The Cursed Inheritance

Alaric wheezed thunderously as he dragged himself up into a sitting position. The cave was quiet, but the echo of what transpired hung in the air like a ghost. His body screamed in pain for slapping his own shadow, but the fight was just starting.

Seraphine squirmed free of Alaric, her spiky eyes darting around. "We need to get out of here. I don't find quiet comforting."

Alaric hunched forward, unsheathing his blade. The wall runes were again dark, yet their energies hummed at the border of sight, as coals ready for a spark that would ignite them into fire. He had won past the demon of his own demise, yet the path in front of him was veiled.

And so they proceeded, the path growing narrower where they trod double by double. The cold seared, full of it. Not so much the cold itself—something other than some which was not in their sight, but in opposition of their heart.

The bellowing cry as loud as a whisper, on the edge of darkness. Not theirs in cadence, but a distant distance, far hum.

You don't belong here.

Alaric went rigid, his complexion pale, white fists gripping the hilt of his sword. "Did you hear that?"

Seraphine's own frame was tense. "Yes. And we're not alone here."

It was introduced by a warning snarl. The darkness before them curled and contorted to one side, and out of it emerged a figure shrouded in chains. The circle of metal quivered in the air as the creature advanced into the faint light of the torches.

It had been constructed by men, but its color was the bleached bone white of dry paper spread over weathered bones chewed to the bone. Blank eyes blazed blue fire, their glare searing Alaric with an overplus of starvation.

"You have intruded beyond bounds," the monster growled, its voice like parched crackling leaves. "This road is not yours to travel."

Alaric remained steady. "Closed by whom?"

The monster spat bound hands, and the shackles on its wrists encircled them like snakes. "By those who manipulate the threads of fate."

Seraphine's daggers were already drawn in her hand, ready to strike. "And I suppose you're here to turn us around?"

The monster's face twisted into something less than a smile or snarl. "No. I am here to fight you."

The chains coalesced with a crash, slapping like whips. Alaric could not alter his trajectory as he leaped to one side, the metal shrieking overhead, its passage tearing through the air at unnatural velocity. Seraphine spun, sending the second strike of chain flying off, her swords glinting as she cut through one of the chains.

A scream passed down the passage. The chain snapped, springing out into coils in an instant, wilder than ever. The animal lashed its remains at it, its act unnatural in an existence so hideously maimed as this, compelled by something above human.

Alaric struck it head-on, sword against iron chains. Steel on metal rang out, and sparks hung in the air, but the force of the chains was horripilatingly terrible. He gritted his teeth, grounding his heels in the dirt as he pushed the creature back, but with every blow, it appeared more resolute.

"Those chains…"

Alaric snarled, sidestepping a whip-crack,

".aren't usual."

Seraphine whirled on him, lashing at the chains for nothing. "They're re-igniting themselves! There must be a source!"

Alaric's mind swirled. The creature wasn't simply using the chains—it was resonating with them. They weren't blades; they were shackle chains. If they were resonating with it power.

Then cutting off the source would.

"Take cover!" Alaric yelled.

Seraphine brushed her arm aside, racing past him as Alaric pulled his hand from his sword, calling in his magic. The light he had restrained, the power he had unleashed down there in the depths, roiled. His sword started to shine, golden power pulsing.

The creature felt it. It retreated a step, growling with rage, the chains lashing wildly.

"You defy the fates' will?" it roared, its chains striking out in a final desperate blow.

Alaric advanced.

In a single smooth practiced movement, his blade sliced through the center of the chains, severing the magical grip that restrained them. Blinding gold light flared on impact, bathing the cavern as the creature uttered rents cry.

The chains broke. The monster stumbled, its shape contorting like a smothered fire. Its blank eyes locked with Alaric's for the final time—there was something there, something like relief—before it broke apart.

Silence.

Seraphine panted slow breaths, wiping her brow. "That was. different."

Alaric let out a breath, his sword disappearing. "It was more than a guardian. It was a prisoner."

The earth shook. Where the monster fell, the earth collapsed, and a path down to proceed further into the pit was revealed.

Seraphine's forehead creased even further. "Then we follow along the path it was protecting."

Alaric drew his sword. "We've come this far, at least."

Together, they ventured out into the unknown.

As they went on, the air thickened, the whispers stacking. The more they went along, the louder the words, until they became no longer words but a knelling of fate and prophecy.

"The bloodline will be broken."

"The daughter of two worlds will disturb the balance."

"Fate cannot be remolded."

Alaric's hands tightened into fists. The words stuck in his head, and he comprehended in rising horror that they were not in the past tense.

They were speaking of him.

Seraphine looked at him, concern in her gaze. "We're getting close."

Alaric nodded, forcing the voices to the back of his mind.

The tunnel opened out into a massive chamber. At the heart of the chamber loomed a monolith of titanic height, cracked and weathered, glowed with some otherworldly blue light. The monolith was encircled by statues of hooded robed men with faceless masks. There was heavy air of old magic and below—something was wrong.

There was an altar beneath the monolith, and upon it lay a book of black-leather binding, runes seared onto the cover.

Alaric entered, and the room responded with him.

The statues came alive.

Their faces in a circle turned toward him, burning with the same blue blaze of the beast.

And spoke to him.

"You shouldn't have come."

The doors that they had come through crashed shut behind them with a bang like a madman's thunderous laughter.

The trial had just concluded.

Statues fell from pedestals, arms materializing in their hands. The room vibrated with the slow, centuries-long chant that pulsed in Alaric's bones. No room to draw sword before the first of them was dead.

This fight would be different.

And if they all perished, no escape.