The flames were dying.
Smoke coiled around Marcus as he stood amidst the ruins of the inverted corridor. His sword—once burning with black fire—now dripped with liquid shadow, pulsing faintly like a dying heart. All around him lay the remnants of the creatures he had slain—beasts that once had faces, now melting into the floor like wax under the weight of their defeat.
But the throne was gone.
And yet, the voice remained.
"You swing your blade like a god," it murmured from nowhere and everywhere, "but your heart trembles like a child's."
Marcus looked up, eyes glowing faintly red. His breath steamed in the cold air.
Marcus: "Show yourself."
"You stand before me already."
And then—light.
The ground split open, and from the abyss rose a throne of pure ash and bone. Upon it sat the same shadow from before… but now it moved. Veins of crimson energy flowed through its body, and its mask of mist solidified into the shape of a man's face—pale, sharp, and crowned with horns that looked carved from glass.
Marcus gritted his teeth. "You're not a god. You're just another monster."
The shadow smiled.
"Aren't you?"
Marcus raised his sword. "I'll find out soon enough."
The being rose from the throne—slowly, deliberately. His movements were ancient, like the turning of the earth. Every step sent shockwaves through the hall. The air thickened until Marcus could barely breathe.
"I am called Varnel, the first and last Lord of Monster. I forged this curse with my hands, and fed it with my own soul. Tell me, Marcus—do you still wish to destroy what you are meant to become?"
Marcus's grip tightened. "If becoming like you means losing myself—then yes."
Varnel laughed, the sound sharp as blades.
"Then let us see what remains when your defiance meets eternity."
He lifted his hand. The world shattered.
The ceiling turned into a sea of burning stars. The floor became a storm of shifting stone. Marcus was thrown into the air as Varnel drew a weapon—no blade, but a chain of light that stretched infinitely, glowing with molten runes.
The chain lashed out—Marcus blocked, sparks exploding in the air. The shockwave threw him across the corridor, smashing him against the wall.
Marcus spat blood and roared, surging back up. His sword ignited again—black and red flame twisting into wings.
The two clashed—light versus void. Every strike cracked reality itself. Each movement echoed like thunder through the inverted castle.
CLANG!
BOOM!
CRACK!
Varnel's voice echoed between blows.
"You fight well. But every heartbeat brings you closer to me. The curse feeds on your fury. It's already inside your blood."
Marcus's eyes widened—his arm flickered, the veins glowing faintly red.
He screamed and drove his blade forward. "Then I'll burn it out myself!"
The impact split the throne in two.
The explosion of force hurled both of them apart—Varnel vanished into smoke, his laughter echoing.
"We are not enemies, Marcus. We are two ends of the same sword. When you tire of mercy, you'll come to me… and I'll be waiting."
Silence returned.
Marcus fell to his knees, panting, his sword dissolving into shadow. The castle trembled, the torches extinguished one by one.
He looked at his trembling hands—and saw the black veins creeping beneath his skin.
Marcus whispered, "No… not yet… I won't let it take me."
He rose slowly, eyes fixed on the shattered throne. The moonlight from the inverted sky spilled through the cracks, bathing him in silver and crimson.
Somewhere deep within the castle, a bell tolled—
slow, ancient, and full of sorrow.
Marcus turned toward the sound.
"If this curse began with you, Varnel…"
"Then it ends with me."
And he walked into the shadow.
To be continued…