Page 47 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

VERIK

The silver lines on the floor are fucking tripwires.

They blaze with a searing white light, a cage of pure energy snapping into existence around us. The walls pulse, the silver lines shifting, rearranging the geometry of the room. Shadows peel away from the walls. They are old. Hungry. Guardians.

They coalesce into sleek, panther-like beasts with too many legs and eyes of burning silver that mirror the lines on the floor.

I snarl, slamming my hand on the ground. The stone floor ripples, a wave of solid rock rising to intercept the first beast. It leaps, claws extended, and smashes through my wall like it’s wet paper.

Okay, so they’re tough. Noted.

Dathan is already in his element. A wave of pure nightmare slams into the pack, and two of the shadow beasts scream, a sound like tearing metal, as their own fears turn on them. But more keep coming, pouring from the walls.

Evren brings a blade of pure ice to his hand. He sidesteps a lunging creature and drives the shard into its flank. The beast dissolves with a hiss, but another takes its place instantly.

This isn’t a fight. It’s a fucking meat grinder.

Lysithea lets out a hum that is visible in the frozen air.

It doesn’t even make the guardians flicker.

Her voice, the one that shatters laws and breaks worlds, does nothing. Fucking fantastic.

“It’s a system!” I roar over the snarling. “We’re not fighting the beasts, we’re fighting the room!”

Dathan gets it instantly. He stops throwing nightmares at the creatures and aims for the walls, his power a corrosive acid that tries to eat away at the source. It’s not working fast enough.

I drop to one knee, ignoring the claw that rips across my back, tearing through my jacket and skin. I slam my palm flat against the silver web on the floor.

Instead of brute force, I use architecture. I feel the flow of magic, the intricate schematic of the trap. It’s a closed circuit, feeding on the darkness, regenerating the guardians. I don’t try to break it. I hijack it.

Hellfire pours from my hand as a virus. It infects the silver lines, flowing backwards, corrupting the code.

The lines on the floor flicker, turning from silver to a sickly, molten orange. The beasts stutter, their forms glitching. One dissolves mid-lunge, its silver eyes winking out.

“Keep going!” Lysithea yells, her voice now a focused note that reinforces my magic, a shield against the room’s backlash.

The entire chamber screams, a high-pitched shriek of failing systems. The silver web overloads, and with a final, blinding flash, the cage shatters. The remaining guardians dissolve into oily smoke.

Silence.

Then the floor drops out from under us. Again.

The fall rips through my guts. My stomach relocates somewhere around my throat as we plummet through absolute darkness. But my mind catalogues every detail. The shaft we’re dropping through has perfect symmetry. The walls curve inward at precise angles. This descent was designed. Planned. Built.

“Hold on!” I shout out, slamming my palms together.

Hellfire erupts beneath us, a platform of solid flame that catches our fall.

The impact jars my bones, but we’re alive.

Lysithea gasps, her hands gripping my jacket.

Dathan definitely swears creatively in three languages, none of which I understand.

Evren’s ice magic crystallises around us, holding us steady.

For exactly three seconds, before something massive slams into the platform from below.

We drop again. The thing that hit us rises past the edges of my crumbling hellfire construct. It’s a sphere of black stone covered in runes that glow violently violet. A guardian. A fucking big one.

“Incoming!” Dathan shouts.

More spheres rise from the depths. Dozens of them. They orbit around us in perfect formations as we fall. The runes on their surfaces flare, and beams of concentrated magic lance through the air. I twist the hellfire platform, banking hard to avoid the barrage.

The beams carve through solid stone like it’s butter. Whatever these things are, I don’t want them touching us.

I rebuild the platform, pouring more power into its structure. The hellfire spreads, becoming a disc twenty metres across. Room to manoeuvre. The spheres adjust their attack patterns, anticipating my movements. They’re learning.

“The walls!” I shout over the roar of combat magic. “Look at the walls!”

Carved reliefs flow past as we plummet. Scenes of construction. Ancient figures wielding tools that reshape reality. The deeper we go, the more elaborate the carvings become. It’s a chronicle. A record of something being built.

Everything above the Sovereign Forge, every chamber, every test, every trial, are all components of one massive architectural project. We’re falling through the layers of the most complex magical construct ever created.

My hellfire responds to the realisation, flaring brighter. The power flowing through the walls recognises my architect’s soul. It’s trying to teach me. Show me the blueprints.

A sphere dives at Lysithea. I pivot the platform, bringing my hellfire up in a protective wall. The guardian’s beam hits the flame and refracts, splitting into harmless sparks. The runes on its surface dim. They’re not invincible. They’re just following their programming.

“Evren!” I bark. “Can you map their patrol routes?”

He nods, his eyes tracking the spheres’ movements. Ice spreads from his position, creating markers in the air. Lines of frozen light that show the guardians’ paths. They’re following geometric patterns. Predictable ones.

I adjust our descent, threading the platform between the patrol routes. The spheres fire, but their beams pass harmlessly around us. We’re surfing their blind spots.

The carved walls change again. The figures in the reliefs wear crowns. Power radiates from the stone carvings, making my hellfire sing in harmony. This is where it was meant to be forged. Where others tried and failed.

The pressure builds in my skull. We’re going deeper than anyone should. The magical density down here could crush a normal person’s mind. But my hellfire thrives on it. Every breath feeds the flames in my veins.

“How much further?” Lysithea gasps.

“Close,” I grunt, though I have no bloody idea. The sense that is guiding me insists we’re approaching something massive. Something that’s been waiting.

The spheres suddenly stop their attack. They hover in perfect formation, their runes shifting from green to deep red. A new pattern emerges on their surfaces. Warning runes.

“That’s not good,” Dathan mutters.

The walls around us shudder. The entire shaft rotates, ancient mechanisms grinding into motion. The carved reliefs blur past at increasing speed. We’re in a centrifuge now, designed to crush anything that makes it this far.

I pour more power into the platform, reinforcing its structure against the crushing forces. My hellfire spreads across the walls, seeking purchase. The ancient stone accepts it, welcoming the flame home. The carvings glow where my power touches them. They’re coming alive.

The figures in the reliefs turn their heads. Stone eyes track our descent. Carved mouths open in silent screams or warnings. The entire history of this place watches us fall towards its heart.

“Something’s coming!” Dathan shouts, pointing upward.

Shapes dive through the shaft above us. Winged figures trailing shadow and malice. We helped them breach the defences protecting this place. Their magic lances down at us, beams of pure destruction that shatter my hellfire constructs faster than I can rebuild them.

I split my attention. Half my power maintains the platform. The other half fights back, sending columns of flame up the shaft. The winged attackers scatter, regrouping for another assault.

The centrifuge spins harder. The pressure threatens to liquify my bones. But the hellfire in my veins burns brighter than ever. The proximity to whatever lies below feeds it, makes it stronger. My instincts scream that we’re almost there.

The shaft ends abruptly. We burst through a membrane of pure energy into a vast antechamber. The platform hits solid ground and shatters, hellfire splashing across ancient flagstones like spilt liquid starlight.

I roll, coming up in a crouch. The chamber around us defies comprehension. Pillars stretch up into shadow, each one carved from a single piece of bloodstone. The floor is a mosaic of precious metals arranged in patterns that hurt my eyes. But what draws my attention are the walls.

They’re covered in architectural blueprints, etched in lines of silver fire. Schematics for the Sovereign Forge itself. My soul drinks in the knowledge, understanding flooding through me.

The Midnight Spire. We are so fucking close to the Forge, I can taste it.

The opposition forces crash through the energy membrane above us. Their leader—a figure wreathed in shadow and wearing a crown of bone—descends on wings of tattered night.

“Too late,” the figure hisses. “She’s already ours.”

I turn to look at Lysithea. The corruption racing through her veins pulses in perfect synchronisation with something below us. Something massive. Something hungry.

The Sovereign Forge knows she’s here. And it’s calling her home.