Page 43 of Crowned In Venom

43

ANYA

T he dungeon is collapsing around us.

The walls tremble, cracking like the very bones of this cursed place are giving way. Dust and stone rain from the ceiling, filling the air with a choking haze.

Varkos is on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps, staring at the monstrous figure before him.

His father.

The revelation has shattered him.

The Varkos I know—the one who wields cruelty like a blade, the one who never flinches, never falters—is gone.

What’s left is a being crumbling under the weight of a truth he never wanted to face.

I don’t think.

I drop to my knees beside him, my arms wrapping around his trembling frame.

His body is stiff at first, as if he doesn’t know how to accept the comfort.

Then he shudders, his fingers curling into the fabric of my dress, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Behind us, the Matriarch unleashes her fury.

Magic erupts in the air, a violent, twisting storm of dark energy that rips through the dungeon.

With a crack, a massive slab of stone above us begins to fall.

I brace—knowing we won’t make it in time?—

A huge, grotesque hand slams against the rock, stopping it just before it crushes us.

A deep, guttural voice rumbles.

"Go."

The Matriarch snarls, her silver eyes ablaze.

"You think I will let you leave, you pathetic waste of flesh?" she hisses, raising her hands. Power crackles at her fingertips.

Then—

The monster moves.

A sickening, wet sound follows as it swings a massive limb?—

And slaps the Matriarch across the dungeon.

Her body flies through the air like a ragdoll, slamming into the stone wall with enough force to crack the foundation.

For the first time, I see something other than amusement in her eyes.

Shock.

For the first time, she was not the one holding the leash.

The monster turns back to us.

"You have to leave. Now."

Varkos finally pulls himself together, his breath unsteady. "Come with us."

The creature hesitates.

Its bulging, monstrous eyes flick toward the crumbling dungeon, toward the chaos it has unleashed.

Then, it shakes its head.

"There is only one way out. Follow me."

It turns, leading us through the crumbling ruin.

We run.

Varkos is injured, his body heavy with pain, but he pushes forward, refusing to slow.

I grab his hand, silent, steadying.

We weave through fallen pillars, through bodies of guards crushed under stone, through pools of blood that soak the ground.

Behind us—the Matriarch screams.

She is in pursuit.

She is losing control.

"RUN!"

The monster crashes through a hidden door, revealing a narrow tunnel carved into the depths of the fortress.

"Go."

But then?—

It stops.

The entrance is too small for its massive, distorted form.

It does not move to widen it.

It does not try to squeeze through.

It simply turns to block the entrance.

My stomach lurches.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

Varkos stumbles forward, grabbing onto his father.

"Make it bigger!" His voice is frantic, shaking. "You can fit—just move the stones, come with us!"

The monster does not move.

Instead, it smiles.

Or tries to.

The expression is twisted, ugly, barely recognizable as anything dark elf.

But there is warmth there.

"I am proud of you."

Varkos freezes.

His father reaches out, the massive, ruined hand brushing against his face.

"I love you, my son."

A lone tear falls from its disfigured eye.

Then—

With one final, monstrous effort?—

It brings the tunnel down.

Stone collapses.

The passage is sealed shut.

Varkos lunges forward, screaming, his hands clawing at the rubble, trying to rip it away.

"NO!"

I feel the moment he breaks.

The anguish in his voice?—

The raw, unfiltered pain.

"I CAN STILL SAVE HIM!"

His fingernails bleed as he digs into the debris, his entire body trembling.

I grab him.

"Varkos—"

He fights me at first, desperate, wild?—

Then his arms give out.

His forehead presses against the stone.

And he shakes.

I wrap my arms around him.

"We have to go."

His shoulders shudder violently.

"She—she took everything," he chokes. "She took everything from me."

I hold him tighter.

"Not everything."

Slowly—he turns to me.

His eyes are red, glassy, shattered.

His hands shake as they rise, touching my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.

"You," he breathes.

"You're the most important thing."

His voice wavers, breaking.

And my heart breaks with it.

He kisses me.

Soft.

Gentle.

Like he’s afraid I will disappear, too.

But I don’t.

I kiss him back, cradling his face, anchoring him, grounding him.

Because we are not gone.

Not yet.

Not ever.