The darkness behind the shattered blade's door didn't swallow Nerin—it swallowed his memories first. The walls dissolved into jagged fragments of bone, white as death and sharp as regret. The labyrinth reformed around him into a catacomb of twisted marrow and broken promises, each step a crunch beneath his boots that echoed like a death knell.
The air was thick, saturated with the scent of iron and rot—ancient blood and old betrayals. Shadows crawled along the bone walls, whispering secrets in a tongue both alien and painfully familiar. They spoke of covenants broken and souls traded like currency in a game where the stakes were eternity itself.
Nerin's Mark burned with relentless cold fire, a beacon in the suffocating gloom. His fingers curled around the bone knife—a fragment of the past, sharp enough to cut through fate. Every inch of this place screamed cruelty and ruthlessness, a crucible forged to strip him bare, to break and remold him in the shape of the Hollow.
From the darkness emerged a figure—tall, skeletal, eyes glowing with cruel intent. A guardian of this bone-forged path, it spoke with a voice like grinding stone:"To walk this path, you must first unmake yourself."
Nerin's breath hitched, the words a razor cutting through the last of his hesitation. The hunger inside twisted, gnashing like a beast starved for more than flesh. He stepped forward, each movement a defiance against the cruel geometry of this place.
The trial unfolded like a nightmare born from his own memories. Shadows ripped loose pieces of his past—faces of those he had loved and lost, moments of mercy turned to ash. Each fragment he faced was a blade twisting in his soul, demanding sacrifice.
But with every pain, Nerin's resolve hardened. The Mark's cold fire flared, fusing with the bone and shadow until he was no longer just a man marked by darkness—he was becoming the darkness incarnate.
The guardian's eyes bore into him, a challenge as old as time."Will you surrender your last shred of humanity to claim what lies beyond?"
Nerin's voice was steel, unyielding and cold."I am already hollow. What's left is mine to command."
The labyrinth trembled, the bone walls cracking open like a tomb revealing its cursed heart. A path forged in pain and power stretched before him—twisting deeper into the abyss.
And Nerin walked it, the Hollow Mark blazing like a cruel promise burned into his soul.
The bone-forged path beneath Nerin's feet shattered like brittle glass with each step, the sound fracturing the heavy silence into shards of dread. Around him, the labyrinth pulsed—a living, breathing carcass whose every breath was a groan of agony and ancient hunger. The walls exhaled cold mists that whispered of forgotten sins, and the air itself tasted like the iron tears of broken gods.
Nerin's Hollow Mark blazed fiercely, a cruel beacon that burned away the last vestiges of doubt. The hunger inside him was no longer a beast to be tamed—it was a symphony of pain, sharpened into a razor-edge of ruthless purpose. Every scar, every loss was fuel, every heartbeat a hammer strike forging his fractured soul.
From the shadowed depths ahead emerged the Soulforge—a monstrous contraption of dark steel and bone, its gears grinding with the screams of the forsaken. Chains dangled from its maw like tongues, lashing out with cruel intent, and fiery veins ran through its frame, pulsating with unbearable heat and endless torment.
A voice echoed, low and cracked, as if dragged from the grave itself:"To claim the power of the Hollow Mark, you must forge your soul anew—shatter it, burn it, rebuild it."
Nerin stepped forward, his bones aching but his spirit unyielding. The furnace within the Soulforge roared to life, casting hellish shadows that danced like wraiths of damnation. He felt the hunger twist and writhe inside him—a storm demanding sacrifice and surrender.
With a guttural roar, Nerin plunged the bone knife into the heart of the Soulforge's furnace. Flames of blue and black erupted, licking at his skin without burning. The hunger screamed in response, a wild, savage cry that threatened to consume everything.
Pain lanced through him as memories and fragments of his identity were torn away—faces faded, hopes shattered, and the last flicker of innocence incinerated in the inferno of rebirth.
But amidst the agony, a terrible clarity emerged—a cold, ruthless logic that carved order from chaos.
Nerin's voice rang out, sharp and unbroken:"I will become the blade that severs the chains. The hunger is my weapon. The Hollow Mark my legacy."
The Soulforge trembled, the chains above clattering like thunder as the flames consumed the broken pieces and forged something new—a soul tempered in shadow and fire, ready to carve a path through the darkness.
When the inferno died, Nerin stood alone—reborn in pain, a fractured masterpiece of ruthless will and savage hunger.
The labyrinth waited.And the Hollow Queen's game was far from over.
Nerin's breath came in ragged shards, each inhale laced with the acrid sting of burnt flesh and broken resolve. The air around him twisted—heavy, suffocating—laden with the weight of countless souls crushed beneath a crown forged from torment itself. The labyrinth had shifted, reshaped like a cruel god's jest, and now he stood before an altar carved from blackened bone and rusted iron, bathed in the sickly glow of the second moon bleeding overhead.
Chains, thick as serpents and dripping with cold fire, coiled around the altar like vipers awaiting their prey. Above it hovered the Crown of Thorns—a circlet wrought from shattered promises and jagged pain, pulsating with a dark power that whispered secrets in tongues older than time.
The Hollow Queen emerged from the shadows, her eyes twin embers of malice and madness. Her smile was a razor's edge, sharp enough to cut through the last scraps of hope clinging to Nerin's soul."You have come far, Hollowed. But every step closer to power demands a sacrifice deeper than blood."
Nerin's fingers trembled—not with fear, but anticipation. The hunger inside him roared, a savage symphony that drowned out the Queen's cruel words. The Mark on his palm burned hotter, an inferno beneath his skin that threatened to scorch his very essence.
"What price?" he growled, voice low and deadly.
She stepped closer, chains rattling like death's own lullaby."The crown demands more than flesh and bone. It demands your last fragment of self. Your soul's final fracture."
The Crown of Thorns descended, its jagged edges humming with a promise of dominion and despair. As it touched his brow, a searing pain exploded in Nerin's mind—a tempest of memories twisted, hopes shattered, and a crushing weight of endless loneliness.
Visions clawed at him: faces lost to time, whispers of betrayals, the echoing screams of the Hollowed who had failed before him.
But amidst the storm, Nerin found a grim clarity—a ruthless acceptance that to wield the crown was to become its prisoner and its master.
His voice broke through the chaos, cold and unyielding:"Then I shall wear your crown. Not as a king, but as a beast born from the abyss."
Chains snapped, the altar shuddered, and the labyrinth trembled in the wake of his defiance.
The Hollow Queen's laughter—dark and endless—filled the void."So be it, Hollowed. Your trial is far from over. The true hunger awakens now."
And with those words, the world around Nerin shattered once more—fracturing into a kaleidoscope of shadows and flame.
He was no longer just marked.He was the Crown's bearer.
And the abyss had claimed its next king.