I woke to the swamp's lullaby—an endless susurration of dripping water and croaking frogs that felt like chains around my mind. The Mortis Swamps lay before me like a wound on the world: black water pooling beneath skeletal trees, vines writhing over broken tombstones. My boots sank into mud that gripped like living skin. Five sigils glowed faintly on my back—Pride's thorned crown, Sloth's looping droplet, Wrath's blazing spike, Envy's entwined serpents, and Avarice's twin chalices—but none could shield me from this place's weight.
Nyxiel drifted beside me, its violet light a small beacon in the gloom. "The Sloth Soul lies ahead," it murmured. "In the Hall of Endless Rest—a cathedral grown from rot and roots. It calls out to the weary. Let it claim you, and you slumber forever."
I closed my eyes and gripped the hilt of my blade. "Then I will not sleep."
We pressed forward in single file. Korak's heavy boots crushed fungus that glowed like dying embers. Mirra moved silent as a shadow, her silver eyes scanning the gloom. Behind us, freed demons stumbled through the swells—worn faces lit by the promise of safety, still haunted by nightmares of man's cruelty.
I steeled myself for what lay ahead. The swamp had already shown its brutality: I'd heard rumors of Church patrols dragging demon orphans into the bogs, leaving them to drown, then marking the living with brands stolen from the condemned. I'd seen bones gleam among the reeds—children's ribs still clutching mud. Here, mercy was a myth, and cruelty a pastime.
An hour's march brought us to a clearing where the swamp opened into a grand ruin. Pillars of blackened wood spiraled skyward, tangled with roots as thick as arms. Moss dripped in heavy clumps, and pale fungus carpeted the floor underfoot. The air smelled of decay and stale incense—ancient offerings made in vain.
At the center stood a stone dais carved into the shape of a reclining king. Vines had swallowed his crown, and the features of his face had been lost to rot. Above the dais floated a single orb of violet light—the Sloth Soul. Its pulse was slow, deliberate, as if time itself had grown tired.
I approached, each step heavier than the last. My soul ached for rest—just a moment of peace after so much blood and pain. The orb exhaled a sigh of temptation: Rest… rest and forget. The word echoed in my bones. My eyelids flickered.
I shook my head, fighting back a wave of exhaustion. Not yet. I reached for the orb, and the world shifted.
The air grew thick. My limbs slowed, as if wading through syrup. My breath came in soft rasping sighs. I remembered Seraphina's gentle smile on our wedding night—before the betrayal, before the pit. The memory glowed like a candle in the dark. Then it dimmed as the swamp's lull consumed my senses. Rest… forget your grief. My chest tightened. I dropped to one knee, fingers brushing the dais's cracked surface.
Sleep…
I blinked into a dreamscape. The world melted into gray mist. I stood in my throne room, the marble walls gleaming under candlelight. Kael knelt before me, bowing his head in feigned loyalty, Seraphina's laughter dancing in the air. My heart sank; this vision was a lie. My pulse stuttered as the dream curled around me—so vivid, so comforting.
"Wraith!" Mirra's voice snapped like steel against glass. I stuttered awake to find her kneeling beside me, hands pressed to my shoulders. Korak loomed behind her, axes raised, eyes burning with urgency.
I gasped, fighting the haze. The orb's light pulsed in time with my faltering heartbeat. Shadows pooled beneath me, whispering: One rest… one deep rest…
I forced myself upright. Fangs of swamplight snarled at the edges of my vision. A memory cut through the haze—Korah, a demon child I'd rescued, cradling her wounded mother. Tears tracked through her soot-dark hair as she begged me to stay. How many more like them would be crushed if I surrendered to sleep?
My hand clenched the hilt of my blade. I surged to my feet, head spinning. "I will not sleep," I rasped, voice thick with mud and determination.
I lunged at the orb. Pain erupted behind my eyes—an explosion of every soul trapped in this swamp: the demon who'd drowned under its weight, the mother who'd begged for water, the soldier who'd fought until his last breath. Their anguish flooded my mind, crushing my ribs with grief.
I stumbled backward, grasping the dais for support. The orb's pulse quickened, and the violet light flared. Roots curled around my ankles, tugging me down. The world tilted.
Fight. A voice in my head, not mine—a whisper from Pride's memory, of a king who stood alone against traitors. Fight for the living.
I roared, slamming both fists into the orb. It shattered like a star erupting. A shockwave of violet flame burst outward, cleaving through vines and fungus. The roots writhed and snapped, releasing their grip. The diamonds of spores scattered, extinguished.
I collapsed to the ground, chest heaving. My belly pressed against cold stone, mud soaking my cloak. Five sigils blazed on my back—now joined by a sixth: the looping droplet of Sloth, broken in three places like a shattered promise.
Nyxiel drifted down, wings dimmed. "Five down," it whispered. "Two to go."
Korak knelt beside me, blade sheathed. "You did it," he said, voice rough. "You woke from eternal sleep."
I pushed to my knees, tasting swamp water and sweat. The swamp lay silent around us, its seductive song silenced by my refusal to yield. I closed my eyes and felt strength bloom in my bones—power forged in defiance, not surrender.
I rose unsteadily, hands brushing mud from my cloak. "We move on," I said. "The next Soul tests desire. The Shattered Palace awaits."
Behind us, the free demons lit their torches, eyes bright with new purpose. They would remember this night—the night their king refused oblivion. And I would carry the weight of six Fallen Souls into the trials ahead.
In the heart of slumber's embrace, true power is the will to awaken.
Read the next chapter to discover which Soul stirs desire in the shattered halls—and what darkness hunger can unleash.
© 2025 Kael Virell. All rights reserved.
This is an original work of fiction. No part of this text may be copied, distributed, or reproduced without permission from the author. All characters, names, and places are the intellectual property of Kael Virell.