Page 37 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

DATHAN

“So,” I say, forcing my attention back to the immediate problem and not worrying about Lysithea being alone at DarkHallow. “How many rebel demons do you reckon are still hiding in the lower levels, plotting your untimely demise?”

Verik’s expression darkens. “Enough to be a nuisance. We find them and annihilate them.”

I crack my knuckles, feeling nightmare magic coil around my fingers like eager serpents. This is what I do best. Finding people who don’t want to be found, dragging their worst fears out of the darkness, and watching them break. “Evren, you want in on this?”

He’s standing by the window, watching the rivers of lava flow past. When he turns, there’s something different in his expression. Sharper. More present. Like he was before he died.

“Yes,” he says simply. “I need to understand the layout of this realm anyway. Might as well do it while clearing out vermin.”

Verik nods, satisfied. “The lower levels are a maze. My father designed them that way deliberately, to confuse invaders. But I grew up here. I know every passage, every hidden chamber.”

“Then lead on, Your Majesty,” I say with an exaggerated bow.

He glares at me. “Call me that again and I’ll melt your tongue.”

I give him the finger, and we leave the throne room, descending through hallways that grow hotter with each level.

The architecture shifts from grand and imposing to functional and brutal.

These lower levels weren’t designed for aesthetics.

They were designed to trap and kill anything that made it this far.

The heat is intense enough that sweat runs down my spine in rivulets. My nightmare magic doesn’t care about temperature, but my physical body sure as fuck does. Evren seems unbothered, moving with the same fluidity he’s always had.

We emerge into a massive cavern, the ceiling lost in shadow. Molten rock flows through channels carved into the floor, providing the only light. The air shimmers with heat distortion.

“This is the central hub,” Verik says quietly. “Six passages branch off from here, leading deeper into the complex. They could be in any of them.”

“Or all of them,” Evren observes.

“That means you’re up, Harbinger. Doom or not, this is your wheelhouse. Can you flush the fuckers out?”

I look at Evren, who’s already closed his eyes.

His eyes snap open suddenly, but they’re not the ice blue I’m used to. They’re completely white.

“I can see them. Seven demons scattered through the passages, looking for ways out. They’re taking the eastern tunnels.”

“Eastern. That leads out via the kitchens.”

“At least they’re leaving,” I point out. “Could be worse. They could be trying to regroup.”

“True,” Verik agrees. “But if they are alive, they can regroup outside.”

“Also, true. Let’s go.”

We move towards the eastern tunnels. The heat intensifies until I’m pretty sure my eyebrows are going to catch fire. Verik leads the way with hellfire dancing between his fingers, providing additional light beyond the molten channels.

I let my nightmare magic spread out ahead of us, tendrils of darkness that probe for consciousness, for fear, for any hint of the demons Evren saw. It’s like fishing in deep water, waiting for something to bite.

There. A flicker of terror, sharp and metallic on my tongue. Someone knows we’re coming.

“Got one,” I murmur.

Verik nods and picks up the pace. We round a corner, and I see a smaller demon, nothing like the warriors we faced in the throne room.

His eyes widen when he sees us. Pure, beautiful terror floods through him, and I drink it in like fine wine.

“Please,” he stammers. “I didn’t want to fight. They made me?—”

“Where are the others?” Verik cuts him off, his voice cold.

The demon’s mouth works, but no sound comes out. His fear is choking him.

I step forward, letting my magic coil around him.

Not hurting, simply suggesting. “What happens if you don’t cooperate?

” I whisper, letting the shadows show him possibilities.

His own death, slow and painful. His friends dying first, making him watch.

Being trapped in an endless loop of his worst memories.

He breaks immediately, words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “They’re meeting in the tunnel beyond the kitchen. Planning to escape through the waste chutes to the outer walls.”

“How many?” Verik demands.

“Six. Maybe seven. I don’t know, I swear I don’t know?—”

Verik raises a hand, and the demon dissolves into ash before he can finish the sentence. Nothing remains but a smudge on the stone floor.

“Waste of time,” Verik mutters, already moving forward. “We already knew that anyway.”

I follow, still tasting the demon’s terror on my tongue. It’s addictive, this power. The way fear bends reality to my will, makes people see whatever I want them to see. Since coming back from death, it feels sharper. Cleaner. Like dying stripped away some barrier I didn’t know existed.

We reach the kitchen. The heat here is unbearable, waves of it that make the air shimmer and dance.

Beyond the kitchen, a narrow passage leads to where we expect to find the remaining rebels.

I let my nightmare magic seep ahead into that passage, searching for minds to latch onto. The darkness coils through the space like smoke, tasting the air for consciousness.

Six remaining distinct flavours of fear hit my senses. They’re huddled together in the tunnel.

“They’re about fifty metres ahead,” Evren says. “Clustered together near what looks like a junction point.”

“The waste chutes,” Verik confirms. “Three vertical shafts that drop to the exterior walls. They’re planning to slide down and scatter into the wastelands.”

“Not if we can help it,” I growl and surge forward.

The quicker this is over with, the quicker I can go back to worrying about Lysithea alone at DarkHallow and wondering if we made a mistake letting her go alone.

I push my nightmare magic harder into that tunnel, flooding it with terror.

Each demon gets their own custom nightmare, tailored to whatever lurks in the darkest corners of their minds.

Their screams echo through the passage, bouncing off stone walls until the sound becomes a symphony of pure fear. I feed on it, letting their terror strengthen my magic in ways that feel intoxicating.

We round the corner to find them scattered across the tunnel floor, clawing at their own faces, trying to escape nightmares that exist only in their minds.

Verik doesn’t hesitate. Hellfire erupts from his hands in controlled bursts, reducing each demon to ash.

“That’s all of them,” Evren says, his eyes fading back to their normal ice blue.

“Good. Now we let my people know I’m back and they can either serve their rightful master or die trying to form another rebellion.”

“Is it always like this here?” I ask.

Verik snorts. “A lot of the time. Demons are an unruly and ambitious bunch. Most don’t make it past the planning stages. Zarthus was different. He was too close. Never again.”

I turn from the pile of ash that used to be the last rebel, wiping sweat from my forehead. The heat down here is fucking unbearable. Give me DarkHallow’s eternal night over this molten hellscape any day.

“So, what now?” I ask Verik. “You going to gather all your loyal subjects and give them a rousing speech about unity and loyalty?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs. “I don’t do speeches. Word will have spread already that the prince is back.”

“You mean king,” I point out with a laugh.

“They’ll either fall in line or die trying to leave,” Verik continues, ignoring me. “The ones who matter already know what happened to Zarthus. That’s the only speech they need.”

“Brutal,” Evren observes, though there’s no judgement in his tone. “Efficient.”

“This is a hell realm,” Verik says, leading us back through the kitchen towards the upper levels. “Efficiency is survival. Mercy is weakness. My father forgot that, let his guard down, and trusted the wrong demons. I won’t make the same mistake.”

We climb through the maze of corridors, the heat gradually decreasing as we ascend.

My magic still hums beneath my skin, satisfied from the feeding.

I can feel the Soul Scar pulsing against my skin, a constant reminder that Lysithea is still connected to us even when she’s not here.

The bond carries her presence like an echo, faint but persistent.

“You’re worried about her,” Evren says as we reach the main level.

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes. But worrying won’t change anything. She’s capable of handling herself.”

“I know that.” I do know it. Watched her fight a god that tried to unmake reality. She gave up godhood rather than lose herself to divine power. She’s the strongest creature I know, and that’s saying something considering the company I keep.

But I still don’t like her being alone at DarkHallow without us.

Verik leads us to a floor of the palace that appears to house bedrooms. He strides to the one at the far end and shoves the double doors open with a flourish.

The room beyond is magnificent. Clearly, the monarch’s bedroom.

I whistle low, taking in the massive four-poster bed carved from black volcanic rock, the walls lined with weapons that glow faintly with enchantments, and the balcony overlooking the entire realm. “Nice digs.”

“It was my parents’,” Verik says, moving to the balcony doors and throwing them open. Hot air rushes in, carrying the smell of sulphur and ash. “Now it’s mine.”

“Ours,” I correct, dropping onto the bed without invitation. The mattress is surprisingly comfortable despite the rock frame. “I’m not sleeping without Lysithea next to me.”

“Me either,” Evren says.

Verik walks out onto a massive balcony that overlooks the realm. I climb off the bed and join him, seeing what wasn’t visible on our way in. A huge city and more beyond fill the landscape. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

“Wow.”

The reality of it hits me then. This is home now. Not DarkHallow with its eternal night and gothic architecture, but this place of fire and stone. Lysithea will come and go, splitting her time between her education and ruling beside Verik, but Evren and I are staying.

I feel like I’ve finally found a place where I can… live.