re dead. Nothing can change that. And I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.¡¯


    His fingers twitched. His breath came steady. Then, his lips curved into a slow smile.


    ¡®Their deaths brought me to the queen,¡¯ he murmured. ¡®And I will serve her with yours.¡¯


    Within the swirling radiance, Annalise turned her head slightly, a smile dancing at her lips. She continued to chant, her voice silent, yet woven into the air.


    Franklin¡¯s gaze gleamed as he locked onto Anton.


    ¡®You mentioned something about being outnumbered,¡¯ he mused, his tone slick with arrogance. ¡®You have no idea just how right you are.¡¯


    A mirror shimmered into his grip. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised it toward Shar. As the glass caught her reflection, her image burned into its surface¡ªseared into its very essence. Then, violently, he smashed the mirror against the floor.


    Shards sprayed across the sanctum, but they did not scatter. Instead, they shimmered, twisting, pulling toward one another in a rippling mass. The fragments melted together, the glow intensifying¡ªuntil another Shar stood beside the first, identical in every way.

 Chapter 60: The Seers Hidden Blade

    With the storm whirling around him, Havoc raced up the walls of the inner sanctum, streams of forked lightning stalking his trail. From the domed ceiling, he scanned the battlefield below, his gaze snapping across the chaos. He had borrowed Shar¡¯s speed¡ªher authority over the winds¡ªbut without her ability to walk the ceiling as though it were solid ground, he could not remain there for long.


    There!


    Below, Myra took aim, lightning crackling along her bowstring, drawn taut. In mere seconds, she would let loose, the thunderous crack heralding a bolt that would hurl him to the ground. She was fast, but Havoc was faster. Sweeping his crimson blade through the air, he unleashed a cleaving force¡ªa crescent of sundering violence streaking toward her, forcing her to dive aside.


    Got you.


    The winds burst at his heels, launching him toward Myra as she scrambled to stand. His blade gleamed, poised to strike.


    A blur.


    A gust.


    Shar.


    She intercepted, her teeth clenched, her knife raised high as it locked against Havoc¡¯s descending chop. Yet to Havoc, her act was a postponement, not a pardon; he would not be denied. Shar grunted under the weight of his attack, barely holding him aloft. With fluid motion, he pushed off her blade, twisting mid-air. His leg cleaved down¡ªa brutal strike. Bone crunched. Shar hurtled into a marble column, shattered stone raining down upon her.


    Before he could cut Myra down, Shar was upon him once more, her curved blade whipping through the air in deadly arcs, driving Havoc backward in a frenzied dance of unrelenting assault. Their blades clashed, the clanging ring of steel against steel resounding through the domed chamber.


    They tore across the battlefield, the ground trembling, pillars crumbling, as though two monsters were razing the land. Shar was formidable, moving with ferocity and razor-sharp intent. Yet against the one who would triumph over fate, she could barely hold ground¡ªshe would not for long. As Havoc drove her back, his scarlet edge falling like rain, a blast of cyclonic wind erupted from the ruins of a collapsed pillar. And then, as though time and space bent to her will, another Shar lunged from his side, her blade flashing toward his neck.


    Shit.


    There was no time to think¡ªonly to react. Riding the wind, he launched himself backward, escaping the twin assault by a hair¡¯s breadth.


    His feet hit the ground, but there was no moment of strain, no burning in his lungs. He had fought them both. He had fought them all. Yet he did not feel weaker. Something was wrong. Or was it right? A stillness pressed against him, a whisper at the edges of his mind¡ªvast, silent, waiting. It should have unsettled him. It did not.


    He could almost feel himself sinking.


    But then Annalise¡¯s voice crashed into him.


    ¡®What¡¯s this really all about, Havoc?¡¯ she purred, pressing into his mind, her presence thick with purpose, dragging him back before he could fall any further.


    ¡®Get out of my head!¡¯ Havoc spat, his blade crashing against Shar¡¯s, forcing her back as he twisted away from a downward slash aimed at his throat by her clone.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t like you at all,¡¯ Annalise continued, undeterred. ¡®What do you even hope to achieve with this reckless defiance?¡¯


    ¡®I said, get out of my head!¡¯ He roared, raising his guard just in time to deflect the brutal arc of Shar¡¯s descending strike.


    With his bare hand, he caught the second Shar¡¯s blade by the grip mid-thrust, stopping it inches from his ribs. Then, with all his might, he turned, ripping her from her feet and hurling her into her duplicate, sending them both crashing to the ground.


    ¡®You¡¯re looking mighty heroic for someone who claims to repudiate heroism,¡¯ Annalise mused, her tone tinged with irony. ¡®Why don¡¯t you sit this one out? Let everyone else die while you and I ride to safety. How does that sound?¡¯


    As Havoc staggered backward, bolts of fire and lightning shattered the tiles at his feet. For a moment, he considered the Seer¡¯s offer. It was true¡ªhe was no hero. Even now, as he battled to save an innocent girl, the thought of sacrificing himself for her never even crossed his mind.


    He meant to depose the tyranny of fate. He would fight for it¡ªkill for it. But to die for it?


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t either,¡¯ Annalise said, her voice slithering into his mind like venom. ¡®A different day¡ªa different fight. Don¡¯t lose your head¡­¡¯


    She paused as Havoc lurched away from a razor-edged flash streaking toward his throat, catching the strike mid-motion and forcing both Shar¡¯s backward.


    ¡®¡­Over some girl you¡¯ve only just met.¡¯


    In the periphery, Havoc watched as Anton fell to his knees, arms crossed above his head. He roared as lightning and fire pummelled him with relentless fury, the marble beneath him pooling into molten sludge. He struggled to rise, but as the elemental bombardment intensified¡ªthe air thick with sulphur and ozone¡ªhe was driven back down.


    In time, his power would falter¡ªhis golden armour shattered¡ªuntil not even cinders would remain.


    Vexing as he was, Anton was principled. He did not deserve to meet such an end. But neither altruism nor camaraderie gripped Havoc¡¯s heart¡ªonly prudence. The moment Anton fell, the full force of Annalise¡¯s disciples would turn on him. Against them all, he would be crushed.


    Annalise¡¯s enticement rang true, but for now, it did not matter. One step forward. One fight at a time. He truly was not sure if he was ready to die. In the moment of truth, Naereah might yet be forsaken. But that was a problem for later.


    Here and now, he would not fail. First, he would save Anton¡ªwhatever came next, he would it face then.


    As he rebuffed strike after strike, the two Shars lunged at him like lions closing in on their quarry. Still, he waited.


    Inch by inch, the Stone Guardsman shimmered into being, its knees rising from its shins as its form solidified. As its stone head formed, a rush of power flooded through Havoc. He could feel the boundaries of the Guardsman¡¯s reach¡ªits barriers of ethereal light now his to command.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    He rammed one Shar backward, a barrier of light slamming into her with savage force. With the back of his hand, he struck the other Shar¡¯s face, a shimmering cone rippling from the impact, sending her twisting through the air.


    He stabbed the Thirsty Strike into a gap between the marble tiles and spread his arms wide. With an almighty heave, he brought them together, unleashing countless shards of shimmering death, hurtling toward Myra and Franklin.


    ****


    Vexing. Truly, vexing.


    Though her chant continued, Annalise¡¯s attention wavered, drawn to the battlefield. She would succeed¡ªof that there was no doubt¡ªbut she had hoped, just once, for things to be different.


    Inevitable Havoc¡ªdeserving of the title, I suppose.


    Myra was expendable, as were they all. Still, it stung to watch Franklin hoist her limp form above his head, preserving his own forlorn existence as Havoc¡¯s killing shards shredded her body like a blade through softened wax.


    Three times, she had lived through this moment. The faces changed, but the events unfolded the same.


    Time and again, he defied her sovereign will. Were some events unchangeable? No¡ªshe did not believe so. It was not fate. It was the boy.


    From the moment they first met, in times yet to come, she had known he was different. They both wielded a Monarch¡¯s might, yet among their ranks, he alone stood peerless.


    Calamity¡¯s Edge¡ªan unrelenting disaster to all who stood against him.


    But there was more to his strength than mere physicality. A darkness shrouded his fate, one that thwarted even the supreme foresight of the Venerable Demons. Even now, she could sense it¡ªa tar-black malice lurking in his soul. Pernicious. Unfathomable.


    Other than killing the boy myself, there wasn¡¯t much more I could do, she sighed, her chant faltering¡ªonly to resume as the surrounding runes dimmed.


    There had to be a sacrifice¡ªshe would have preferred it not be a friend.


    Three times she had scoured the land for a suitable replacement, burning away the last wisps of power within the Ouroboros Gate, leaving her no different from any Soldier Inheritor.


    She could admit she had miscalculated in choosing Havoc¡¯s sister. But how could she have known he would stroll into the Cell? His origins were unknown in her time.


    The last time he thwarted her, it had been for no one special. Just some stray girl, some so-and-so who happened to carry a spark of something different in her veins.


    This time, she had been careful. The sacrifice had been chosen with precision.


    She could not have foreseen that he would fight tooth and nail to save Profanity¡¯s Witch¡ªnot when he had once torn his hand free from her gaping chest, her black, molten heart tight in his grip.


    In truth, she could not have killed him, nor could she leave him to die.


    There were many things she might have done differently to change the course of events, but none to him¡ªnot without risking the awakening of his manifest darkness¡ªa power even now she tried to keep from string, her thoughts impelled into Havoc¡¯s mind, straining to keep him at bay.


    She had moved mountains to keep that fiendish power buried¡ªto delay that terrible might that had foiled her before. Still, it was not enough. Even without that monstrous power, he was too daunting, too relentless¡ªoverwhelming the combined force of her hand-selected few.


    The writing was on the wall. They would soon fall.


    If that girl would just submit, she griped silently, her gaze shifting to Naereah who struggled against her chain even now.


    ¡®She can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t try,¡¯ she muttered, her chant breaking as she shrugged.


    It mattered not. She would still leave with what she came for. Divinity would be hers.


    Everything else? Just details.


    ****


    With a guttural roar, Shar lunged toward Havoc, the winds twisting around her as she crossed paths with her mirrored clone. Together, they spiralled through the air, blades flashing¡ªone striking low, the other high.


    Yet it was all for naught. The boy¡¯s movements sharpened with each exchange, his rhythm overtaking theirs. With his crimson sword, he deflected the clone¡¯s strike, while his blade of ethereal light caught Shar mid-motion, driving her down. The world spun as she tumbled from the ceiling.


    Still, she landed on her feet. Nothing less would befit her lady¡¯s blade.


    But Myra was dead. She could no longer draw from the Seer¡¯s bottomless well of Harmony. Without it, Havoc¡¯s relentless blows would soon break her¡ªthe charm clasped to her wrist already exacted too great a cost to maintain.


    To falter now would be an unforgivable disgrace. Yet as her vision blurred, her bones shrieked, and her muscles quaked, she began to wonder how long she could stand.


    ¡®Just fucking die, you miserable lout!¡¯ Franklin spat, his staff raised skyward, bolts of fire crashing into the walls, chasing the boy who moved with the wind.


    But the boy was not alone. As Franklin prepared a greater strike, flames coiling before him, swelling into a blazing orb, a crack split the air. Anton¡¯s whip lashed across Franklin¡¯s chest, sending him reeling.


    ¡®Yield!¡¯ wailed Anton, his whip carving through Franklin¡¯s robes, searing a deep line from shoulder to waist, blood blooming in its wake.


    ¡®Okay, I yield!¡¯ Franklin cried, his voice cracking as Anton¡¯s whip ignited along its length, drawn back, poised to cut him down.


    Cowardly and unworthy¡ªalways ill-suited to serve the Seer¡¯s goals.


    Franklin fell to his knees, arms raised overhead. As his Remnants shimmered and vanished from sight, so too did Shar¡¯s replica, dispelled mid-strike toward Havoc¡¯s chest.


    Shar tried to step forward¡ªbut her legs failed her. She dropped to her knees, teeth gnashed, as her body betrayed her.


    ¡®I¡¯ll not kill you,¡¯ Anton declared, his whip lowering to his side, its fire extinguishing.


    ¡®But I will.¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s crimson blade flashed¡ªclean, efficient¡ªsevering Franklin¡¯s throat without hesitation.


    ¡®He gave up!¡¯ Anton roared. ¡®You didn¡¯t need to kill him!¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t care,¡¯ Havoc growled, turning toward Shar, his heavy steps crunching against fractured tiles.


    She met his gaze¡ªand a chill twisted down her spine.


    Dark. Empty. A void, absent of anything human.


    Had he¡ªhad he always been this way?


    No. Something inside him had broken¡ªsomething irreparable.


    It made no sense. She had watched him, seen him fight before. Even if his purity was complete, there should have been nothing left. He had practically faced the four of them alone. So how was he still standing?


    ¡®Who¡ªwhat are you?¡¯ she stammered, a dread she had not felt since meeting the Seer coiling in her gut as Havoc approached.


    ¡®Havoc!¡¯ Naereah yelled, her voice slicing through the battlefield. Shar¡¯s gaze snapped toward the Selenarian racing toward the boy.


    Her eyes whipped across the battlefield, finding Annalise. Her heart steadied at the sight¡ªthe Seer strolled toward her, carefree and smiling, as though her feet would not touch the ground.


    ¡®I don¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t understand,¡¯ Shar rasped as she pushed herself to stand, her lady before her.


    ¡®Hush now, my dear,¡¯ the Seer purred into her ear, her touch light, soothing. ¡®You served me well¡ªyou¡¯ve made me so proud.¡¯


    ¡®But the key¡ªthe girl still lives.¡¯


    ¡®There wasn¡¯t enough time. But it¡¯s okay. You were always enough,¡¯ Annalise whispered, drawing Shar into her embrace.


    ¡®Forgive¡ª¡¯


    A wet rasp stole Shar¡¯s last words, her heart pierced by the Seer¡¯s hidden blade.


    Darkness rushed in. Her body failed her. But it did not matter¡ªshe had served the Seer¡¯s design.

 Chapter 61: The Tears Of Desire

    Havoc raised an arm over his eyes against a blinding radiance oscillating from Shar¡¯s floating body. A savage force drove him backward, his boots carving trails across the shattered tiles of the inner sanctum.


    ¡®What fresh devilry is this?¡¯ Anton called out as he was swept from his feet. With a heavy grunt, he landed on his back, waves of concussive energy sending him skidding away from the Seer¡¯s glaring light.


    ¡®Hush a moment. I¡¯m nearly done,¡¯ Annalise shushed, her features hidden by the brilliance.


    The hall thrummed with iniquitous might. The air was charged as though on the eve of a storm¡ªlightning forks and blasts of thunder. The Seer began chanting words indecipherable, and with her voice came billowing smog. Emerald clouds engulfed Shar¡¯s floating corpse, twisting her form like an ephemeral serpent¡ªconsuming yet consumed¡ªas the jade-green smoke rushed down her open mouth. Yet as she was filled, she shrank.


    Her skin paled, and bones snapped like brittle wood. As the chanting intensified, the Seer¡¯s voice carrying over the roar of gushing wind, Shar¡¯s transformation quickened. Her broken ribs jutted from her chest like a spider¡¯s legs, but where blood should have spilled, clear fluid reeking of iron and rot poured instead. The liquid froze upon the ground, then rose again to engulf her.


    Mangled and deformed, Shar¡¯s corpse lay frozen in crystal. Unwavering devotion marked her expression even in death, and her unseeing eyes flared with cold resolve. The crystal contracted, condensed, and the Seer¡¯s final disciple vanished, fused into a rectangular slate of glass and shattered bone held delicately between the Seer¡¯s fingers.


    The pulsations faltered and ceased. The rattling shards of broken tiles stilled at Havoc¡¯s feet as the cloud of dust and shattered marble thinned, gently drifting toward the ground and curling softly around his heels. For an instant, no one moved, all gazes locked onto Annalise. But as the terrible power receded from the hall, Anton, whip raised high overhead, charged at the Seer.


    ¡®Oh, don¡¯t be silly,¡¯ Annalise sighed. She casually waved her hand, lifting Anton from his feet with a pulse of unseen force.


    ¡®Undo it! Undo all of this!¡¯ Anton roared, veins in his neck bulging as he strained against his invisible binds.


    ¡®I have to say, I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be you,¡¯ Annalise remarked, her forefinger tapping against her upper lip. ¡®You stayed with the girl the other times. Curious¡ªwhat could have changed?¡¯ She hummed softly, the ground crunching beneath her boots as she stepped toward the levitating man, before shifting her gaze to Naereah and Havoc in turn as the Selenarian clung to his arm.


    ¡®You saved the girl¡ªbested fate. May I assume this matter settled?¡¯ the Seer asked, her tone curling with a maidenly lilt. ¡®Certainly, people died¡ªbut no one you cared about. Job well done, I suppose?¡¯ A smirk lifted her eyes.


    Havoc was not deaf to her subtle provocation; he simply did not care. Perhaps it was the waves of fatigue finally overtaking him as he dropped to his knees, hands trembling as adrenaline drained from his veins¡ªperhaps it was the lingering darkness tugging at the back of his mind, its influence elusive, shadows draped in shadows, yet undeniable. But as he felt Naereah¡¯s delicate fingers softly fold around his arm, helping him stand, he reached an altogether different conclusion: it was enough to protect what was his.


    He had saved Naereah from the Temptress and used her against the nobles¡ªhis face flushing at the memory of her lips firmly pressed against his own. Yet from the start, he had known the Seer meant her harm. Challenging fate¡ªhis fate¡ªwas his objective, and in that he had triumphed. Annalise had implicated him in all her deeds, leaving mercenaries without even a corpse for their loved ones to grieve. It was enough. He would not be made complicit in another of her schemes.


    Saving one was enough.


    Just the one he was responsible for.


    Only the one he had used¡ªnot for her sake, but for his own. There was no victory in mirroring the cruelties that had wounded him. He did not have to protect everyone. It was enough to claw from fate what belonged to him. His own conviction¡ªthat was his alone to preserve, and it would not be seized from his grasp.


    Annalise moved toward him, her smirk never drooping from her lips, yet a steely glint cut across her ocean-blue eyes as she rested a hand on Havoc¡¯s shoulder, her gaze shifting pointedly to Naereah.


    ¡®Your preference for this girl has cost me something very difficult to replace,¡¯ Annalise said, her voice softening even as her smile deepened. ¡®Let''s hope we don¡¯t both come to regret your predilections.¡¯ Her eyes warped strangely, as though briefly alight, as she held his gaze.


    ¡®Ah, what¡¯s done is done,¡¯ she sighed lightly. ¡®Come along, you three. It¡¯s about time to leave this dreary place.¡¯


    Waving her hand once again, she released Anton unceremoniously onto the ground, then continued calmly toward an arched exit of the sanctum.


    ¡®Wait!¡¯ Anton cried, scrambling back to his feet, an arm desperately extended toward the Seer. ¡®He was right, wasn¡¯t he?¡¯ He pointed shakily toward Franklin¡¯s corpse, blood still pooling from his severed throat. ¡®You¡¯re a regressor¡ªaren¡¯t you?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, that¡¯s right,¡¯ Annalise replied without slowing.


    ¡®Then it¡¯s not too late,¡¯ Anton whispered, his tone hurried, hand balling into a tight fist. ¡®Then you can save them¡ªall of them!¡¯


    ¡®Oh, don¡¯t be absurd,¡¯ Annalise sighed gently, continuing onward without pause.


    ¡®But¡ªbut it¡¯s not too late,¡¯ Anton whispered hurriedly, voice trembling as he stepped toward the Seer. ¡®You can save them! Make it so none of this ever happened!¡¯


    ¡®No, dear Anton. It is very much too late,¡¯ Annalise said lightly, almost playful, as she paused to face him fully. ¡®Greedy as I can be, I wanted it all¡ªfull marks, everything exactly as planned.¡¯ She sighed softly, smiling gently as though soothing a child. ¡®But even I can¡¯t have everything I want.¡¯


    Havoc watched Anton¡¯s shoulders slump, his eyes downcast as his hulking frame trembled¡ªwhether from anguish or rage, Havoc could not tell. With a deep, guttural growl, Anton surged forward once more.


    ¡®I don¡¯t accept this!¡¯ he roared, lunging at the Seer.


    Annalise sighed softly, almost bored. She barely raised a finger as Anton was suspended mid-air, muscles straining futilely against invisible bonds.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Then, with a gentle tilt of her head, she glanced toward Havoc. ¡®Does this one mean anything to you?¡¯


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t have to die,¡¯ Havoc replied evenly, holding the Seer¡¯s gaze.


    With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Annalise sighed. Her lips twisted into a guileful pout, and she spoke:


    ¡®Fine. But you¡¯ll have to carry him.¡¯ She raised her hand casually, then allowed it to drop, sending Anton crashing into the ground with a gut-wrenching crunch.


    He¡¯s still breathing, Havoc thought as he bundled the unconscious man into his arms, holding him as though a new born babe.


    Together with Naereah, he followed the Seer from the inner sanctum.


    ****


    Beneath a glass dome, rays of golden resplendence showered down, cascading through the temple¡¯s atrium as the morning sun filtered through the glass above. The light fell gently upon the fungal grass, illuminating strange and wondrous flowers that drifted across the interior garden like spores, dispersed from the potted plants lining the perimeter of the enclosure.


    In the quiet beneath the dome, Naereah sat opposite Havoc, her eyes cast toward the subtle movements of her feet. She raised her gaze hesitantly, catching his eyes for an instant, only to swiftly look away again as heat flushed through her cheeks.


    Again, he had saved her. Not because of prophecy¡ªthis was far better. It was simply who he was: her promised hero, one she had promised to herself. She had believed the Seer¡¯s lies because she had believed in the boy. Had that not been true from the moment he defied the White Temptress? Even after the Seer¡¯s promises shattered into empty illusion, Havoc remained. Unyielding. Inevitable. Her promised hero¡ªthe one she would claim as her own.


    Yet here she was, embarrassed to even meet his gaze.


    I can¡¯t truly claim him as mine if I can¡¯t even bear to look at him, she thought, embarrassment curling her fingertips tightly against her thighs.


    After leaving the inner sanctum, Annalise had led them toward a treasury. Without protest, the Seer had claimed the lion¡¯s share, but the rest she had left to Havoc and Naereah.


    Before being exiled and sold into slavery, Naereah had been royalty among her people¡ªhailing from an ancient lineage that predated their descent into the Dungeon by millennia. Yet even by the standards of her upbringing, the treasures hidden within the temple left her eyes widening, her mouth agape.


    Forsaking the Hungry Chest, she had bound the Bountiful Coffer to her Spirit Chain, then proceeded to fill the Remnant with precious metals, gleaming jewels, Harmonically preserved organs and bones, alongside recipe scrolls detailing the processing of potions and Fragments.


    Even the portion Annalise had neglected was enough to rival the yearly earnings of a minor noble household. They would soon leave the Dungeon Cell, and they would do so with wealth beyond imagining.


    Yet despite their fortune, she was not concerned with what she would buy with her wealth¡ªshe cared only for who she would spend her time with.


    Just ask him, she silently chastised herself, her fists clenching tight around the skirt of her dress.


    Before they could leave the Cell, one thing remained¡ªthe Tears of Desire.


    Across the interior garden, Annalise stood before the statue of a winged serpent, its marbled form motionless yet vivid, as though it lived and breathed. Naereah did not know how long it would take to draw a tear from the stone, but it would not be long before they stepped onto the raised dais in the centre of the atrium¡ªwhisked away from the Cell, and returned to their lives.


    She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Perhaps they would have, had Havoc not looked at her in that moment, his steely gaze silencing her.


    Breathing deeply, she regathered her resolve, yet before she could speak, Havoc stole the words forming on her lips.


    ¡®Do you know what you¡¯ll do when we leave this place?¡¯ he asked, light from above bathing him in golden hues, burning too bright to look at directly.


    ¡®I¡ªI don¡¯t,¡¯ she stammered, her gaze returning to her feet, the fungal grass tickling the space between her three-pronged toes.


    Stop being silly¡ªjust ask him to take you with him, she commanded herself.


    ¡®I see,¡¯ Havoc said, his chin tilting upward, lips tightening into a frown.


    ¡®Um,¡¯ Naereah managed before being cut off by Havoc¡¯s continued speech.


    ¡®You¡¯ll probably want to return to your people, wouldn¡¯t you?¡¯ Havoc said,, causing her Naereah¡¯s face to drop as she felt her heart sink into her gut. ¡®Once we divide our share, I¡¯ll try help find transportation. It¡¯s just¡ª¡¯


    ¡®What about you?¡¯ Naereah interrupted quickly, finally finding the resolve to meet his eyes. ¡®Where will you go?¡¯


    Havoc¡¯s frown deepened. He hesitated a moment, his fingers combing through his raven-black hair as he sighed.


    ¡®That¡¯s just it¡ªI¡¯m not sure. I need to find my sister. But I can¡¯t stay on the eighth floor, I know that much. I just can¡¯t decide whether it¡¯s better to flee to the Vanguard or seek refuge with the Enforcers.¡¯


    Another sigh broke from his lips¡ªthe same lips Naereah longed to taste once more.


    ¡®No¡ªthat¡¯s not true. I¡¯ve already decided. I just don¡¯t like it. If it were just me, I¡¯d risk the Vanguard. I¡¯ll have a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance once we get out of here. From what I understand, that¡¯s what it takes to survive the lower floors. But I doubt I could keep Hurricane safe down there with me.¡¯


    ¡®The Enforcers,¡¯ Naereah said quickly. ¡®Yeah! I¡¯ve been meaning to join them. It just makes sense¡ªyou know, if we joined together.¡¯


    Havoc stared at her for a moment before he smiled, sending heat rushing to Naereah¡¯s cheeks, her heart blooming like a flower in spring.


    ¡®Or you could both come with me?¡¯ Annalise hummed. ¡®All three of you, even,¡¯ she added, casting a glance toward Anton, who lay unconscious on the ground.


    ¡®No,¡¯ Naereah and Havoc said at the same time.


    ¡®Suit yourself,¡¯ Annalise shrugged before tossing a vial toward Naereah. The glass slipped through her fingers as she scrambled to catch it, barely keeping it from falling.


    ¡®As promised, the Tears of Desire. With that, you¡¯ll attain complete Harmonic purity,¡¯ the Seer said smoothly.


    Words of gratitude almost escaped Naereah¡¯s lips, but she swallowed them down. They had made powerful enemies within the Dungeon-Cell, and she did not want to count the Seer among them. But Annalise had deceived her, kidnapped her, and tried to sacrifice her. Naereah would not thank her.


    ¡®Well then, bon voyage,¡¯ Annalise said as she hovered above the ground, gliding toward the raised platform. As she approached the steps, she turned to face Havoc. ¡®Six years¡ªnot a day longer. That¡¯s how long you should remain with the Enforcers.¡¯


    With a final curtsy, she spun on her heels, her skirt twirling around her, then vanished from the Cell as she stepped onto the dais.


    ¡®Ready to go?¡¯ Havoc asked.


    As long as we¡¯re going together, Naereah wanted to say¡ªbut she settled for a nod.


    Havoc pushed himself from his seat and walked toward Anton.


    Naereah¡¯s heart went cold.


    The blood drained from her face as a blade shot out from the arched entrance of the atrium, piercing through Havoc¡¯s chest.


    His breath hitched. For a moment, he didn¡¯t even react¡ªjust stood there, staring down at the steel protruding from his body, as though his mind refused to register what had happened.


    Naereah let out a strangled gasp, hands flying to her mouth.


    He was supposed to be dead.


    From the shadows beyond the archway, a figure stepped forward.


    Ugly smiled. The same cocky grin¡ªonly this time, there was something else lurking behind his eyes.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t I tell ya, kid? I¡¯m gonna kill ya.¡¯

 Chapter 62: Heretical Spirit

    ¡®Bet ya and the others ''ad a right ole¡¯ laugh thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout how ya done me in, eh?¡¯ Ugly said, stepping into the light of the domed atrium. ¡®Thought I¡¯d go inta that good night¡ªno recourse, no struggle? Ya thought wrong, kid. Now ya gonna pay for it.¡¯


    Ugly twisted his blade, his grin of satisfaction warping jagged and inhuman. To him, it was fitting¡ªafter all, he was human no longer.


    A human could not have survived what he endured. A human would not still be standing. Not after having his limbs wrenched free from his torso, blood sputtering from his throat as his own ear-piercing screams shredded his oesophagus. Before that moment¡ªweeping like a babe in the dark¡ªhe had not known a man could scream that loud.


    Yet even when his cries died into silence, the agony remained.


    Broken and alone, he had died a bloodied death. In his line of work, he would be lying if he said it was unexpected. But what he could not have foreseen was that of all the deaths he might suffer, being torn apart by the cradlefiends would only be the first¡ªthe first of many.


    ¡®How¡ªare you¡ª¡¯


    Ugly twisted his blade once more, driving it deeper, and Havoc¡¯s words choked off into a fit of bloodied coughs.


    Couldn¡¯t explain it if I wanted ta, kid, Ugly thought, stepping closer to his skewered prey.


    He had awoken in the darkness of the City of Monsters, hosting only vague, fractured memories of being somewhere else¡ªkneeling before something else.


    Dressed in rags and bound in chains of incandescent light, in that moment, Ugly could only lower his gaze, lest his eyes wander forward to glimpse the madness of infinity.


    Then, as though the void had found a voice, it spoke.


    ¡®Deficient, but you will suffice,¡¯ it pronounced, and Ugly inhaled its words as though they were the very air he needed to breathe.


    ¡®We are stirring, yet still we sleep. Awaken us¡ªbring to us¡­¡¯


    ¡®The Heretic¡¯s soul,¡¯ Ugly growled as he drew closer to Havoc, his mouth wetting as though a lion before a wounded beast.


    Even as Havoc sputtered blood, recognition flashed in his eyes, his mouth shaped like a vowel.


    Ugly could not say it was nothing personal. From the bottom of his pitch-black heart, melded back together with the flesh of cradlefiend, ghoul, and worse, he hated the kid. But even if he held no animosity toward him, still, he would not stay his blade.


    Reduced to a half-life, teetering on the edge of true oblivion, he survived only by the spite of his lord¡ªthe Nameless Ones¡ªthe hatred of the Sires Betrayed, and the enmity of the Adversary of Life. Still, the abyssal call of Abominable corruption whispered forever in his ears.


    He had become a thing that should not exist. Even now, he felt the world reject him¡ªtwist him into something to suit its blasphemous cause: an Abomination. A creature of malice, serving only the purpose of strengthening the weapons forged against the gods.


    But through his lords¡¯ benediction, he was gifted the Harmony to forestall the Pandemonia that sought to convert him. To twist him into a beast¡ªor worse, into the ink-black monstrosity that now stood before him, heart pierced yet unyielding.


    Only when he gifted the Heretic¡¯s soul to his lords would he be truly restored to life¡ªbetter.


    His eyes would be opened, and they would bestow upon him a body never failing, and Harmony more blessed, more pure than possessed by any creature since the razing of creation. He would be like the gods.


    ¡®Let him go!¡¯ the slave girl cried, futilely charging toward Ugly with a dagger in hand.


    ¡®Wait yer turn, fribble,¡¯ Ugly growled, his arm twisting and contorting¡ªbones splintering and reforming as the limb grew into something barbed and grey, its razor-edged claws glinting in the light.


    He swiped toward her with the back of his arm, only to strike upon nothing¡ªa sharp pain plunging into his side a moment later from behind.


    The Treacherous Fang, yeh, I remember they ¡®ad somethin¡¯ like that, Ugly mused as his flesh reknit itself, crushing the blade between his inviolable muscles.


    He did not even turn to face her¡ªthere was no need. His body simply shifted, his face melting through to the back of his head, his torso, legs, and arms bursting through to the other side, reorienting him in an instant.


    He extended his arm, and by her neck, she was within his grip, clawing at his skin as she struggled to breathe.


    ¡®I said wait yer turn,¡¯ he growled, lifting her overhead, his monstrous arm clamping down on her leg. ¡®Ya gonna lay ¡®ere an¡¯ watch yer puppy-love bleed out,¡¯ he said, tightening his grip on the slave girl¡¯s shin. ¡®When I¡¯m through with ¡®im, then ya can die.¡¯


    Without another word, he brought his fingers together, her leg caved without resistance, reduced to a mangled ruin. Her screams resounded through the atrium as he tossed her aside, his body shifting to face the kid¡ªthe Heretic.


    On his knees, Havoc continued to sputter blood, his fingers leaving a bloodied slick down the sides of Ugly¡¯s blade as he inched it from his chest. Ugly did not know how the kid had survived a strike to the heart, but he doubted he could so easily endure having his skull crushed¡ªhis brain pulped between his fingers.


    With slow, deliberate steps, he moved before Havoc, his inhuman palm resting on the kid¡¯s head, caressing his hair. It could have easily been mistaken for intimacy, comfort, and warmth, but no such sentiments tainted Ugly¡¯s desires. No, this was nothing more than the relish of the kill¡ªhis apatite inflamed as the boy¡¯s sterile defiance gleamed in his eyes.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Delicious.


    No longer could Ugly so cleanly separate his thoughts from the infernal howling that gnawed at the fragments of his humanity, but in the savouring of this moment, he believed that, for once, both aspects of his being were aligned.


    His excitement only grew as Havoc pulled the blade from his chest¡ªhis shallow breaths slowing, his arms falling limp at his side, the fight drained from his body.


    Now was the moment.


    ¡®Got anythin¡¯ left ta say, kid?¡¯ Ugly sneered, lifting Havoc¡¯s mouth to his ear, his rasping breaths the sweetest of sounds.


    ¡®You reek of them.¡¯


    The words came from Havoc¡¯s lips, but it was not his voice that Ugly heard.


    Ugly staggered back as sharp agony tore into his gut. Glancing down, he saw scabrous, crimson fingers clawing into his flesh.


    ****


    It was not Havoc that Naereah was watching. Her eyes, hazy with anguished tears, locked onto the creature wearing her love¡¯s skin as it rose from its knees, scarlet claws piercing through Ugly¡¯s gut, their sharpened tips jutting out of his back.


    Heal! she urged, teeth gnashing as sharp pain and restorative warmth coiled through her shattered leg.


    Through her torment, she would¡ªcould not¡ªlook away.


    Until the end¡ªuntil her hero emerged from himself, victory in his grasp, his enemies vanquished within and without.


    With certainty, she knew it was inevitable¡ªshe knew. But it did not balm the pain in her heart as all traces of her hero seemed lost to himself.


    ¡®Oh, I¡¯m divine,¡¯ the thing praised from Havoc¡¯s lips, whipping its arm to the sky, cleaving jagged wounds through Ugly¡¯s frame, his head segmented like a tangerine.


    ¡®Light and dark in a perfect swirl,¡¯ the stranger declared, flailing its arms overhead, swaying in a rapturous dance.


    ¡®So much better than I could ever hope¡ªyes, I know, you wretched thing! You¡¯ll get your body back!¡¯ the creature shouted, clawing its face in its outburst. ¡®Just let me enjoy the moment, could you?¡¯ it murmured, its tone eerily even.


    ¡®Who¡ªwhat are ya?¡¯ Ugly gasped as the peels of his head slid back together, the bloodied scars fading from view.


    ¡®Alas, I still don¡¯t get your obsession with names,¡¯ the stranger said, its voice a low growl as rough, crimson hide spiralled up its form, its eyes glowing amber. ¡®I¡¯ve been called many names, but none quite fit, if you asked me.¡¯


    The words sent chills creeping down Naereah¡¯s spine.


    ¡®Noble Spirit,¡¯ it snared. ¡®Mimicking Spirit, some have called me. This child just calls me Captive Spirit¡ªunwilling, mind you. Though find me a captive that wasn¡¯t,¡¯ it howled¡ªgrating, alien laughter echoing through the atrium.


    ¡®As for you, you vile thing¡ªjust call me whatever name corporeals use for the one who¡¯s going to kill you.¡¯


    Not even an instant passed before the Abominable Spirit vanished from before Ugly¡ªonly to reappear behind him.


    For a moment, all was still.


    Then, without warning, Ugly¡¯s head burst like a club-ravaged melon¡ªflesh, skull, and grey matter splattering across the atrium.


    ¡®Oh, stop dawdling and get up,¡¯ the Spirit jeered, even before Ugly¡¯s body touched the ground. ¡®Even masked by their stench, you can¡¯t hide the scent of a corrupted Innocent from me. You patchwork freak¡ªI¡¯ll kill you many times over before you finally stay dead.¡¯


    Tendrils of meat writhed from the ragged tears of Ugly¡¯s neck. They twisted, knotted, and melded together¡ªlike soft clay pressed into shape. His scarred face reformed.


    ¡®What¡ªwhat is this?"¡¯ Anton groaned, slowly rising from the ground to a crouch, shuffling toward Naereah.


    He bundled her in his arms, even as she resisted, each thrash of her body sending blaring, screeching pain through her mangled leg.


    ¡®What are you doing, girl?¡¯ Anton spat, confusion mounting his brows. ¡®Don¡¯t you feel that? I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening here, but we have to leave! When monsters fight, they¡¯re rarely careful about the mortals they flatten.¡¯


    ¡®I won¡¯t abandon him!¡¯ Naereah squealed, pain sharpening her tone.


    He wouldn¡¯t abandon me.


    As they approached the garden¡¯s borders, Naereah heaved herself from Anton¡¯s arms, landing with a wince before rolling to the wall. Anton endeavoured to seize her again, but she lashed out with all her strength, causing him to pull back.


    ¡®I won¡¯t abandon him,¡¯ Naereah repeated, her pitch-black eyes reflecting her unyielding resolve.


    ¡®And I won¡¯t abandon anyone else! Not any more¡ªnever again!¡¯ Anton urged, a haunting distress flashing across his face.


    ¡®Then get down because we¡¯re staying,¡¯ she said, her hushed tone leaving no room for compromise.


    ¡®If the danger comes our way, I¡¯ll take you by force if I need to,¡¯ Anton relented, shifting beside Naereah, the two observing the ongoing battle unfold.


    Havoc¡¯s scarlet blade shimmered into the Abomination¡¯s grip. The creature was wreathed in rough crimson armour spiralling up its form. Two sharp blades curved up from its forehead like the horns of a storybook fiend. It raised Havoc¡¯s sword to its mouth, its tongue running the side of the blade as it slowly turned to face Ugly who had fully reformed.


    But Ugly, too, stood no less the monster.


    Shedding all but the last wisps of his human frame, he towered over the Spirit, his limbs a mismatched fusion of differing beasts. His left arm was akin to the pudgy grey of a cradlefiend, augmented with barbs and daggered claws. His right was a knotted mess of spindly fibres, twisting at the sprout into prodded tendrils. Molten steel squirmed down his legs, the armour seeping from his waist as if alive. And within his chest lay a stone-like eye, golden-green smoke coiling from its vertical pupil, the Remnant pulsing like a second heart.


    The Basilisk¡¯s Gaze¡ªNaereah shuddered, recognising the Champion-ranked artefact instantly. A prized Remnant of her own royal clan.


    ¡®Well!¡¯ the abomination squealed, frenzied glee seeming to roll from its frame. ¡®Let¡¯s delay no further,¡¯ it said, the Stone Guardsman hovering behind its left shoulder¡ªa feat Naereah had never seen Havoc achieve. ¡®Let the festivities commence,¡¯ it growled, stooping into a crouch¡ªscarlet falchion extending outward, poised to strike.


    In an instant, the two vanished¡ªonly to reappear as Ugly¡¯s torso spiralled through the domed roof, his severed limbs plunging from the sky, fetid blood trailing their descent.


    Howling laughter split the air as the Spirit, arms wide, unleashed a legion of obsidian shards¡ªeach jagged blade hunting Ugly through the shattered skylight.


    From the heavens, a stream of golden light flashed toward the Spirit. It raised its clawed hand, blocking the blast, its crimson, scabrous arm crusting into stone. Ugly plummeted through the shattered roof, his limbs reknit, rubbery wings oozing filth spread wide from across back.


    The whole world shook¡ªthen stilled, as the two monsters locked eyes, poised to strike again


    ¡®You must be truthful, thing,¡¯ the Abomination bayed, clenching its fist¡ªshattering the stone casing its arm. ¡®Are you having fun yet?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ Ugly rumbled, his frame swelling as he rose. ¡®Havin¡¯ the time of ma life.¡¯

 Chapter 63: So Fell The Monster

    All that existed was the fog. Yet Havoc was not adrift in this endless sea of white¡ªhe was every plume, every billowing cloud. Where the heavy fog spread, so too did he. He was everywhere, yet nowhere at all. He was one, yet through the endless mist, he was part of something far greater¡ªtimeless and vast. It spilled beyond the boundaries of self, seeping into everything, into everyone¡ªacross all moments at once.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t wander too far if I were you,¡¯ came a voice through the mist¡ªrich, amused, unmistakably mocking. ¡®Right now, I am you. Better to take your own advice.¡¯


    Where am I? Havoc wanted to ask, but as mist, he had no mouth to speak.


    ¡®Where do you think you are?¡¯ the voice chided, brittle with irritation. ¡®Honestly. Try thinking with your head¡ªoh, wait, that¡¯s right¡­ you don¡¯t have one. Fix that. Then think with it.¡¯


    I¡¯ve been here before, he thought, the memory rising like smoke through the haze. He was Havoc Gray, an orphan Inheritor¡ªa scoundrel, a thief. A reprobate fiend who would never accept his place. Born again in fire and blood, he was the one who would not be commanded. Not by his betters. Not by the gods. Not even by destiny. He would tear loose a strand from the tapestry of fate¡ªand with it, throttle his enemies, and live on his own terms.


    ¡®Give my body back,¡¯ he growled, his tone coarse with fury as the final wisps of his vaporous form knitted together his fingers and toes.


    ¡®Why so upset, poppet?¡¯ the Abominable Spirit protested, its voice slick with mocking disbelief. ¡®You should be thanking me. You couldn¡¯t hope to contain this kind of power. With you at the helm, you¡¯d have already torn yourself apart¡ªwhere would that leave me? Think of the children¡­ Yes, yes, I know¡ªwe don¡¯t have any. A technicality, if you ask me. But still¡ªcertainly no excuse for such flagrant selfishness.¡¯


    His Captive Spirit was deranged¡ªof that there was no question. But Havoc knew there was truth to its claim. Shifting his heart closer to his spine had allowed him to survive Ugly¡¯s first strike, but faint from blood loss, he could never have hoped to contend with whatever Ugly had become.


    No¡ªeven at full strength, he would not have stood a chance. The man radiated power in waves, tangible and immense, each one pressing down like a rising tide, threatening to sweep him away. He stood far beyond the might of even the most powerful Servant Inheritor. Havoc did not know how Ugly could have advanced within the Dungeon Cell, but there was no pretending otherwise. Even the strangling pressure that pulsed from Annalise when she unleashed her power could not compare to the towering might that rolled from the man with his every step.


    As the man¡ªthe beast¡ªloomed, Havoc¡¯s head clutched within Ugly¡¯s inhuman grasp, keenly could he feel the untraversable chasm of power that stretched between them. Yet, in an instant, that abyss had been bridged¡ªmore than bridged. The power churning within him far exceeded even the force that had crashed down upon him.


    First, there was a spark, then came the inferno. His dualistic power twined within his core, melding together to become something else.


    ¡®Catharsia,¡¯ the Spirit murmured, its tone strangely reverent. ¡®The perfect balance of light and dark. Order and Chaos¡ªBlessed Harmony and Abyssal Pandamonia. Oh, how the gods would envy what we are!¡¯ it squealed, frenzied glee sharpening its tone.


    Much more than the sum of its parts, as it surged, it had threatened to overwhelm him. And in that moment, knowing he could not have controlled his power alone¡­


    ¡®I gave you my body?¡¯ The words burst from Havoc¡¯s lips, his ghostly eyes flashing wide.


    ¡®You framed it as a loan,¡¯ the Spirit replied, tone dry and gleefully dismissive. ¡®But I am more than happy to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement. After all, our little cabal could certainly use a change in leadership.¡¯


    He had no choice. With all the power gushing through him, even the slightest motion would have left him crumpled and ruined¡ªshattered by the force of his own momentum. He had felt that instinctively. While the power was his, he could not have commanded it.


    ¡®But I could!¡¯ the Spirit chimed, as though reciting an exaggerated line in some tragicomic farce. ¡®It would not be an overstatement to say I was made for such power¡ªoh, Noble Spirit, weapon of the gods. Formed over millennia, forgotten in an instant; each one of us, handcrafted and abandoned.¡¯


    The mist rumbled and stirred, a voice¡ªancient and deep¡ªfilling the void.


    ¡®Another failure,¡¯ the voice pronounced.


    ¡®They went to war to become what we are, my boy,¡¯ the Spirit chided, its tone heavy with disdain. ¡®A being of Catharsia¡ªconflicting powers bound together, that they might contend against Him.¡¯ A cackling laugh tore through the fog¡ªsharp, grating, mirthless. ¡®Or do you not know? Even the gods were abandoned.¡¯


    Havoc did not know whether his phantom form had brows, but if they did, they would have lifted high as the Spirit spoke secrets unimagined.


    ¡®Stewards of Harmony¡ªbut who is the owner? Sentinels of Perdition¡ªbut for whose sake did they stand guard?¡¯ it whispered as though its lips were pressed to Havoc¡¯s ear. ¡®The Silent One¡ªthe Missing One. The one who forsook this reality, no doubt in disgust over the failure of His creation.¡¯


    The Spirit paused. The realm of mist grew still. Then, just as suddenly, the world was in motion once again, plumes of white surging with renewed verve, as the Spirit¡¯s laughter refilled the expanse.


    ¡®There¡¯s nothing left!¡¯ The Spirit cried, mania riding its words. ¡®Some say that I¡¯m mad, but I could never compare to the lunatics that ate all creation!¡¯


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Havoc¡¯s mind spun, his thoughts overlapping in a cascade of conflicting ideas before finally settling on one.


    The Entity.


    The one that had taken him from the Chamber of Inheritance¡ªthe one that had bestowed his dualistic power. He had done all he could to push the encounter beyond thought, but even he had begun to suspect what it was. A god¡ªwhether Steward or Sentinel, he did not know.


    But that was not the question. Not now.


    Now, all he wanted to know was what it had made him.


    ¡®A more perfect being,¡¯ the Spirit answered without delay. ¡®And a template for what it wishes to become.¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯ Havoc stammered.


    ¡®The gods disgust me¡ªbut they are powerful. Vastly so. Mighty, yet not Almighty. Still, this Dungeon of yours could never have confined them¡­ not unless they chose to be confined.¡¯


    ¡®If they chose to be confined¡­¡¯ Havoc whispered, the words slipping from his lips without thought.


    ¡®Now you¡¯re getting it, my boy,¡¯ the Spirit praised, its tone condescending as though an abusive school master berating a child before his peers. ¡®Of course, they would leave a way out. If one has made its move, the rest will surely follow. Even now, they¡¯ll be moving pieces into place¡ªdivine avatars among the Dungeon¡¯s precious children. After all, this Dungeon of yours is the only being in the cosmos to wield Harmony and Pandamonia alike¡­ That is, until you.¡¯


    A piece on someone else¡¯s board¡­


    Of course, Havoc knew the Entity would not have saved him for his own sake. He knew he was being used. But having his fears pronounced so indisputably¡­


    It makes no difference.


    His fists clenched, and his teeth bore down. Whatever that being planned for him mattered little if he would not obey. If anything, this revelation was good news. When he had knelt before that thing, it had seemed unassailable¡ªthat was not true. It was one fallen god among a vanquished pantheon. It was not without rival. One such contender had no doubt sent Ugly¡ªa direct provocation to his own dark patron.


    There were old-Aarth fears of automatons made by man, mechanoid beings that would supplant humanity¡¯s rule. It had all seemed laughable when he had read of such things¡ªhow could metal and wire breed life? How much less could a craftsman lose control of his craft? But that was what he would become: a monster of the gods they could not control.


    As his senses attuned to the outside world, and he felt himself wield power beyond imagining, he knew that one day, that very blade the gods formed as a tool would bear down upon their lowered necks.


    He had not regained control of his body, but he could feel its every movement¡ªa spectator with the most prized seat in the house. He felt the wind lash his hair as his legs moved without notice, ascending a spiral staircase of shimmering red toward the heavens.


    With tar-black wings unfurled, Ugly waited¡ªhis patchwork form hulking above the clouds.


    The stone eye fused to his chest glowed amber, a beam of golden-green energy surging toward him.


    Havoc laughed, but it was not his voice. He raised his arm¡ªcrimson, scabrous, unrecognisable. Nor could he account for the strength of the scarlet sundering force that cleaved through the golden beam, rending Ugly in two.


    Ugly¡¯s lower-half writhed from below his severed torso, furred and muscular legs busting out from the wound. In an instant he was restored, yet in the next he came undone, the Thirsty Strike slipping through skin, bone, and viscera as easily as a threaded needle through silk.


    His speed was astounding. He moved as though positioned by the world¡ªeverything else held still, space rushing to his call. Yet despite his peerless might, he knew it would not last.


    Thin scars lined his crimson blade, and dust poured from the cracks spread wide across the Stone Guardsman. Havoc could even feel the Flesh-Weave Needle deform within his thigh. The power surging through his Spirit Chain went far beyond what they were made to withstand. That they had endured this long was already beyond his reckoning¡ªthough if he were to guess, he would not put it past the Spirit¡¯s wiles.


    Worse still, his body ached with a terrible pain, as though each individual bone had been ground to dust and remoulded to hold his frame. Even the scarlet armour of the Captive Spirit had begun to crack.


    The Spirit could better temper the power within him, but even its command was not flawless. They were on borrowed time¡ªand he was not alone in that realisation.


    ¡®Like an ole man with a young¡¯en bride¡ªcan¡¯t keep it up, can ya?¡¯ Ugly jeered, his tone thick with mocking amusement.


    ¡®Alas, you are right, my grotesque friend. I cannot,¡¯ the Spirit replied, as though a gentleman trading boasts in an alehouse. ¡®But you see¡ªI will not have to. Not when you¡¯ll be dead with our next exchange.¡¯


    To its words, Ugly simply snorted, his form swelling larger as his muscles tensed.


    ¡®I got plenty of life left in me. But you¡¯re welcome to take yer shot,¡¯ he said¡ªhis last few words deepening into a growl.


    The two held still¡ªUgly suspended by rubbery wings, the Spirit crouched low upon a platform of ethereal red. Then the sky quaked.


    Endless shards of crimson light erupted from before Havoc. They hounded Ugly across the sky like dogs in pursuit of a fleeing hare. Yet Ugly was not defenceless¡ªhe shattered countless shards with his amber beam of petrifying energy, somehow nullifying their apparitional substance.


    But it was not enough, and he knew it. Abandoning all defence, Ugly soared into the scarlet storm. His flesh was shredded and reknit time and again as he lurched toward Havoc. With a cry of defiance, he raised a monstrous arm, his mystic sword shimmering into his parting and reforming grip. The blade shone with golden light as it shot to the heavens, expanding in width and length¡ªbecoming a titan¡¯s blade.


    Like a vengeful god¡ªor perhaps its executioner¡ªhe brought the blade down, cleaving through the clouds as it descended.


    ¡®Ah, truly a worthy debut,¡¯ the Spirit muttered as it lifted its fractured blade. The Stone Guardsman crumbled to dust at its side, its loss felt immediately through Havoc¡¯s Spirit Chain as the Spirit leapt.


    As though all the world was thunder, a crash like no other shattered all sound. The sky burned bright with a terrible glow, scarlet and gold hues washing over the skyline. Then¡ªsilence.


    The Thirsty Strike was the first to break. From tip to hilt, it shattered to dust, scattered on the wind. Then Havoc saw something fall¡ªhis bladed horns, plummeting from the sky, even as he too began to fall.


    And then there was Ugly, a grin plastered to his face. His wings still beat behind him, yet he was strangely still. Then, as if drawn in ink, red bloomed down his form¡ªfrom forehead to groin. The two halves of his monstrous frame slid apart, spraying blood like a fountain. But unlike the times before, he did not reform. He simply fell, eyes frozen with defiance.


    ¡®To strike a blow against them, you have my gratitude, my boy.¡¯


    With its final words spoken, it was Havoc alone who fell from the sky.

 Chapter 64: His Brothers Keeper

    Edgar Grace began his morning like any other while stationed within Stone Garden. After washing away the night¡¯s grime and grazing down the stubble roughing his chin, he slipped into a black buttoned shirt and matching trousers. No sooner had the last sip of breakfast-tea chased down his buttered toast and grease-fried sausage than came a knock at the door.


    This was not an uncommon occurrence. He had not anticipated peace to last in the morning¡ªindeed, he expected nothing less from that girl. She was relentless. If her brother had half her tenacity, perhaps he would survive whatever the Dungeon had thrown at him.


    ¡®Enter,¡¯ Graceless permitted, his tone formal and curt.


    ¡®She¡¯s back, sir,¡¯ said a tall man in the loop-buttoned scarlet tailcoat worn by all city guards within the Bereft partitions of Stone Garden. Underneath, he wore a loose-fitting white shirt tucked into mustard trousers, the sword belt tight across his waist. A hanger rested firm against his thigh. A truncheon dangled from his other side, its coarse wooden edge crusted with dried crimson¡ªorder was hard fought for in a city that cared little for the plight of the impoverished.


    ¡®Escort her to my office. I¡¯ll be there momentarily,¡¯ Graceless instructed, the city guard already at his back.


    ¡®Si¡ªsir. There¡¯s something else,¡¯ the guard stammered, his tone wavering.


    ¡®Oh?¡¯


    ¡®She didn¡¯t come alone, sir. She¡¯s been detained by the Black Drake Guild. Their field captain has requested your presence.¡¯


    What could the Crest Household possibly want with a slum-born stray?


    He had heard a battalion had returned from the Vanguard some days ago, but so far as he was aware, they had spent their leave within the city-proper¡ªflittering from gathering to ball, rubbing shoulders and swaying hips with noble maidens and courtesans alike.


    He could not imagine what might draw them from their revelries to tour so dreary a place as the outer-city. Even he had no desire to be there. If he had not sworn to that orphan boy that he would watch over his sister until commanded otherwise, he would have been at the Grace Estate¡ªor better yet, the Guild of Enforcers¡¯ local barracks. No matter how lavish Lord-Mayor Kaine¡¯s residence was compared to the standard fare, it remained a prison¡ªof vacuity and tedium in equal measure.


    ¡®Yo¡ªyour orders, sir?¡¯ the guardsman stuttered, his knuckles clenched tight¡ªthough a slight tremor betrayed him. He was only human. It was easy to forget how imposing an Inheritor¡ªlet alone a noble¡ªcould be when silent, especially to such company.


    ¡®Instruct the guards to escort the field captain to the great hall, and inform Lord-Mayor Kaine of our guest¡¯s arrival. I¡¯ll be there in short order.¡¯


    ¡®Sir!¡¯ the guardsman barked before hurrying from Graceless¡¯ chamber.


    Graceless returned to his breakfast, mopping the final streaks of grease from his plate with the unbuttered side of his toast. There was simply no excuse to miss a meal over whatever mess Hurricane had dragged to his step. It was certainly unusual, but he was confident it would be nothing he could not resolve with ease. After all, how much trouble could one low-born girl and her miscreant brother truly cause him¡ªespecially while the boy was away?


    With his lips dabbed clean and his knee-length ivory frock coat fitted to his frame, he headed for the refectory¡ªthe gentle flicker and hiss of the gas lamps lining the hall trailing in his wake.


    He found the great hall garish¡ªtoo many golden tassels, scarlet threads, and violet-painted walls for his sartorial tastes. Worse still were the portraits. Above the cream limestone fireplace hung the likeness of a broad-shouldered man clad in white-bone armour, a greatsword pointed down in his grip. Standing beside the imposing figure was a child: a pudgy youth in formal attire, head tilted affectionately toward his father.


    From what little he knew of Bartholomew Kaine¡¯s parentage, he doubted the portrait¡¯s veracity. Dugan the Imperishable was not known as a sentimental man. Posing for such a depiction with an unproven child would have struck him as the height of profligacy.


    Let the little man have his fancies, he scolded himself, settling into a brownish-red chesterfield chair.


    ¡®You will not find such amenities elsewhere within the Bereft districts, my lord. I was an early adopter of gas-lamp lighting. So enamoured was I with modern infrastructure, not only is the estate outfitted with the contraptions, but I had my men install city lights throughout the noble and merchant quarters,¡¯ a voice lectured from the hallway, its scratching tone carrying a sycophantic lilt.


    ¡®Is that right?¡¯ a man mumbled in return, with all the enthusiasm of a henpecked spouse locked into conversation about opera or shoes.


    ¡®The piping is placed beneath the ground and within the walls. It is simply ingenious, what is being rediscovered by our most brilliant mavens and academics.¡¯


    Bartholomew Kaine was the first to enter the refectory. With an exaggerated wave of his arm, the Lord-Mayor presented the hall to his guests¡ªhis gesture lingering over the most ostentatious fixtures on display.


    ¡®And might I present Edgar Grace, High Warden of the Enforcers¡¯ Guild,¡¯ Bartholomew proclaimed. ¡®He has remained my honoured guest these past five months. You need only ask the man¡ªyou¡¯ll not find better treatment outside your own illustrious dwellings.¡¯


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Blonde hair parted neatly at the centre, Theodore Crest stepped into the hall, his pallid features striking beneath the amber glow of the gaslight. He looked like a well-dressed corpse, his lips a rosy pink against his ashen face and sable attire.


    A woman stood at his side. Though no less pale, she wore it well¡ªbeneath her blush, extended lashes, and ruby-painted lips. Her little black dress clung to her slender frame as though sewn to her flesh; only the ankle-length skirt fluttered freely as she moved. Poise and grace incarnate, her scarlet hair flowed like a river aflame over her shoulders, framing her face as a canvas does a work of art.


    Such a delicate face¡ªfor such a stone-hearted killer.


    Octavia Le¡¯Buteur was well known to the Enforcers¡¯ Guild, as was the rest of her diabolical household. Adorned in finery taken from the bloodied corpses of their marks, they were the coin-purse behind every prominent assassination of the last few decades¡ªunless, of course, they chose to take a more active role themselves. Yet with the leaders of their ¡°noble house¡± astute in subterfuge and deceit¡ªand wielding Remnants that could mislead even the most prying divinations¡ªthe Enforcers had never possessed the corroboration needed to penalise their blackest trespasses. There was not a soul in more refined circles unaware that they controlled the Skull¡¯s Rebellion¡ªa true menace among the Dark Guild factions that had harried the Enforcers at every turn. Yet still, they could do nothing but treat the symptoms, never the cause. The true disorder lay too well-connected, too tightly woven into the very seats of power.


    ¡®I cannot overstate what an honour it is to have a member of the head household extol my pre-eminent estate with your presence,¡¯ Bartholomew mewed¡ªeven as Hurricane was dragged into the stateroom, barely on her feet.


    Clad in black-scaled armour, two men seized her by the arms, hoisting the girl upright even as she wrangled in their grip.


    Commendable as her resistance was, she was held by Inheritors¡ªand even the least of them would be inexorable to a Bereft such as her. Still, Graceless could not keep a smile from his lips at the fire in her eyes¡ªthat same blaze he had once found so arresting in her brother. Where trained guards could not hide their dread, here she was: in open defiance.


    ¡®She¡¯s very pretty¡ªfor a ne¡¯er-do-well,¡¯ Octavia mused, brushing the back of her hand along Hurricane¡¯s cheek. ¡®I wouldn¡¯t mind adding her to my collection, if you¡¯d allow it, sir,¡¯ she added, as if propriety were an afterthought.


    In the ever-strengthening alliance between House Crest and House Le¡¯Buteur, younger members of the assassin household had begun enlisting with the Black Drake Guild. But their participation was largely honorary¡ªthey were not expected to take active roles. Most remained within their estates, only appearing among the guild for formal events and ceremonial displays.


    Octavia was a notable exception. Not only had she climbed the ranks to be recognised as a commander on the field, she had done so within one of their least enviable stations. The Necroregnum was not for the faint of heart¡ªnor was volunteering to serve there the act of a sane mind.


    ¡®Unless you have just cause to detain her, I would thank you to unhand the girl,¡¯ Graceless commanded, his tone tactful yet unyielding.


    ¡®My¡ªmy lord Enforcer,¡¯ Bartholomew stammered, his bloated palms raised as he stepped between his guests. ¡®You must know in whose presence we stand. This is the company of Theodore Crest¡ªson of the Vanquishing Drake, grandson of the Lord of these lands.¡¯


    He turned to the pale-faced man beside him, his head tilting in a deferent slant. ¡®You know, I believe we¡¯re related on my father¡¯s side,¡¯ he added, gesturing toward the fireplace to draw their eyes to the immoderate portrait. ¡®Dugan the Imperishable, they call him. Even now I hear he¡¯s a force to be reckoned with¡ªdown on the eighteenth floor.¡¯


    ¡®I will not ask again. Unhand her,¡¯ Graceless cut in, stepping forward. The squadron of guildsmen shifted back in unison.


    Theodore stepped forward. Resting a hand on Bartholomew¡¯s shoulder, he nudged him gently aside, coming to stand face-to-face with Graceless. Though Graceless loomed over him¡ªhis tightly-knit frame a wall of restrained muscle¡ªTheodore showed no trace of perturbation. A slight smile cut across his rosy lips.


    ¡®I truly admire you Enforcers, you know? All that duty, all that responsibility¡ªyet only the veneer of authority to back any of it up,¡¯ Theodore said, his tone eerily measured.


    The hall fell silent as the two men locked eyes. Only the faint sputter and crack of the fireplace dared to make a sound.


    But then the silence lifted, a faint chuckle bubbling from Theodore¡¯s lips.


    Forgive me my little play¡ªI¡¯ve been away some time. I¡¯ve yet to reacquaint myself with local decorum,¡¯ Theodore murmured, stepping back to address his men. ¡®You may unhand her. She is not the one at fault¡­¡¯


    He paused, then turned back to Graceless.


    ¡®Her brother is.¡¯


    ¡®Is every member of your house given riddles, or is yours a special case?¡¯ Graceless scoffed, as Hurricane jerked free with a huff, head held high as she moved to his side.


    For the Crest household to take notice of either sibling made little sense as matters were. Mettlesome though they were, there were few opportunities for low-born labourers to offend a noble estate. Havoc had come close¡ªthe man he killed being vaguely connected to power. Connected enough to warrant a homesick Enforcer¡¯s participation in his execution.


    But the boy was away. Hurled to only the Stewards know where¡ªhow could he have found the time to entangle himself in noble affairs? Even if the chance arose, what could he possibly have done to invoke their reprisal?


    He had certainly Inherited¡ªthe Chamber¡¯s lights upon reopening had proved that much. But so what? The Dungeon was replete with Inheritors of dubious worth. If he survived its trials, his life would surely change, but true power resided in blood. Havoc had no birth right to speak of. At best, he would be middling¡ªunlikely to ever rise beyond a Servant¡¯s Inheritance.


    What possible threat could he pose to any among the vaulted House of Crest?


    ¡®I speak no riddles¡ªonly what¡¯s known,¡¯ Theodore pronounced, his eyes pointed as the heat seemed to flee the hall. ¡®Now that I think on it... was it not you who pardoned the boy for murder?¡¯ he asked, a chilling edge cutting through his otherwise gentle tone.


    ¡®What of it?¡¯ Graceless shot back, dauntless in the face of accusation and thinly veiled menace. ¡®You know the law of this land as well as I. All crimes against the Bereft are remedied through Inheritance. The Dungeon¡¯s will held high above mortal edicts.¡¯


    ¡®I seem to recall that rule is discretionary. And in your discretion, sir Enforcer¡ªyou set a murderer loose to murder again,¡¯ Theodore impeached.


    ¡®What are you saying?¡¯ Graceless spat, indignation rising in his voice.


    ¡®Havoc Gray...¡¯ Theodore said, leaning closer. ¡®He stands condemned to die¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ Hurricane wailed, restrained only by Graceless¡¯ grip at her wrist.


    ¡®For the crime of killing my brother.¡¯

 Chapter 65: Flight Of Fancy

    ¡®You can¡¯t help them!¡¯ Hurricane yelled, arms flung outward.


    Seated behind a sturdy oak desk, papers folded into thin leather bindings, Graceless exhaled through his nose. He rested his forearms on the hardwood, fingers interlaced, gaze fixed on the woman before him.


    Draped in a sapphire overdress atop a spotty-white chemise, her clothes did little to flatter her figure¡ªnor did they need to. Her olive skin gleamed smooth and unblemished, drawing the eye to hazel irises so lustrous they neared gold. Her hair, frayed at the ends, tumbled in subtle curls over her shoulders, each movement sending them rippling like sea-foam stirred by the tide. Pacing with rising fervour, she crossed the study again and again, arms thrown wide with every restless step.


    He could understand her distress. Noble households differed in many ways from those of simpler regard. Siblings were more often bitter rivals or uneasy confederates than playmates or confidants. Yet at the heart of it all, love¡¯s pulse beat just the same¡ªin his household, at least. He could not say he would move heaven or Aarth were he in Hurricane¡¯s place, but he would make them tremble, at the very least.


    But my hands are tied, he silently groaned, doing his best to shut out Hurricane¡¯s renewed castigation.


    On the surface, the Guild of Enforcers were charged with the common good. Against commoner or noble, it was they who upheld the laws of the land. Yet the theory of their service differed vastly from its practice¡ªfor how could the law convict those for whom it had been drafted to serve?


    The Crest Household were the power on the Eighth Dungeon Floor. By the Authority of their Lord, they had settled the territory, weaving the canon of order under which all were made to abide. Their dominion did not lie over man-made laws¡ªthose were delegated to noble councils and appointed officials to conceive. Rather, it was the very nature of a domain that a Lord commanded.


    Powerful Dungeon-Spawn did not reside on the Settled Floor, for it was not the Lord¡¯s will to permit them. Nor were monsters allowed within Stone Garden or the other major cities¡ªthe Black Dragon would not have useful resources wasted between the maws of some ravenous beast. Even the path to power was ordained by noble mandate: Chambers of Inheritance established in the great cities of the Black Dragon¡¯s domain.


    For those deemed worthy, they would rise anew¡ªServants in service to their Lord. As for those who failed, in tar-black darkness, their bodies and souls would be perpetually refined, feeding the flame of their Lord¡¯s sovereign might.


    A Lord¡¯s command was not absolute¡ªbut it was considerable, as was their Household¡¯s reach. To risk the world itself turning against you over the smallest slight... it was a brutal incentive to obey without question or resistance.


    Amidst all this, the Enforcers were expected to remain impartial. Perhaps they could¡ªwhen dealing with minor nobles, lesser branch Houses, or those with only the thinnest claim to a Lord¡¯s favour.


    But to oppose the dominant power of the Floor?


    Madness.


    ¡®Calm yourself, woman,¡¯ Graceless sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple, eyes squeezed shut.


    ¡®He¡¯s my brother¡­¡¯ Hurricane cried. ¡®You can¡¯t¡ªyou can¡¯t chase him down like a dog!¡¯


    Before departing for the city proper, Theodore had presented reports drafted by the Black Drake Guild¡¯s oracles and visionaries. They told of Havoc¡¯s involvement in a restricted Dungeon-Cell¡ªof his alliance with a Selenarian slave girl and a field commander from some minor guild. Together, the three had ambushed the Crest scion and his beautiful bride-to-be.


    The reports were damning in their vivid retelling of treachery and deceit, and the news had spread far and wide across the Eighth Floor. Even now, Graceless could hear the low murmurs and sharp gasps of the city guards charged with the Lord-Mayor¡¯s defence. He doubted even half of it was true, but truth mattered little when well-dressed lies made better theatre.


    If Havoc had emerged from a Dungeon-Cell, he could be anywhere by now. But wherever the Cell had spat him out, there would be a million eyes watching¡ªand just as many lips waiting to speak his name¡ªmany of whom were meant to be under Graceless¡¯ direct command.


    ¡®It¡¯s out of my hands,¡¯ Graceless conceded.


    ¡®Like hell it is!¡¯ Hurricane spat, toppling stacks of paper as she slammed her palms against the desk. ¡®You¡¯re a noble and an Enforcer¡ªthere¡¯s a whole world you could do. You¡¯re just choosing not to.¡¯


    There was truth in the woman¡¯s accusation. If Graceless truly wished to intervene, he could. But not without taking on unacceptable risk for too little reward. He was already under scrutiny for his role in the boy¡¯s survival. Only three days had passed since the Crest brat¡¯s visit, yet his desk was nearly toppling beneath the weight of condemnatory missives, with further demands for explanation shuffled into its cabinets and drawers.


    Sensing opportunity, many within his own ranks had begun to whisper for his resignation. And each day he remained in the outer city, watching over the very woman who now denounced him, his opposition¡¯s voices only grew¡ªboth in intensity and influence.


    ¡®Listen, I want you to stay here while I¡¯m away. I¡¯ve already spoken with ¡°his eminence¡±, Lord-Mayor Kaine,¡¯ he said¡ªhis tone laced with scoffing derision at using Bartholomew¡¯s formal title. ¡®He¡¯s agreed to shelter you in my absence. Your expenses are covered. There¡¯s even a maid¡¯s position open to you, if you choose. But the streets won¡¯t be safe¡ªnot until we¡¯ve found your brother. Maybe not even then.¡¯


    ¡®I can take care of myself,¡¯ Hurricane snapped, her gaze sharpening to a point. ¡®That¡¯s not what I¡¯m worried about! It¡¯s Havoc! You know he didn¡¯t do what they¡¯re saying he did¡ªmy brother is innocent!¡¯


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡®Your brother is a killer!¡¯ Graceless snapped, his patience fraying to the edge.


    With a deep breath, he steadied himself, exhaling a long, weary sigh¡ªjust as tears began to swell in Hurricane¡¯s hazel eyes.


    ¡®He did that for me,¡¯ she whispered, her voice splintering as the first tear traced a line down her cheek.


    Having spent several months with the boy, preparing him as best he could for Inheritance, Graceless had seen it for himself: there was a savagery behind his gaze.


    He had killed a man, after all¡ªand done so before many witnesses.


    Yet Graceless knew those actions were not the mark of a blood-drenched madman, frothing at the mouth and eager to kill again, as the reports now portrayed him. His was an act of desperation¡ªretribution against a man who had tried to take by force what should only be given in love, and rebellion against a system that did not care.


    I would have done the same, he quietly admitted, as Hurricane¡¯s tears crashed around her.


    ¡®There is a way,¡¯ he sighed, rising from his desk.


    His hand¡ªcoarse and calloused, tempered by battle and strife¡ªsettled gently on Hurricane¡¯s lissome shoulder as he guided her to the velvet settee. She made some effort to quell her tears, but Graceless felt each shuddering breath as she wept in his arms.


    ¡®Anything,¡¯ Hurricane stuttered between sobs. ¡®He¡¯s the only family I have¡­ I¡¯d do anything,¡¯ she mumbled into his dampening shirt.


    ****


    Graceless sat opposite the Justiciar-General, a pot of steaming tea resting atop the tempered-glass oval table between them.


    With a silken cloth, his superior dabbed at his upper lip, wiping amber drips from the white-brushed bristle of his moustache. He returned the cloth to the pocket sewn into the upper-left chest of his ivory frock coat¡ªhis movements steady and poised, betraying none of the brutality Graceless knew him capable of.


    Powerful and ancient, he had lived through the earliest days of humanity¡¯s exile into the Dungeon, attaining a Conqueror¡¯s Inheritance many centuries ago. Hugo Potestas was not a man¡ªhe was an army unto himself.


    With an Anchor that birthed endless clones of his form, he had laid siege to fortified battlements single-handedly, razing them to the ground as the earth trembled at his feet.


    That he had returned to the Settled Floors¡ªor part of him, at least¡ªspoke volumes to the seriousness of the situation.


    ¡®It is out of the question,¡¯ Hugo murmured, his head gently swaying, eyes closed in quiet finality.


    ¡®With all due respect, sir, I did not write to seek your permission¡ªonly to inform you of my intentions,¡¯ Graceless replied, a current of defiance surging beneath the measured cadence of his tone. ¡®As a High Warden of our guild, I have the authority to vary judgment. But even setting that aside¡ªwe would be fools not to grasp the opportunity fate has laid at our feet.¡¯


    He could concede it was foolish¡ªtying his fate to the life of a nameless orphan. Yet the more he considered the plan, the more certain he became of its merit.


    For decades, the House of Le¡¯Buteur had evaded justice¡ªtheir elusive conceits too slippery to grasp. But for once, they were ahead of the villains draped in silk and precious jewels. They sought to curry the Lord¡¯s favour. And there was no better way than to rid the House of Crest of a maddening sight: a commoner defying noble will.


    By shepherding the boy, he could turn him into a spark¡ªsomething to incite. A carefully laid snare for the ravenous wolves that lurked within vaulted places.


    ¡®You have a promising future¡ªbut you are still just a child,¡¯ Hugo murmured, refilling his cup with clear, amber tea. ¡®You have yet to experience the true dangers of this world.¡¯


    In any other company, the words would have been laughable. But to a man nearing his seventh century, even one over a hundred and sixty could be considered a child.


    ¡®Do not throw your life away over this flight of fancy,¡¯ Hugo said, his tone cool but commanding, as he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, savouring the floral notes of his tea.


    Exhaling a steam-warmed breath, he began to chuckle, returning his cup to its saucer.


    ¡®You cannot disguise what this is really about,¡¯ he said suddenly, causing Graceless¡¯ posture to stiffen with apprehension¡ªto the Justiciar¡¯s clear amusement.


    ¡®I too was young once. I know well the sway a comely maiden can hold over the hearts of sterner men than you or I.¡¯


    ¡®Sir¡ª¡¯ Graceless began, only to be cut off by Hugo¡¯s growing laughter.


    ¡®I do not begrudge you your indulgences¡ªStewards know, you have earned a few. That is why I have yet to recall you into active duty ¡®But there is indulgence, and then there is excess. Pursue the woman, if that is what you want. But do not let her lead you into trials you are not able to endure.¡¯


    He would be lying if he claimed he was not impressed by the girl. Though penniless and powerless, she never lowered her gaze at the sight of those the world deemed her betters. She carried a quiet dignity in her stride, and a resolve that refused to be overlooked. Perhaps her zeal was infectious¡ªbut the fever had only defrosted what had long been buried beneath.


    The truth was, he was sick of it.


    Sick of the corruption.


    Sick of the compliance.


    Sick of the impotent rage¡ªhelpless to do anything but watch as the powerful did as they pleased.


    He wanted to protect her¡ªhis fidelity to justice demanded as much. But more than that, he wanted to strike a swelling eye against the forces who believed themselves above every law.


    Safeguarding Havoc Gray met both objectives.


    He would stake his life on it.


    ¡®Sir, my ruling will not be swayed. The boy will face justice. His sentence is none other than penance through service,¡¯ Graceless pronounced, his tone resolute.


    The room fell still. The two men stared at one another, no sign of wavering in their hardened-steel eyes.


    The silence lingered. Then finally, Hugo sighed¡ªhis wrinkled lips tightening as he slowly shook his head.


    ¡®You senseless child,¡¯ he growled. ¡®I will not permit such waste.¡¯


    He rapped his knuckles against the glass.


    On the third knock, the door to the High Warden¡¯s office creaked open. A bespectacled woman stepped through, a clipboard tucked beneath her arm.


    ¡®Sir,¡¯ she barked, snapping to attention. ¡®I¡¯m at your command.¡¯


    ¡®You are to locate the boy and execute him on the spot. No capture. No trial. No record he was ever born,¡¯ Hugo commanded without hesitation.


    ¡®Take a squadron of Enforcers and a competent tracker or two. And girl¡ªdo not disappoint me. Havoc Gray does not make it to this city.¡¯

 Chapter 66: Penance Through Service

    For Bethany Tailor, this was her chance. Born a nobody to a family of nobodies¡ªa mere thread in a long line of inconsequential seamstresses and embroiderers¡ªshe had been destined for little more than obscurity.


    Yet as the bespectacled Soldier strode the pristine white halls of the Enforcers¡¯ local barracks, her eyes tracing the roster of the most promising conscripts, she could scarcely suppress her grin.


    Fortune favoured the fortunate. For the blessed few, that began at birth¡ªnoble blood was an edge sharp enough to sever nearly any obstruction. But she had never been so lucky. Instead, she had risen by keeping close to power.


    When her earliest companion had wandered into her parents¡¯ store, Bethany had inserted herself into her new friend¡¯s circle¡ªsecuring sponsorship for Inheritance, and a place with the Enforcers. Rising on the churn of her benefactor¡¯s wake, she earned entry into a Dungeon-Cell, distinguished herself among the rival attendants, and seized¡ªat last¡ªa Soldier¡¯s Inheritance.


    Now, again, fortune favoured her. She had despaired when the orders first came down¡ªher recall from the Vanguard etched into stone with bureaucratic finality. How was she to distinguish herself, tasked with guarding a man who needed no protection?


    A brief assignment, she had prayed. Even a fragment of a man like Hugo Potestas could not be spared from the front lines for long. The forces gathered against the Guild were too many¡ªtoo mighty¡ªto be long restrained.


    Slithering in the shadows, they lay in wait¡ªstriking at the civilised world in an instant, only to retreat into uncharted terrain. It was not enough to hold the line against them. They had to be hounded like dogs¡ªand erased from the world.


    As chance would have it, hers would not be a fleeting commission¡ªyet her undertaking was not without profit.


    Word travelled at the speed of gossip. Even in the Vanguard, she had heard whispers of the villainous boy and his craven massacre of two noble youths. As the story went, they had risked their lives for him¡ªholding back monster and fiend with selfless resolve. Then, without warning, he struck.


    Taking advantage of their engagement, the rotter pounced on his guardians¡ªplunging a knotted dagger into their backs. A slave girl and a commoner¡ªhis execrable connivers.


    Penance through service? I would never work alongside such a scoundrel, she rebuked, shaking her head as she walked,


    She could not understand what had befallen that man. Edgar Grace was a hero to the Guild. Was it not he who had led the conquest of the Silent Fortress? Storming the bastion, they had obliterated an iniquitous cult.


    Heart-eaters and child-sacrificers, the Bleeding Hand had long plagued the Settled Floors¡ªconvinced they were safe amid the high tides, and endless oceans of the twenty-ninth.


    It had to be that woman, she scolded. Hurricane Gray.


    There was not a soul among the Enforcers who had not heard whispers of her influence¡ªnothing led a man astray so readily as a wanton harlot.


    She had never met the strumpet¡ªwhat business would she have with such indecent things? Yet she was convinced of her arch-villainy all the same. No upright woman would keep a great man from his cause.


    That she would allow such a man to discard his life over her paltry fancies¡ªinexcusable.


    It could not stand.


    She would not allow it.


    Havoc Gray would not reach the city alive.


    ¡®To attention!¡¯ she barked, throwing open the ashen door to the mess hall. She strode inside in a single step, and all rose to their feet in a practised salute.


    She moved between the long tables neatly arranged in parallel rows throughout the canteen, stopping at the centre. Lifting her clipboard, she began to recite the names she had circled in red¡ªthose selected to accompany her on the mission.


    She had scoured their records. These were the best she could find.


    With two notable exceptions¡ªher appointed squad lieutenants, who would each command a third of the force¡ªthe forty-four Enforcers she had selected were of the Servant rank.


    It could not be helped. Soldier-ranked Enforcers were too valuable to waste on the Settled Floors. They were needed on the frontier¡ªpolicing lawless towns, holding back the chaos that prowled through the Vanguard, the criminal element forever baying in the night.


    Sliding her glasses down the bridge of her nose, Bethany¡¯s amber eyes flared with crimson light. The Inquisitor¡¯s Gaze, permanently fused to her irises, brought every flaw and fibre into focus¡ªthe strengths and frailties of the men and women now standing at attention laid bare before her.


    They would suffice. Havoc Gray was only one boy, and his accomplices¡ªhardly worth the ink of record. When she was done, no one would even remember their names.


    ****


    Wheels churred in a rush of rhythmic motion, the bray of giant horses echoing into the night. Sliding aside the edge of the stagecoach curtain, Bethany gazed outside, watching the blur of obsidian monuments barrel out of view as the caravan drew further from the city.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡®They say they were monsters¡ªpetrified centuries ago by the Black Dragon himself,¡¯ Sedrick said, elbow propped on the bronze rail, head resting in his palm. ¡®Like hand-curated sculptures¡ªa whole field of them. That¡¯s what gives the city its name.¡¯


    ¡®Fascinating,¡¯ Bethany muttered, barely shifting her gaze.


    She had no interest in native folklore or quaint local customs. Stone Garden was neither her home nor her concern¡ªit was a footrest along her long and ruthless climb, a journey she intended would end in the echelons of nobility.


    To have attained a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance before the tender age of forty marked her as exceptional. Among the ignoble-born, few ever rose so high, and fewer still so quickly. Most would languish in the lower ranks for decades¡ªif they managed to rise at all.


    To meet the threshold for nobility, she needed to attain the rank of War-Master. From there, it was a simple matter of aligning herself with a Lord. Her house would be ordained¡ªminor at first¡ªbut with time and tactful wedlock, she would fortify those shallow foundations and lead a lineage of the highest repute.


    Only then could she shed her common name¡ªmore an imposed occupation than an identity¡ªand stand at last among the chosen few.


    She could always marry into class¡ªbut then, the title would never truly be hers. She would remain a guest in her own household, sharing a man with her peers and superiors alike. Not that she believed High Warden Grace to be that sort of man¡ªbut even so, it was safer to approach him as an equal. And only once the trollop had been firmly set aside.


    ¡®So tell me truthfully, Enforcer-Prime, do you really believe the official reports?¡¯ Sedrick asked, drawing Bethany¡¯s attention at last.


    ¡®What are you implying?¡¯ she arraigned, a cutting edge to her voice.


    ¡®It just seems a bit far-fetched, don¡¯t you think?¡¯ he rejoined, without even a hint of apprehension jarring his tone. ¡®Some Gray ambushing nobles, thirsting for blood. He¡¯s a danger, and he will strike again,¡¯ he chuckled, waving his palms in mock dread.


    An envious lout striking out against his betters made perfect sense to her. What she could not understand was the man seated across from her. Like her, he was a Soldier¡ªyet born into the prestige of aristocracy, minor though it was. Why he lingered at the bottom rung defied belief. If she had even half the opportunities he squandered, she would already be a Warden¡ªwell along the path of a Champion¡¯s Inheritance.


    ¡®Just seems like more political bullshit¡ªprobably another noble scandal hushed with a knife cutting throat,¡¯ he sighed. ¡®Most likely, he bedded some hoity-toity, and her red-faced parents are looking for blood¡ªthat I would believe,¡¯ he added with a smirk.


    ¡®What? you really think? Eagan asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his ivory-white sleeve, stirred by the scent of gossip like a mutt catching trail.


    With the roster offering little in the way of competence, Eagan Vasara had been named as the second of Bethany¡¯s appointed lieutenants. She had held faint hope that he might remain a non-entity¡ªeyes shut and snoring before they¡¯d even breached the city gates.


    Yet dashed were her yearnings¡ªthe man had roused only to prattle on about slander and trite nonsense.


    ¡®Without question¡­¡¯ Sedrick chimed, his tone gaining animation. ¡®Happens all the time. It¡¯s all dances and daggers in this city of mine. Better be careful who you partner with¡ªfirst you¡¯re twirling some frilly thing across the ballroom floor and under the sheets, then the daggers come out when her kinsfolk catch wind. It¡¯s all quite silly, if you ask me. So what if some toff¡¯s delight wants to lock step with something rougher? I say¡ªno harm done.¡¯


    ¡®What if she was your sister?¡¯ Egan mused.


    ¡®Then the scoundrel would bleed,¡¯ Sedrick said quickly, laughter rising a short moment later.


    Is this what they think of our Guild? Hired thugs sent to rout petty miscreants? Bethany sighed, returning her gaze to the road.


    ¡®What about you, Enforcer Prime? What do you think this is all about?¡¯ Eagan asked.


    ¡®I think we have a mission to complete, and I won¡¯t accept failure. Nothing else matters,¡¯ she scolded.


    ¡®It is rather odd, though,¡¯ Sedrick hummed. ¡®Penance through service is a moth-eaten law. I could not imagine dusting it off over some orphaned boy.¡¯


    It was far more than strange. It was absurd. No one had invoked that order for centuries¡ªand for good reason.


    It was a High Warden¡¯s prerogative to conscript the condemned into their ranks. Though granted position and standing in line with their skills, a sharpened blade would forever hang above their heads. Their every breath supervised. Their movements, tracked.


    Though veritable Enforcers, their criminal past would not be forgotten¡ªand their endorser would share in their fate.


    Worse still, such enlistments were abnormal. The conscript would be forced to prove their worth at once. Granted the standard stipend of contribution tokens¡ªredeemable for guild-sanctioned currency or goods¡ªthey would be subject to a quarterly levy, required to undertake the most perilous assignments.


    Should they fail to cover their balance, their life would be forfeit. And so too would that of their inductor.


    He cannot be allowed to cross the city line, Bethany resolved, her jaw tightening as a low growl slipped through her teeth.


    The Enforcers served a Lord as well¡ªbut theirs was not like the Black Dragon or his kin. Day-Light¡¯s Song held no dominion over land within the Settled Floors. Her power was over law itself. What she decreed¡ªor what was rightly decreed in her name¡ªbecame etched into the bones of the world. Defiance was possible, but never by those under her banner, and never without cost.


    She commanded fortune. And for those who rebelled against her edicts, it would turn against them. Victory would wither into loss, snatched from the maw of triumph. Adversity would gnaw at their heels. Affliction would haunt their steps. Catastrophe their shadow. Many chose the noose over such a life.


    Yet her authority was not absolute. Before Day-Light¡¯s Affliction could seize a soul, three conditions had to be met.


    The first was simple enough: the decree had to be properly made. Only Adjunct Wardens or above could invoke their mistress¡¯s power¡ªconstrained by the common-law of the domain and the natural laws of creation. A man could not be decreed to hoist himself by the hair and carry himself across town. It was not possible, and it was unjust to demand.


    The second was a matter of prudence. Day-Light¡¯s Song was a Lord, but she was not without equal. If a will of sufficient strength clashed with hers, it could unravel her bindings. Thus, high nobility remained immune to her commands¡ªunless they chose to forfeit their own Lord¡¯s patronage.


    The third was more esoteric. Her enactments could only take root within the borders of her strongholds¡ªand only when both Warden and subject were within their furthest bounds.


    High Warden Grace had made his decree. But until Havoc stepped once more inside Stone Garden, she would not be compelled to comply.

 Chapter 67: Dungeons Most Wanted

    He did not even kill him. He wanted to. He had tried with everything he had. Without the Seer¡¯s meddling, Havoc still believed he would have¡ªeven against the full force of Aaron¡¯s draconic form. But in the end, he was innocent¡ªif one ignored the attempt, of course. Yet here he was: most wanted across the entire eighth floor, hiding away like a rat within the walls.


    It had been twelve days since he left the Dungeon-Cell. Battered and bleeding, he had spent the first two drifting in and out of consciousness¡ªbarely aware of the thorns scoring his back or the sour bite of ammonia, mould, and rot. Those days had passed in a blur of waking dreams and fever-laced nightmares, though he lacked the clarity to tell them apart. He recalled flashes of being mauled. A bear had wandered close, and in his delirium, he could swear it had gnawed at his face for hours, grunting in frustration when its grizzled maw failed to pierce his skin.


    It was not an isolated occurrence. As if the woodlands had conspired in contest, time and again, a creature would stumble near. Some mundane, others Dungeon-born. Yet no matter how they strained, it was like a feather striking marble¡ªnone could leave so much as a mark.


    It was not until the third day that he found the strength to move. A tug at his heel stirred him, and his eyes flickered open to find a wolf at his feet. With the barest jerk, he sent the beast yelping into a nearby tree, its pack scattering like mist into the forest¡¯s shadowed fringe.


    Light filtered down from the dense woodland canopy, its golden rays diffused below, misting the sodden foliage and scatterings of fallen amber leaves. In rags once more, he spent the third day wandering.


    The forest offered no challenge. Life rustled in every bush, and even weary, he brought down a gazelle with ease. Damp logs smouldered into a smoky fire¡ªhis Inherited strength made the work simple enough. Sizzling fat spat into the flames, its aroma wetting his mouth and stirring his hunger. Incomparably enticing, the scent drew the gaze of foxes, wolves, and bears alike. Soon enough, it drew something else¡ªNaereah and Anton, safe, whole, and real.


    The following three days were spent in flight. With his allies beside him, he travelled westward, away from the forest and toward the fringes of civilisation. They passed through destitute villages and struggling towns, until they reached the first major city on their path: Heureux.


    A broad road cut through the heart of the city, horse-drawn carriages trailing over fractured limestone paving. At every turn, the roads narrowed. Tall buildings lined the paths, and peddlers cried their wares¡ªfingers clasped on doorframes as they shouted from their store entrances.


    Though under the House of Crest¡¯s banner, and governed by their allied households, Heureux differed vastly from Stone Garden. It was a culture shock to see the Bereft and Inheritors living side by side¡ªsuch notions were alien to Havoc¡¯s upbringing. Yet in the city, it worked. There was inequality, for certain¡ªnobility demanded no less. But unlike in Stone Garden, Inheritors were seen more as a warrior caste than as something inherently superior to human.


    In fact, humans were not the only race residing in the city. Though only a minority, the Ajna¡¯Ramadi lived and laboured beside them.


    Short in stature and slight of frame, the Ramadi¡¯s wide, dark-green eyes sank deep into their cheeks, their bulbous skulls curving slightly at the back. Their skin was grey, but not pallid¡ªits soft texture glistened faintly in daylight. To further distinguish themselves from the Aarthling natives of the Floor, most eschewed buckled trousers, vests, waistcoats, and blazers, fashioning themselves instead in simple robes that trailed behind them as they tread.


    ¡®Take me to your leader,¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia said as she glided toward the dimly lit alehouse table where Havoc, Naereah, and Anton sat.


    She and her ever-stalwart¡ªand more crucially, incurious¡ªhusband, Elliot Brewer, owned the tavern where Havoc had taken refuge. The kindly pair cared little for their few guests¡¯ origins, wholly centred, as they were, on providing their utmost hospitality.


    Their interspecies union, shunned by both sides, drew the disgust of humans and Ramadi alike. The scorn of others kept business away¡ªbut that made their tavern all the more perfect as a hideaway.


    All in all, the tavern was ideal¡ªthe inn-keeper¡¯s alien humour aside.


    ¡®I don¡¯t get it,¡¯ Havoc muttered as M¡¯Kajalia slid a pitcher of frothing ale onto the centre of the table.


    ¡®Break a smile, would you? Your people used to eat that line up¡ªback when we visited your world before the Dungeon,¡¯ she said, chuckling as she reached on her toes to mop up the foam she had spilled.


    With a yelp, she flailed as her husband hoisted her from behind¡ªscooped under the arms like a sack of potatoes mid-tantrum.


    ¡®Please don¡¯t trouble our guests,¡¯ Elliot groaned, gently patting her scalp. ¡®Who knows when we¡¯ll have another¡ªlet alone one who pays this well.¡¯


    ¡®Let me down this instant, mister!¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia wailed, her balled fists thumping against his unyielding midriff.


    ¡®I apologise for the disturbance,¡¯ Elliot said, bowing his head slightly. ¡®Please enjoy your drinks. We¡¯ll bring out your plate shortly.¡¯


    With that, he carried his wife across the tavern and disappeared behind the door at the back of the bar.


    Havoc, Naereah, and Anton exchanged glances¡ªlips slightly ajar, yet unmoving. Then the silence broke, and Naereah laughed¡ªa light, tuneful sound, full of something Havoc could not name.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡®I like them,¡¯ Naereah said between laughter¡ªand not for the first time.


    It was difficult not to. Against his cautious nature and general mistrust, even Havoc had started to warm to the pair. They brought with them a kind of warmth he struggled to define. If he had to name it, home might have been the closest. Not the one he had known¡ªbut the one he had never realised he longed for.


    Still, he could not allow himself to become too comfortable. He was a wanted man¡ªeven now guildsmen and Enforcers combed the streets for his whereabouts.


    ¡®Did you learn where it¡¯s being held?¡¯ Anton whispered, glancing at Naereah as he lifted the ale to his lips.


    Havoc was the most infamous of the group¡ªhis pencil-sketched likeness plastered across city walls, all sunken eyes and pointed features, a malevolent smile carved across a jeering face. But Anton and Naereah carried their own share of notoriety. If not for the Flesh-Weave Needle buried deep in Naereah¡¯s thigh, none of them would have risked moving freely in daylight.


    The Remnant, once potent, was of the Servant rank. Now that they had attained a Soldier¡¯s Inheritance, their flesh had grown too resistant to mould. The Needle¡¯s remaining power was limited, but its cosmetic effects proved most valuable when applied to the group¡¯s most recognisable member.


    Through its waning magic, Naereah¡¯s light-blue skin had paled to white, and her ivory hair had shifted to golden strands. The swirling patterns across her form were harder to conceal¡ªbut long sleeves and gloves covered most of them.


    ¡®The market opens at nine,¡¯ Naereah replied in hushed tones. ¡®It¡¯s being held in a tunnel beneath the alchemical wares shop on the corner of the commerce district.¡¯


    ¡®Good work,¡¯ Havoc said with a nod. ¡®We¡¯ll go tonight.¡¯ Anton and Naereah nodded in agreement.


    There was no time to waste. Every day spent idle was another day for his hunters to close the gap. They were a fair distance from Stone Garden¡ªriding the fastest horse half to death, the journey would still take no less than two weeks. But with no Remnants bound to his Spirit Chains, he was defenceless. It was an unpleasant feeling¡ªone he meant to remedy with haste.


    To that end, they had sought out the city¡¯s black market. Housing Remnants difficult to acquire through legitimate means, it was a rich vein buried deep within Heureux¡ªand one he had no intention of leaving unmined.


    ¡®There¡¯s something else¡ª¡¯ Naereah whispered, just as their hosts returned with roasted pork and mashed potatoes.


    ¡®I hope it¡¯s to your liking,¡¯ Elliot said, his smile tightening as M¡¯Kajalia drove her heel into his foot.


    ¡®It¡¯s a little rustic for city fashions¡ªbut it¡¯s made with love,¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia said, flashing a mischievous grin as she balanced herself on her husband¡¯s feet to steady the gravy while setting it down.


    Her face was the picture of triumph as she hopped free, landing with a flourish¡ªslender hands on her hips, head tilted smugly, that impish smile still curling her lips.


    She parted her mouth as if to speak, but paused, her gaze cast downward.


    Then she said it.


    Her words froze Havoc¡¯s blood and sent adrenaline coursing through coiled muscles, poised to strike without mercy.


    ¡®We know who you are,¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia whispered. ¡®It¡¯s impossible not to. Can¡¯t walk down the street without seeing your pretty mug.¡¯


    ¡®Leia, don¡¯t!¡¯ Elliot snapped, pulling his wife behind him as he stepped forward. Arms spread, he placed himself between her and their guests.


    Havoc did not think the man foolish enough to truly believe he could even slow them. Even without Remnants, to the Bereft, a Soldier was an unstoppable force. Still, the courage deserved recognition. It warranted equanimity, if nothing else¡ªat least until their motives became clear.


    ¡®What do you want?¡¯ he asked coldly, noting their trembling frames, the air around them shifting under the weight of his presence.


    ¡®If it¡¯s money you¡¯re after, we have that,¡¯ Naereah said, her hand resting on Havoc¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡®How much will your silence cost us?¡¯ Anton added, his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he stood. He reached into his coat and pulled free a weighted pouch¡ªthen let it drop. Golden pieces clattered across the table, catching the light as they spilled.


    ¡®You misunderstand!¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia said, squeezing her slender frame between her husband¡¯s legs. ¡®We don¡¯t want anything. It¡¯s just¡ªthank you!¡¯ her voice caught as she bowed her head.


    What?


    Caught off guard by her response, Havoc was lost for words. In an instant, the killing edge of his presence withdrew from the room, and he exchanged baffled glances with his allies.


    ¡®We heard you¡¯re responsible for killing Lucia Desmond,¡¯ Elliot said, bowing his head to mirror his wife. ¡®I doubt you know this, but she was set to become the ruling noble of these lands. Her revulsion for interspecies courtship was well-known. Under her rule, we would have been put to death for the offence.¡¯


    ¡®To so many, you¡¯re heroes,¡¯ M¡¯Kajalia whispered, tears welling in her eyes. ¡®For all the people you¡¯ll never get to meet¡ªplease, accept our heartfelt gratitude.¡¯


    ¡®Stay as long as you need. And when you¡¯re ready to leave, it¡¯ll be with full stomachs and as much ale as you can drink,¡¯ Elliot added, sliding the bag of gold back toward Anton. ¡®We¡¯ll never tell a soul you were here¡ªyou have our word.¡¯


    Such widespread scorn was strange¡ªbut not beyond Havoc¡¯s experience. He was a street rat, a thief; a villain, a rogue. Was it not natural for the world to despise him¡ªan unrepentant killer? It never went down easy, but it was something he had learned to swallow.


    His hosts¡¯ gratitude was far tougher to chew on.


    Bittersweet, yet not unpleasant.


    With another bow, the Brewers retreated behind the bar, leaving Havoc to pick at his food.


    It was delicious...


    Spoiled only by the knowledge of the terrible danger he had brought to the tavern¡¯s doors. They needed to leave the city.


    Word of his alleged crimes had spread far and wide¡ªbut so too had news of his amnesty.


    Penance through Service¡ªit suits my goals fine, he thought, washing down rich meats with the fruity notes of ale.


    Stone Garden was his goal. Nothing would get in his way.


    Anton leaned forward. ¡®You said there was something else,¡¯ he asked Naereah, no longer a reason to keep his voice low.


    She paused, her gaze fixed on her plate. Slowly, she looked up, eyes moving from Anton to Havoc.


    ¡®There¡¯s a cult active in the city. The Bleeding Hand¡¯s Reprisal, I¡¯ve heard them called. If they¡¯re not stopped¡ªif we don¡¯t stop them, they¡¯ll drown this whole city in blood.¡¯