Page 16 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

VERIK

The journey back to DarkHallow, back through the doorway I made, passes in tense silence, Lysithea’s divine radiance casting shadows that move independently of natural light.

Every step she takes leaves brief scorch marks in the stone, her new power bleeding through despite her attempts at control.

The Crown sits on her head like it belongs there, but I can see the strain in her posture as she fights to contain forces that could reshape continents.

We reach her room without encountering another creature, though several gargoyles along the way watch her closely as she passes. Even the academy’s ancient stones recognise what she’s become.

“Right,” I say, closing the door behind us and activating privacy wards that will hopefully contain any magical accidents. “We need a plan.”

“The grimoire expects me to prepare our realm for the great working,” Lysithea says, settling carefully into a chair that immediately sprouts stress fractures from her proximity. “It wants perfection as the template for remaking everything else.”

“So, we give it perfection,” Dathan says. “Just not the kind it’s expecting.”

I pace to the window, my mind already turning over possibilities. “A trap disguised as paradise. Something that looks exactly like what the grimoire wants but contains hidden flaws that will destroy it.”

“Can you build something like that?” Evren asks.

The question hits my professional pride like a challenge. Can I build a false paradise convincing enough to fool a god? Can I create architectural perfection with structural weaknesses so subtle they’ll escape divine notice until it’s too late?

“I can build anything,” I say, turning back to face them. “The question is whether I can build it well enough to fool something that old and diabolically powerful.”

Lysithea leans forward, and the chair crumbles beneath her. She catches herself with reflexes enhanced by divinity, but I can see the frustration in her silver-veined eyes. “What do you need from me?”

“The power of the Crown and your control,” I say bluntly. “If you can’t contain your power, the grimoire will know something’s wrong the moment it sees you.”

She nods, closing her eyes and drawing deep breaths. The wild energy crackling around her settles somewhat, though I can still feel it pressing against reality like pressure behind a dam.

“Better,” I say. “Now, let’s talk architecture.”

I grab a pen and paper from the desk, spreading the paper across the floor since all our furniture has become structurally unreliable.

Quick strokes bring the basic concept to life: a sub-realm built within our existing territory, beautiful enough to serve as the grimoire’s template but fundamentally flawed at the foundational level.

“The grimoire wants truth made manifest,” I explain, sketching load bearing supports that look solid but contain critical weaknesses. “So, we build it a realm from scratch. A completely blank canvas to copy and paste, as it were. Absolute honesty. No lies, no deception, no hidden complexity.”

“That sounds like what it actually wants,” Dathan points out.

“On the surface, yes. But architectural truth and philosophical truth are different things.” I add details to the sketch, showing how perfect geometric forms can hide fatal structural flaws. “The grimoire thinks in concepts. I think in materials and stresses and points of failure.”

Lysithea studies the plans, her enhanced perception catching details I haven’t even drawn yet. “You’re planning to build paradise as a house of cards.”

“Exactly. Beautiful, perfect, and designed to collapse the moment the wrong pressure is applied.”

I roll up the plans and head for the door. “We’ll need space. Somewhere I can reshape reality without destroying the academy.”

“The Ossuary Tower,” Lysithea suggests.

“Perfect.”

We head out of her room and towards the tower. We climb the spiral stairs in single file, Lysithea’s footsteps leaving brief flares of light in the stone. At the top, I spread my hands and feel for the chamber’s boundaries, the walls that separate this space from the rest of existence.

“Here,” I say, pressing my palms against the floor. “I’ll create a pocket dimension, anchor it to this room, but separate from the academy proper.”

Lysithea kneels beside me, her divine power responding to my call. The moment our magic touches, reality bends. Not the violent tearing I’m used to, but something more like sculpting. As if the universe recognises her authority and reshapes itself according to our combined will.

“Focus on the foundation first,” I tell her, guiding her energy through my architectural instincts. “Think of it like laying the cornerstone of a building.”

Her power flows through me like liquid fire, but controlled now, directed by my knowledge of stress and strain and structural integrity. I reach out with my magic and carve space from nothingness, creating a bubble of reality that exists adjacent to the chamber but separate from it.

The foundation comes first. I visualise crystalline bedrock shot through with veins of precious metals, each layer perfectly formed but containing microscopic fractures that will spread under the right conditions.

Lysithea’s divine energy pours into the design, making the abstract real with frightening ease.

“More power,” I say, sweat beading on my forehead from the effort of controlling such massive forces. “I need to set the ley lines.”

She nods, the Crown flaring as she draws deeper on her newfound abilities. Energy flows between us in a torrent that would have killed me days ago. Now it feeds my hellfire heritage, amplifying my natural connection to the building arts until I can reshape matter like clay.

The ley lines snap into place one by one, channels of power that will feed the realm’s magical infrastructure.

But I build flaws into each connection, tiny inconsistencies that will cascade into total failure when triggered.

To casual observation, they’ll appear as normal variations in magical flow.

Only someone who built it with my expertise would recognise them as carefully crafted weaknesses.

“The landscape now,” I say, my voice strained from channelling so much power. “Rolling hills, perfect meadows, crystal streams.”

Lysithea’s energy responds, earth rising from the crystalline foundation in gentle curves that please the eye. But I guide every contour, ensuring that the hills rest on fault lines and the streams follow courses that will undermine their own banks when the time comes.

“It’s beautiful,” Lysithea murmurs.

Even knowing every hidden flaw I’m building into its structure, the realm is a work of art. Each element exists in perfect harmony with every other, creating a landscape that speaks to something deep in the soul.

“Trees now,” I say, sweat dripping onto the chamber floor. “Perfect specimens, optimal placement for maximum visual impact.”

Lysithea’s power reaches out again, and forests bloom across the rolling hills.

Every tree exactly the right height, every branch positioned for ideal growth, every root system designed to anchor the soil and prevent erosion.

Except the roots also burrow into the fault lines I’ve hidden in the bedrock, ready to shift and tear when the foundation fails.

“How much more?” she asks, her voice showing the strain of channelling divine forces with such precision.

“Buildings,” I reply, wiping sweat from my eyes. “A city worthy of gods but built on sand.”

The structures rise from the landscape like flowers blooming in fast motion. Towers of crystal and metal that spiral toward perfect proportions. Graceful bridges that span impossible distances with pure elegance. Gardens where every plant exists in an ideal relationship to its neighbours.

But every joint contains a flaw. Every support beam balances on the edge of catastrophic failure. Every foundation stone rests on precisely calculated stress points that will shatter under the right magical frequency.

“It’s magnificent,” Lysithea whispers, staring at our creation through the dimensional portal.

“It’s a lie,” I correct, though I can’t keep the pride from my voice. “The most beautiful lie I’ve ever built.”

“What about defences? The grimoire might test the construction,” Dathan murmurs in awe.

“Good point,” I say, gesturing for him to add his power to ours. “Layer your magic through the structure. Make it feel solid, stable, eternal.”

His darkness weaves through my architecture like smoke through stone, creating false readings that will confuse any attempt at analysis. The realm’s hidden weaknesses disappear behind veils of nightmare that suggest strength instead of fragility.

Evren adds his own contribution, death magic flowing through the ley lines to create the sensation of ancient stability. To any observer, the realm will feel like it’s existed for millennia instead of hours.

“The self-destruct mechanisms,” I say, approaching the most delicate part of the construction. “Hidden triggers throughout the foundation, ready to cascade when activated.”

I trace patterns through the realm’s structure, creating a network of failure points that will collapse in sequence when triggered. The cascading destruction will look natural, like the realm simply couldn’t contain the forces being channelled through it.

“How do we trigger it?” Lysithea asks.

I show her the focal point, a single stress node buried deep in the crystalline foundation. “One precise strike there, and the whole thing comes apart like a set of lined-up dominoes. Once one falls, the rest follow.”

She nods, memorising the location with divine perception that sees through every layer of reality. “And the grimoire?”

“Will be caught in the centre when it all collapses,” I finish. “Trapped in a pocket dimension that’s destroying itself from within.”

We work through the night, adding final touches and refinements. Every detail perfect, every flaw hidden, every weakness disguised as strength. The realm that emerges is a masterpiece of deceptive engineering, beautiful enough to fool gods and fragile enough to shatter at a whisper.

“It’s ready,” I say finally, stepping back from the dimensional portal. “As ready as I can make it.”

Lysithea nods, the Crown casting strange light patterns across her features. “Then in a couple of days, we find out if paradise can kill a god.”

I stare out at the false realm, this trap disguised as perfection, and pray to whatever architects worship that my skills are enough. That one night of frantic construction can fool something that has existed since the dawn of creation.

The grimoire expects a template for remaking existence. We’re giving it a beautiful lie wrapped around a core of destruction.

Time to see which proves stronger: divine wisdom or hellfire engineering.