The Cursed Inheritance

The golden arch streamed in front of him, its edges aglow with light from space that throbbed almost alive. 

A pressure like wearing something weightless upon his breast, Alaric sensed a drawing to something else—a destiny of which he understood nothing and for which he was powerless to desist.

Adrenaline-surging and soul-shrill, like drifting over the lip of life to the other side.

He edged forward, wrapping his hand around Seraphine's, sensing the tension of her hold. Her swift, assertive self was wrapped in fear.

"Once we've passed over," she panted, her words barely a gentle exhalation, "there is no going back."

Alaric gulped hard, his parched throat. "I know." His voice remained steady, though strife raged inside of him. The tests revealed to him his innermost secrets, his weaknesses, but hardened him as well. He would not fail. He could not fail.

He took a deep breath, and they passed through.

On the other side, the world was devastated.

A surge of energy enveloped them, propelling them into an seemingly boundless sea of gold. Alaric gritted his teeth as bursts of light flashed by, his body weightless but restrained from all sides by invisible cords. His gut roiled, his head spun, fighting to maintain its sanity.

Seraphine's hand kept him grounded in reality amidst the turmoil. And then, as abruptly as it had started, the feeling stopped.

They fell to the floor.

Alaric cursed, numbness creeping his limbs. He gritted teeth, fighting off the haze of stunned sight. They fell through a cavernous gap, the vault dark. Black, rough summits of obsidian pierced the earth, needle points shining with iced light in the pallid, sick light of unearthly blue fire crawling up aimless sconces. A foul, otherworldly power clung to the air.

Seraphine rose, daggers raised. She was coiled, ready to spring. "Where are we?" she whispered, her voice a death sentence.

Alaric hauled himself to his feet, looking around. Walls throbbed ill, veins of flowing silver overlaid with arcane runes along their length, twisting and curling like living serpents. He took a breath. "The center of the Veil Gate. or something in its wake."

A shuddering bellow ripped through the stillness. The earth trembled under their feet, pebbles and dust falling from above. Out of the shadows stepped a figure.

It was gigantic.

A lump of shadow and muscle, its shape warped into unnatural contortions as though reality itself was being warped to hold it. Its face or, at least, what passed for one, was a cluster of tendrils ending in clutching, saw-toothed fangs. Empty, abyssal eyes blazed at them with ravenous hunger.

Seraphine had no time to react before the monster attacked.

Alaric pushed her out of the way, rolling as a massive clawed arm descended where they had been. The shockwave of the impact pierced the cavern. He leapt from the roll, summoning his blade in a flash of silver light.

Seraphine dodged across the room, shunning the thing's wildly flailing arms, her daggers flashing in the darkness. She sliced true, her knives biting deep—but the wounds healed in an instant, the creature's flesh folding back to seal the damage.

She cursed. "It heals."

Alaric strained his mind. If brute strength wouldn't cut through it, they were going to have to try something else. His eyes leapt back to the throbbing veins on the walls. Were those linked?

He didn't have time to consider the possibility.

The creature unleashed all its fury on him. Its giant arms slammed into him, and he struggled back in desperate necessity. Sparks detonated downwards as metal met claw. Each blow jolted his arms, each strike more devastating than the last. He could sense the creature probing him, probing for his weak spot.

And then, in a flash of motion, it spoke.

"You are unworthy."

The voice was not a sound but a blow, a thousand whispers blurring into one heavy weight. It pressed down upon him, hammering against his mind, destroying his sense of self. He stumbled, his hold on his sword falttering.

Seraphine's voice cut through the haze. "Alaric!"

He backed away in time to watch the monster step back, its body swelling with unnatural energy. The cave grew darker, walls full of veins throbbing with force. Whatever it was about to unleash, it would be apocalyptic.

Alaric ground his teeth. "No choice.".

He stepped forward again, calling upon the final reservoir of strength, every lesson carved into his very essence. And then, for the first time since he'd stepped into this accursed edifice—relaxed.

A blaze of light burned out of him, fiery hot.

The beast howled, tendrils writhing in pain. The wall veins pulsed wildly, reacting to his power. A weakness. A link.

Seraphine didn't waver. "Now!"

Alaric advanced another step, his sword glinting as he stuck it into the earth, and a burst of energy ran through the cavern. The veins responded instantly, their glow growing brighter. The creature bellowed deafeningly as the light encased it, its body writhing in agony.

And with a shuddering crack—it vanished.

There was silence.

Alaric puffed out jaggedly, his quivering body strained with exhaustion. He looked at Seraphine's eyes and saw his own tiredness staring back at him. And something else in addition, something new he had never noticed previously.

Respect.

She smiled. "Not bad, Alaric."

He smiled through the gagging of laughter. "Not bad yourself."

Their peace was brief.

Deeper in the cave, there was uproar. The ancient stone doorway creaked open, exhaling an even darker passage from which icy cold wafted, on its black fumes carrying with it the unmistakable scent of blood.

Alaric's throat was dry. The trial was far from finished.

Steel-hard in valor, they walked through—into the unknown.

The further in they went, the thicker the air clung, something tangible that enveloped them. The walls breathed, a dry, exhausted gasp that whispered things it couldn't quite hear. The further they walked, the harder it became, as if the cave itself were observing, waiting.

And there it was.

A broken, ruined throne, lit in phantasmagoric blood-red. Seated upon by a monster in armor worn smooth by runes, its head shrouded by a black helm.

Alaric's blood ran cold.

The form shifted. A booming, empty voice shook the room.

"You have come far."

Its presence was crushing them, heavy, unshatterable. Seraphine's knuckles went white around her daggers. Alaric gripped his sword in his hand, his heart racing.

The form moved forward, power radiating from it.

"Prove yourself. Now."

The cavern erupted into a whirlwind of fire and shadow.