Zayne sighed. A lot had happened, and he had barely enough time to think about it. He looked down at what he held in his hand, a convenient replacement for the lantern that he had broken. Stone imbued with light was pretty easy to find in the real world, and had even been inside the altar, but what he held in his hand was clearly

  else. It had come from a corpse of a Severspawn after all.

  Or at least, it looked like a Severspawn. Anything he thought he understood was falling apart.

  They began to walk forward, a strange trio slowly making their way through the second tunnel. Whatever was trying to influence him hung like a veil on the back of his head, tethering his thoughts. It was a little annoying.

  As far as he knew, the movies depicting the journey of the great Queen of Dusk – Lady Iskaria Azure’s regal title – always set a clear end goal as soon as she had entered the Inheritance. But so far, other than obviously surviving, there wasn’t much to do other than keep moving forward.

  Then again, everything was weird. These people were from different times, and he held a dead creature’s life force or something. If that wasn’t clear enough, the fleshy walls were. Zayne forced the blade into Cenebrous’s hands.

  “I can’t hold this and the sword. Next time, you need to help.”

  “Oh, erm, yes. I understand.”

  The old man watched the transfer with an uncomfortable pause. His eyes darted, paranoia reaching new heights, even though he knew he was being dumb. There was just a gut feeling, that had existed from the very first second he had laid eyes on the contradictory Flawed, that this guy was untrustworthy.

  Not long later, Cenebrous spoke up, “I still can’t believe this, you know. All of this feels like a dream, and I’ll wake up any second. But I suppose this is reality now.”

  His discomfort seemed to grow as neither of them said anything to his confession. They continued to move in silence, each step followed by the resounding heartbeat that overshadowed their wilting silhouettes. Glistening shards of crumbling rock seemed to have broken off from above, clattering in unison every single time the sound spun through the passageway. The long chunks of flesh, that presumably stored the same blood that he had punctured, seemed to peel away as they made progress, uncovering the jagged patterns of stalactites.

  “I just realised, I never actually asked for your name.”

  The old man swung his staff like a cane, as if he were disciplining a child, and it whacked Cenebrous on the back of the head. Yelping, the young man fervently apologised, and received threatening motions in return, a single finger crushing the questions within his mouth.

  “Zayne.” he felt rebellious, nodding at Cenebrous.

  But his response received nothing. Barely even acknowledging Zayne, the Flawed cast his drooped head forward, shifting with the dull half-life of a zombie.

  Zayne turned his attention away. He raised the egg-like stone, far too bright for him to look straight at it, tilting his head. That would actually make a lot of sense, and implied that he should get rid of this while he could.

  Strangely, whatever was influencing him didn’t seem to fight against that thought, which made him accept that it was probably a bad idea.

  Well, technically, it might be trying to help him.

  The entire theme of this place so far had placed him in a brutal, merciless place, with unreliable allies, and so he had to prepare himself for anything going wrong. For some reason, it felt freeing.

  Despite the fact that any moment he could be slaughtered and erased from existence, there was nothing else to worry about.

  Just survival.

  A warm feeling fed the peace that was stoked within him, and Zayne tried not to let the surprise show on his face. The light visibly dimmed however, attracting the attention of the others.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  The formless white mist spilled from his mouth, but for the length he held it in, he was left paralysed. For all his senses were deafened, an endless deluge of information forcing him to let go. One thing managed to get through however.

  A weak whimper.

  Acrid laughter bellowed into his ears, gnawed rotting gums on full display, taunting him as he readjusted to reality. Clearly, Zayne had failed in hiding anything.

  From the way Cenebrous was staring at him like he had seen a ghost, whatever expression he had been making had been particularly hideous. The old man straightened his dirty beard, flourishing the amusement he felt. Flecks of spittle narrowly missed Zayne’s shoulder.

  He refused to answer anything, marching onwards.

  But soon, the rock had finally finished forming, completely transformed from the fleshy base from earlier, complete with a crust of earthen plates that protected the creature’s insides like armour.

  And their small passageway opened into an enormous cavern.

  Naturally, it was anything but normal. The long, twisting edges, though rough and jagged, bore an unsettling symmetry, as if sculpted by something with a cruel sense of order. The plates of rock, far too smooth in some places and fractured in sharp, deliberate lines in others, reflected the dim glow from Zayne’s hand in eerie trails. More stalactites hung in rigid intervals, their forms unnervingly identical, like teeth in a maw forced into perfect alignment. The ground beneath their feet was no better—cracked in precise, almost calculated fractures, the gaps forming a network of veins that pulsed with a sickly luminescence.

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  And then, at the very heart of it all, a woman.

  She sat motionless, chains winding around her limbs like roots, digging into flesh that seemed untouched by decay yet devoid of life’s warmth. Her almond hair pooled around her in tangled strands, merging with the dried, crusted stains beneath her.

  Around her, dozens of corpses lay in chaotic arrangement, their twisted forms draped in ragged leather cloth ripped to shreds. Some were slumped against the walls, their faces frozen in silent screams. Others had fallen in grotesque contortions, limbs bent at angles that seemed physically impossible. The usual stench was replaced, reeking of something not quite rot, but something worse—a scent that had no right to exist, cloying and thick, burrowing into the lungs with every breath. Every single one of them were still bound.

  “Eternity be damned!” Cenebrous cursed, “How?”

  Zayne shared the same response, albeit far more muted. He glanced around, noticing the various other entrances, each an individual tunnel, all leading into this horrific nightmare as if it were a centrepiece made for exhibition.

  His throat curdled. What could have caused this? His gut screamed at him to run away, but there was nowhere to escape. There was no doubt in his head; these ‘champions’ had found the eternal peace that the shrine intended. That dark thought kept him in place.

  The old man strode forward, completely unaffected. They watched as he casually strolled past the dead bodies, and raised his staff towards the woman.

  “No, please, sir! Stop! She’s one of us.” for the first time, Cenebrous developed the smallest backbone, defending the lady, “A-and she may give us an explanation on what happened here.”

  He was the second to run headway next to the Flawed, leaving Zayne alone with his grim light. He was the second to run headway next to the Flawed, leaving Zayne alone with his grim light. Things were already shaping up to look worse than it already was. Instead of joining the other two, he hesitantly approached one of the dead.

  A horrified, misshapen head stared back up at him. It was easily the most sickening sight that he had ever seen. In front of him, he heard the noise of retching.

  But Zayne had to ignore the brutality of it, desperate to figure out what could have been the underlying cause. The long gash that parted the upper torso from one of its legs was enough to show its power.

  Severspawn were split into various classifications, still widely used for the creatures and Tainted that had taken their place. Though he had nearly died, the creature that he had killed had been weak, definitely no more than a Lesser Havoc. The weakest type out of them all. Whatever did this had strength that if he had to guess, rivalled most of the Nascent that swarmed the Great Houses’ forces. Zayne shivered.

  Things were already shaping up to look worse than it already was. Not wanting to waste too much time, he trudged over, watching as the old man allowed Cenebrous to shrug her awake.

  No response.

  The old man raised a clammy finger and pressed it against her neck. He nodded with enthusiasm, baiting Cenebrous’s sigh of relief. But try as they might, neither of them could get the woman to wake up.

  Pointing at the stone, the Flawed’s intentions were obvious. At least what he wanted Zayne to do. Why was less clear. There wasn’t a single selfless bone in the old man’s body, and so this raised an alarm bell.

  Zayne gave into the request, placing the stone onto the woman’s forehead, but didn’t think it would actually do anything.

  He was proved wrong. The mist coalesced outwards, and seeped into the woman’s grievous state, seeping shut her wounds at the cost of dimming. Unwilling to waste all of it, he pulled away as soon as she looked relatively fine.

  By relatively fine, the woman looked like she wouldn’t die the moment she was shrugged awake. Before that happened, Zayne made sure to check that there wasn’t anything valuable lying around.

  Looting the dead was wrong, but if something convenient happened to be on the floor, exceptions could be made. While Cenebrous gently placed a shaking hand on her shoulder, he picked up the only thing he saw.

  A small, black locket.

  There was no time to examine it, as this time, the lady’s eyes fluttered open.

  As soon as she came awake, she screamed. Her weakened, starved arms struggled, a black insanity driving her hopeless flailing, mouth forming shapeless words. Eventually, the ability to speak returned.

  “Ghouls! Accursed servants, return me, for I have justice to deal to your master. You cannot contain me. will never forgive you. Your monstrosity will never claim my soul!”

  “Miss, we have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Cenebrous put on a placating tone, an experience soothing his words, “Please calm down. We are bearers of the Mark of Destiny! Look, we mean you no harm.”

  Again, the fool’s stupidity backfired, eliciting a bulge of eyes.

  “You are tainted as well! May the goddess of Eternity purge your spirit, and…” her cry was reduced to mumbling, uttering what sounded like an eerie chant underneath her breath.

  Zayne shook his head in disgust.

  “At this rate, the creature that did this is gonna come back cause of the noise. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What? Zayne, friend, we cannot just leave her to die!” a horrible injustice crept into Cenebrous, like he was actually aggrieved at the suggestion, “Miss, please, just tell us what caused this travesty. What did the creature look like?”

  He received a look that made it seem like they were the lunatics.

  “You dare play with me, murderers? Your soft words won’t fix anything.”

  There was no way, “Are you saying we did this?”

  The enraged glare gave all the confirmation they needed. Zayne felt his annoyance rising, running his nails through his hair, and in his emotion didn’t react fast enough when the old man lurched towards his shirt. In a swift swipe, the pair of keys was snatched from his pockets.

  “What the hell? Give it back!” Zayne felt his frustration overtake him, rushing forward.

  He received a patient, ugly hand. The woman watched the exchange without ceasing her chant, still muttering curses on their heads, only to shut up as soon as the ugly wrinkled figure drew near.

  “Fiend! You-” a strong whip of the staff blinded the right side of her face, and she howled in pain, with a loud crack.

  “Sir! Wh-what are you doing, no, this…” Cenebrous had to dodge out of the way of a feigned strike, before the cruel beating continued.

  Zayne was left speechless. Even as Cenebrous looked at him with a plea in his eyes, and the shrieks were soon torn down into sobbing silence, he just stood there.

  He felt the need to do something. Use the last bit of power within the stone to knock the old man out, or at this point, just kill him. Again, the panicking young man tried to intervene, knocked away by a blur of twisting wood. But even as his morals screamed at him, he hesitated.

  Within the span of that hesitation, the old man released the chains, grabbed the limp arm of the woman and bound it around his own. Still grinning, he turned around and tossed the keys back at Zayne, motioning for them to move on.

  “Y-you…” the woman stumbled her words, still conscious, permanent fury etched onto her delicate, broken features.

  He didn’t blame her. Cenebrous looked like all the confidence and hope he had within him had been completely overhauled, lost in the horror of what the old man had done. Probably more lost in the fact that he had done nothing, and Zayne had let it happen. Raising his sword, the old man met Cenebrous’s movement with a quizzical twirl of his staff.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t do that for no reason.” he said finally.

  The old man shook his head, beckoning at the dead bodies and miming the shape of a creature, before pointing to her.

  “Well, there you go.”

  Cenebrous’s silence was condemnation enough.