Then it stopped.
The rumbling.
The shaking.
Everything stood still.
Aside from a few stones and broken frames that tumbled to the ground, nothing else happened. Silence hung thick in the air.
We stood frozen in place.
Lucien held his sword tight, getting ready for whatever was next.
Mira's grip on me tightened. She patted my back faster now.
Then Charlotte broke the silence.
"Fuck—pardon my language, Lord Lucien," she said, exhaling sharply. "It seems the relics I had in my possession have… suddenly ceased to exist."
Lucien frowned, "What do you mean?"
Charlotte's voice was unsteady. "I honestly don't know. When the relic pulsed, everything started going haywire. Some kind of dark energy started to burst. And after that, I—" she hesitated, "—I couldn't find the relic anymore. It just vanished."
Lucien sighed. A slow, heavy breath.
Mira spoke next. "So... what do we do now?"
She scanned the chamber. "There doesn't seem to be a passage or any opening."
She then turned to the direction of the door, the one we'd entered through. Her eyes narrowed.
"Ugh, great. Looks like the door went with the relic. We're basically trapped."
She looked to Lucien. "Any suggestions?"
He didn't meet her gaze. "I'm thinking."
She pressed him. "Thinking about what?"
Lucien stayed silent.
The tension built. Then Charlotte cut in again, voice gentler.
"My lady, perhaps we should check the table and chairs. They might connect to some hidden mechanism, a passage, maybe."
With that, Mira simply moved towards the old table, Charlotte by her side.
Lucien followed, silent but alert, helping inspect the furniture.
They began pulling at the chairs, tapping the wood, searching for loose panels, levers. Basically anything that could open a path. But nothing moved.
"Futile."
The word slipped through the stillness like a blade.
A soft, sinister voice.
Mira gasped— a low scream.
Everyone turned, eyes scanning for the source.
Lucien immediately raised his sword. Charlotte mirrored him, despite her injuries.
Their gazes fell upon the far side of the chamber.
A child stood there.
Eyes, slitted and reptilian, glimmered in the dark.
"Wha—what are you?" Charlotte asked.
The child's reptilian eyes shimmered. "That's pretty mean, don't you think?" he replied calmly.
"To call a living, breathing piece of flesh a thing."
He shifted his gaze towarde me, still in Mira's arms, and smirked.
"The unfortunate one… How tragic. Barely seen the world, and already doomed."
Mira's arms tightened around me like a shield.
"SHUT UP!" she screamed.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! He's not going to die! I won't let him—"
"You won't let him what?" the child cut in, voice still infuriatingly calm.
"Heroic declarations don't rewrite fate."
Mira didn't answer, she couldn't.
He laughed, light and mocking.
"That's what I thought. You want to believe you have power. That love and fury alone can rewrite the ending."
A pause
"But you don't. Not here. Not in this place."
Charlotte's hand hovered near her side, hesitating.
"Who are you to say what our fates are?" she demanded.
The boy grinned wider, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth.
"Oh… denial looks good on you. But that's the fun part"
He pointed to the cracks in the chamber floor.
"This place has already decided your worth. And your end."
He took a slow step forward, and the air grew heavier.
"The Redthorns met their end in this same sanctum," he whispered, eyes glinting.
"Some fought the Call, brave, yes—but foolish."
Another step.
"Some dropped to their knees, offering themselves to the darkness like cattle. Pathetic."
His voice sharpened.
"Others ran. Their screams still echo here, if you listen close."
He paused to smile again, but there was no warmth behind it.
"And then there were those who tried to cheat it. They sought out the Crimson Tail, hoping it would grant them dominion over death."
A low chuckle escaped his throat.
"They thought themselves clever. But death… is a stubborn thing."
"It all ends the same."
"Death."
"Unchanging. Unyielding. Unavoidable."
And with that, Lucien moved.
A blur.
One moment he was beside us and the next, he was gone.
A crack of displaced air followed.
The child's grin hadn't even faded before it was severed from his body.
A clean beheading.
No scream. No resistance. No time to react.
The boy's head hit the floor with a dull thud, his body collapsing like a puppet with. A faint hiss, like air escaping a corpse, slithered through the chamber. Then — silence.
Lucien stood there, sword still outstretched, dripping with a thin line of blood.
He turned.
"Let's continue," he said coldly, sheathing the blade with precision.
"We can't be wasting time with uncertainties."
Mira was still breathing heavily, her arms still around me, but her eyes followed Lucien as he walked back.
"Are you sure that was the right call?" she asked cautiously, her voice steady but laced with unease.
Lucien didn't stop moving. He didn't even look back.
"Who knows."
That was all he said — before stepping past the child's crumpled form as if it were nothing more than dust.
As Charlotte led the way to continue our inspection, we heard a sound from behind.
Wet. Slithering.
Soft at first—like something dragging across stone.
Charlotte stopped mid-step. Her eyes widened.
"Lord Lucien—"
The child's body twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then it moved.
A slow, shuddering motion.
Its arms stiffened and jerked upward as if being yanked. The legs followed, snapping into a standing position with a grotesque rigidity. The neck bubbled at the top.
From that bubbling mass, something pushed through.
Skin stretched and split.
Teeth emerged first. Then a jaw.
Bone knit over soft muscle as a skull took form, piece by piece.
Eyes—those same slitted, reptilian ones, slid open before the sockets had fully formed.
Within seconds, the child's head was whole again. His mouth curved into a smile, lips wet.
Mira held me tighter, trembling.
"What's going on?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone. Her voice was tight with panic.
Lucien didn't respond.
His eyes narrowed, studying the child—particularly the seam at his neck, still glistening faintly with leftover blood.
His voice, when it came, was low.
"…That's rude, you know."
Lucien raised his sword again. Charlotte followed suit, her stance sharp, ready.
The child tilted his head with exaggerated offense.
"To interrupt me while I'm talking… I'm kinda hurt," he said, feigning a pout.
He wiped a streak of blood from his neck with his hand and flicked it onto the floor.
Then, with a smile:
"Let's try that again, shall we?"
And with no warning, the child vanished from sight.
Thud.
Lucien's breath caught as a fist sank deep into his gut. His body rocketed backward, crashing through the air and slamming against the wall with a sharp crack. The table in between splintered as he passed over it. He hit the ground on his feet, teeth clenched, not making a sound.
But before he could raise his sword—smash—another punch struck him across the face, snapping his head to the side. He was airborne again, sent tumbling across the floor.
"Oops," the child giggled. "Was that too fast?"
Charlotte didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, blade gleaming, aiming straight for the child's midsection. Her form was sharp, precise.
Clang.
The sword never met flesh. The child's hand caught her by the throat in one clean motion. Her weapon slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground. She gasped, feet lifting off the floor as his grip tightened.
"Now why would you bring a toothpick to a fist fight?" the child said, tilting his head as she kicked and struggled.
Then a blade carved through the child's arm from behind. The severed limb dropped, releasing Charlotte as she fell to the floor, coughing violently.
Lucien stood, panting, sword slick with blood.
But the child only grinned.
"That's not very polite," he said, voice lilting.
Lucien stepped forward, trying to drive his sword into the child's chest. The blade met air. The child twisted away with ease, grabbed the flat of the sword mid-strike, and flung Lucien across the room like a rag doll.
He hit the floor with a crash, rolling to his side.
Before Lucien could recover, the child leapt toward him, arms pulled back to strike.
And then—snap—the severed arm was whole again, mid-flight.
It whipped forward to deliver the blow.
Lucien rolled, narrowly dodging the crushing strike. Dust exploded from the ground as the punch landed inches from where he'd been. He twisted to his feet, but too slow.
Crack!
A kick slammed into his side. He grunted, thrown several feet, landing hard on his back.
The child approached casually, arms swaying, that same mocking smile glued to his face.
"You know," he said, circling Lucien like a predator, "you two are really disappointing me."
Lucien tried to push himself up, groaning.
"All that poise," the child went on, voice gleeful. "The confidence. The swords. The looks. But when the punches come, you flop."
Then—a blur.
Another punch aimed for Lucien's face—
Clang!
Charlotte's sword spun through the air.
Lucien's hand shot up and caught it, twisting his body in the same motion and slashing upward.
But the child wasn't there anymore.
He was behind Lucien.
Laughing.
"Cute"
Lucien pivoted and slashed again, but the child weaved between the strikes like water through fingers.
Then came the retaliation.
Fists like hammers.
Jabs to the ribs.
Elbows to the shoulder.
A sudden sweep that brought Lucien down to one knee.
"C'mon," the child whispered in his ear, just before driving a knee into Lucien's spine.
Lucien gasped, stumbled forward.
Charlotte came back in, trying to flank him. She aimed low this time—smart.
But the child caught her ankle mid-swing, yanked, and she collapsed with a thud beside Lucien.
He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender.
"This is fun. Really. I haven't played like this in years."
The two struggled to stand, bruised and bloodied.
The child grinned wider.
"Let's keep going," he whispered.