Page 19

We reach a large chamber sealed by an iron gate. Intricate symbols cover the metal bars, swirling into a central motif of fanged serpents. Malphas rests a clawed hand on the gate, and a pulse of black flame ignites around his palm. The gate groans open.

Beyond it lies a cavernous space lit only by swirling motes of violet light.

The floor appears uneven, partly natural stone, partly shaped by demonic architecture.

Pillars, jagged and dripping with black icor, stretch toward a ceiling wreathed in gloom.

My eyes dart around, trying to make sense of the shifting shapes.

“The Gauntlet,” Malphas says, voice echoing. “I constructed it to deter trespassers who might’ve discovered my fortress. Only a few of my lesser demons dare enter. None of them can pass the illusions’ final barrier unless I will it. You, however…will face them at reduced intensity.”

He gestures, and a swirl of chaos magic surges through the chamber. My skin prickles. The motes of violet light spiral downward, clustering at the far end to form a nebulous gateway.

“How does this work?” I murmur, forcing myself to speak despite my churning gut.

“You walk. The illusions reshape reality to test your mind and reflexes. If you falter or succumb to fear, they’ll trap you in nightmares or conjure illusions that could shred your sanity.” His gaze drifts over me. “I’ll intervene before you’re permanently damaged—assuming you don’t give up.”

I exhale shakily. “What’s the point?”

His lips curl in a sardonic grin. “Consider it training. Or an initiation into my world.” He steps back, crossing his massive arms. “Begin. Show me you can endure.”

A warning prickle crawls up my spine. Then, with a final swallow, I step forward. The moment I move, the violet motes swirl around me like a swarm of glowing fireflies. The darkness beyond the pillars ripples, and faint whispers tickle my ears.

Each step feels heavier. My boots scrape on stone that seems to shift underfoot.

A swirl of shapes coalesces to my left—a flicker of robed elves, brandishing whips, sneering.

I catch a glimpse of the Northern Estate’s corridors, the sting of a lash across my back.

My breath stutters. Illusions, illusions, I remind myself.

I refuse to shrink away. Instead, I bare my teeth at the phantom elves. “You don’t scare me,” I snarl. My voice echoes off the pillars. The robed figures laugh, dissolving into black mist.

A hiss from my right makes me pivot. A Trolvor leaps from behind a stalagmite, jaws snapping for my throat.

I bring up the dagger—only to realize at the last second that its body flickers like a mirage.

Its claws pass through me without contact, yet my heart still lurches.

The Trolvor fades, leaving me trembling.

Behind me, Malphas watches, arms still folded. His silhouette looms in the gloom, horns like twin daggers slicing up from his skull. I sense his scrutiny, but not his interference. He wants to see how far I’ll go alone.

Gritting my teeth, I continue forward. The illusions intensify, warping the chamber into a kaleidoscope of horrors.

Sometimes I see swirling black tentacles slithering across the floor, reaching for my ankles.

They vanish the moment I slash at them. Other times, I see a warped reflection of myself, battered and caged.

That image is more disturbing than the monsters.

Each vision attempts to sap my courage, but I push on, sweat beading my brow. I won’t be undone by illusions. I survived real torture. This is smoke and mirrors. Yet the illusions feel distressingly real, the air thick with malevolence.

Suddenly, the floor cracks beneath me. My stomach flips as I plummet into a chasm. My scream ricochets off unseen walls. Wind whips past, the darkness yawning infinite. Not real, not real…

I slam onto solid ground that wasn’t there a second ago.

My knees jar from the impact, but there’s no bone-snapping pain.

I scramble to my feet, pulse pounding. The chasm is gone, replaced by flickering shapes that circle me—helpless humans.

Children from Lowtown. They cry out, faces contorted in terror, arms outstretched.

“Help us,” they plead, voices echoing. “Help us—” Their forms twist into shapeless lumps, half-human, half something monstrous, melting into sludge.

I gag, horror clenching my throat. The illusions feed on my guilt and memories.

My mind spins, trying to cling to logic.

I backpedal, stepping into something warm and sticky.

Looking down, I see a swirl of crimson liquid.

Blood. A wave of revulsion hits me. The illusions want me to freeze, to succumb.

“Enough,” I hiss, staggering forward. Each step feels like trudging through viscous fluid. I blink rapidly, focusing on the faint glow of the real floor beneath this nightmarish overlay. “You’re not real,” I bark, voice shaking. “I won’t let you control me.”

Somehow, the illusions recede. The sticky blood dissipates into a swirl of black smoke, and the dissolving forms vanish.

My chest heaves. For a moment, I don’t move, needing to steady my breathing.

Then I glimpse movement ahead—a swirling vortex of violet motes, probably the final barrier Malphas mentioned.

Drawing a shaky breath, I press on. The swirling lights intensify, forming a shimmering wall.

A deep hum resonates, stirring the runes that line the pillars.

I lift my dagger, not sure it’ll help. As I approach, an even greater wave of dread slams into me, almost physical in its force.

My skin prickles with goosebumps. I sense a presence behind that barrier—something that hungers for fear.

My mind conjures the darkest memory I possess, the moment I was chosen as a sacrifice, pinned to the altar, waiting for a demon to devour me.

This time, the memory warps, twisting into the image of a monstrous, looming silhouette.

Its horns stretch impossibly far, eyes glowing with black fire.

My throat constricts. Malphas…or a corrupted version of him.

Fear ignites in my veins, but I bite it back.

The silhouette roars, brandishing claws as tall as I am. I can’t outrun it. So I square my shoulders, forcing the memory to flicker. “I’ve already faced you,” I whisper to the phantom. “And I survived.”

I step forward, defying the silhouette. My dagger trembles in my hand, but I move relentlessly, heart hammering.

The figure snarls, lunging with shadowy talons—only to pass through me like smoke.

I keep walking, passing through the swirling barrier of violet lights.

A burst of cold air envelops me, prickling every inch of my skin. I stagger out the other side.

I stand in the original cavern, the illusions stripped away. The pillars remain, but they’re no longer monstrous. Faint arcs of runic power fade into the gloom, receding like an ebb tide.

Suddenly, I realize I’m drenched in sweat. My chest burns with each ragged breath. My vision swims. I steady myself, gripping a stalagmite. Footsteps echo. Malphas steps into the clearing, crossing the chamber with predatory grace.

Our eyes lock. He cocks his head, an unreadable expression in his molten gaze. “You made it,” he says, voice quieter than I expect.

I want to snap a retort— Of course I did —but I’m too drained. Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat, attempting to sound steadier than I feel. “Was that supposed to scare me off?”

He exhales, wings shifting in a slow ripple. “It was meant to test your limits. And your resolve.”

I let out a harsh laugh, more a bark than anything. “Well, you have your answer.”

Silence settles between us. Then he lifts a hand, palm up, chaos flame dancing at his fingertips. It’s subdued, not an attack. The swirling black tendrils reflect against the glossy stone, casting eerie patterns. “This flame reveals how close you came to succumbing. Let’s see…”

The flame flickers, forming a faint image—a silhouette of me enduring the illusions. My posture staggers, my face contorted, but I persist. The flames settle into an ember, flickering out. Malphas’ lips curl in what might be grudging admiration.

“You’re either stubborn enough to kill yourself, or you have a resilience I rarely see,” he remarks.

I prop my hands on my hips, still breathless. “Which is it?”

His expression shifts, frustration and fascination mingling. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He steps closer, near enough that I catch the heat radiating from his massive frame. His horns nearly brush the overhead stalactites. I notice fresh tension in the set of his shoulders, as if he’s grappling with an impulse he can’t name.

“You said you wanted to roam my fortress,” he murmurs. “Fine. You’ve proven you can handle some illusions.” He lifts a clawed finger in warning. “That doesn’t mean you have free rein to poke around every warded chamber. If you run into something dangerous, I’m not guaranteeing another rescue.”

Part of me bristles—he calls that illusions “some illusions”? But I nod, forcing an air of casualness. “I’ll watch my step. And…thanks for not letting them tear my mind apart.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, swiftly replaced by a haughty tilt of his head. “Don’t misunderstand. I merely want you intact for our goals. Your demise in there would have been inconvenient.”

I roll my eyes. Of course. My shoulders slump with exhaustion, tension draining from my limbs. “So, is that it for my ‘test’? Or is there more?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “Oh, you’ve only tasted the fortress’s amusements. There’s plenty more here to break or shape you. Perhaps next time, we’ll see how you fare against real foes, not illusions.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not a toy for your amusement.”

“Then stop being so entertaining,” he retorts, a spark of dark humor in his crimson gaze.