The Cursed Inheritance

The cave shook with some supernatural power as Alaric and Seraphine approached the broken throne. The shape of darkness stood still, its shape darkened and heavy ominous, as if darkness itself composed its entourage.

There was a sense of prehistory in the atmosphere, weighing down on them like some force external, draining out the very marrow of its heat.

Alaric's grip on the hilt of his sword stiffened, his body gasping. Muscles still wracked from battling the obnoxious guardian, the body shaking with fatigue, a moisture-glinting sheen etched into him. No relief to be found there, either.

They had barely escaped, and here's what they learned, something else, something which lay beyond the limits of humanity's understanding.

The statue finally stirred. Mechanic, forced motion as its gauntlet armor spun, finger out, pointing at Alaric.

This was broken by a booming hollow, resonating voice echoing within the cavern, the hum of the tone vibrating a little otherworldly, buzzing low in their skull.

"You have come far."

Seraphine grimaced but did not move, her blades winking in the unpleasant reddish light. Alaric saw the creature's "eye" – or at least he hoped he did – and his heart fluttered in his head.

The figure appeared, the ground groaning under its feet in anger at its arrival. "You want to be master of your destiny, but destiny bows to none." The voice, crushing a thousand weights, was deepening, weighed down by them under suffocating grasp. "Show that you are worthy."

Suddenly, and unanticipated, the room came alive. The ghostly candelabras that hung there flared to wild uncontrolled flame, blue fire boiling into burning orbs of flame that consumed them.

Walls shook, runes carved on them bleeding with otherworldly light.

The throne at the back of the figure crumbled to dust beneath unseen forces, air growing heavy once again, as fluid as water.

And the figure sprang forward.

It arrived too suddenly, improbably. Darkness fell over him, the knife a serrated dark metal blade that seared in Alaric's throat. He lifted his in time, the shock that coursed through his body.

Blades of light came as the impact shock coursed through his arms, threatening to pull the knife from his hand.

Seraphine shifted, twisting Alaric's shoulder around to slash at the figure's flank. Her daggers plunged deep, but did not bite flesh. They hit an intangible wall of protection. Raw power coursed through it, slamming her to the ground.

She spun in mid-leap, landing in a crouch, enormous eyes full of comprehension.

"It's not armor—it's something else!" she shrieked, trembling with horror.

Alaric clenched his teeth. He knew it, too. The man was a warrior, certainly, but he was something more than that. He was a power, a force of something greater than they were.

The dark warrior focused its attention again on Alaric. "You are not yet ready," it said, raising its sword a second time. The sword was surrounded by a light of darkness, flowing rivers of wicked energy. Alaric had little time to steel himself when a second blow came upon him, this one with the wrath of an avalanche.

He dodged, sliding off the blade as it sank into stone. Stone dropped and chimed, the shock running back down the passage. Alaric doubled forward over himself, folding the head inside.

I need to comprehend how it fights.

Seraphine danced a second time, a flash of speed as she leapt around the form, seeking an opening. But all blows were knocked aside, each slash spun back by the same liquid force.

Alaric punched his fist into the pommel of his sword. He had to get in from behind. Breathe, concentrate—not on the enemy, but on the building. The throbbing veins that coursed through walls tuned their own beat to the fighter's rhythm.

It is connected with this building.

"We must break the energy of the room!" he cried. "Seraphine!"

She nodded, having been warned in advance. She shifted direction immediately, riding herself to one of the glittering veins. When her sword cut through the surface that was silver-surfaced, a shiver ran through the room. The symbols shook, their light flashing for an instant.

The warrior fire-scorched was swift. Its form twisted, its movement less smooth, more violent. Alaric struck while it had its guard up, pressing forward. His blade ignited as he drove it home, the edge finally biting on armor on the body.

The warrior stumbled.

Finally, it was vulnerable.

A thunderous roar burst forth from within the chamber itself as the creature lurched back. The air around them tore apart like splintered glass, and cavern architecture groaned under tension. The power veins seethed with burning heat, their luminescence trembling.

But the warrior was far from defeated.

It let out a bestial cry, its dark cloud enveloping it as it stretched its arms out wide. The room shook when the power veins collided with it, goading it.

"No," Alaric bellowed. "It's draining the heart of the room!"

Seraphine swore. "We must leave here, before it is too late!"

Alaric gave nothing. He called upon his final reserve of power in himself, casting all the threads of will he could discover on the sword. The sword blazed more fiercely than ever its former pyre, explosive energy in frantic full-blowing. He charged at the room itself—not at the fighter.

His sword was driven into the earth, and shock was instant. The veins of power pulsed in pain, their light fading as cracks emanated from the walls of the cavern. Creviced air, the entire thing on the verge of collapse.

The warrior emitted a thrumming howl, its form distorting beyond all limits. The mist veil that covered it parted, and at last Alaric could gaze upon its true face under the helm.

A face that wore upon it an unaccountably familiar look.

He was stiff, his gasp caught in the back of his throat. He was aware by spastic hammer-blow. That face… his. Furrowed, aged, and twisted out of all knowin' with a hellish purpose, but beyond denyin' his.

Even before he could obtain the chance to have it registered, the warrior set off on a last wild dash. There was a momentary flash of blackness that moved out in all directions, ravaging everything that was within its reach, overrunning Alaric and Seraphine with a whirlwind of madness and darkness.

Alaric was not even given the time of a blink of an eye to move aside before that covering him was torn apart.

And then nothing was there.