The mouth of the cavern yawned like the throat of some ancient beast, jagged stone teeth glistening with damp. The air that drifted out was colder than the mountain wind, heavy with the reek of mildew and something older, something that carried the metallic tang of blood. Zeke adjusted the grip on his revolver, though he knew the bullets weren't always worth much in this world, and stepped after Seraphine into the dark.
The flickering glow of the torches cast long, trembling shadows along the walls, and Zeke felt the weight of the mountain pressing down with every step. The others followed in a tight cluster, armor clinking, boots crunching over loose stones and brittle remains. It took Zeke a moment to realize those pale shapes scattered on the ground weren't just rocks but bones—hundreds of them, bleached and broken, piled in forgotten corners like discarded kindling.
"Goddamn," he muttered under his breath. "Looks like this place had a lotta guests who never checked out."
Seraphine glanced back, catching his low tone, but said nothing. Her expression was iron, her eyes fixed forward. Zeke figured she'd seen worse.
The deeper they went, the more the cave walls seemed to close in, painted with crude symbols that glowed faintly in the firelight. Some were scratched deep into the stone, others smeared in something that looked too much like dried blood. The shapes curled and twisted in ways that made Zeke's stomach knot—spirals, jagged wings, and a looming reptilian eye that seemed to watch from every direction.
One of the younger knights gagged. "These marks… they're all the same. The Black Dragon. Its cult was here."
"No," Seraphine corrected, her voice sharp, steady. "They are still here."
As if to prove her point, a scuttling noise echoed down the passage. Zeke froze, revolver raised. Shapes darted just beyond the torchlight—low to the ground, quick, scraping claws against stone. A hiss, then a chittering chorus.
They came crawling out of the cracks: not goblins this time, but something stranger. Twisted little creatures with too-long limbs and eyeless faces, their skin pale as wax, their mouths gaping wide with rows of needle teeth. They smelled like rotting meat left too long in the sun.
"Hell," Zeke growled, cocking his revolver. "Somebody forgot to tell me about the welcome party."
The first one lunged, shrieking. Zeke fired, the report deafening in the cavern. The bullet slammed into the creature's chest and it dropped twitching, but another scuttled over it, undeterred. Knights rushed forward, steel flashing. The cave filled with the clash of metal, the wet crunch of blade meeting flesh, and the high-pitched screeches of things that should never have been born.
Zeke holstered his gun—too loud, too slow in this cramped dark—and pulled his knife. He fought close, jabbing and slashing, shoving one monster back with his boot before burying steel in its throat. Black ichor sprayed across his shirt, hot and foul.
Seraphine cut through them like fire, her sword a silver arc that lit the dark with each swing. She shouted orders, her voice rising above the chaos. "Hold the line! Don't let them surround us!"
It felt like hours before the last creature shrieked and fell, twitching until it lay still. The group stood panting in the silence that followed, the torchlight revealing torn flesh, shattered bodies, and slick blood glistening on the cave floor.
"Those things weren't natural," one knight whispered.
"No," Seraphine agreed grimly. "They were made. The cult breeds them from blood and bone."
Zeke spat to the side, wiping ichor from his face with the back of his sleeve. "Figures. Ugly little bastards fight like they don't care if they die."
"They don't," Seraphine said. "That is their purpose."
The group pressed on, deeper into the winding passage. The air grew thicker, the torches sputtering as if reluctant to burn. Ahead, faint light flickered in irregular patterns—like fire, but colder, shifting green and violet.
They emerged into a wide chamber, and everyone stopped short.
The walls soared high, vanishing into shadow. Across every surface sprawled carvings of dragons—wings spread wide, jaws open in eternal roar. Candles burned in niches cut into the stone, their wax long hardened into rivers of pale crust. And in the center of the chamber lay the remains of a ritual site: a circle drawn in dried blood, littered with bones stacked into patterns no sane man would design.
Zeke felt his skin crawl. It wasn't just what he saw. It was what he felt—like the air itself vibrated, humming with some unseen power, pressing against his ribs and rattling his teeth.
"This is it," Seraphine said softly, awe and dread tangled in her tone. "A sanctum of the cult."
They moved warily around the chamber, blades still drawn. One knight knelt by the markings on the floor, tracing them with a trembling finger. "This isn't just worship. It's a ritual site… summoning, maybe even binding."
Zeke crouched, running his own callused hand across the grooves etched into the stone. The symbols bit cold against his skin, colder than the air. "Feels like trouble, no matter what it is."
Then Seraphine's torchlight fell across the far wall, and they all saw it.
An altar.
It rose from the stone itself, carved in black granite streaked with veins of crimson. Its surface was smooth, polished, but at the center lay a slot—narrow, precise, shaped to hold something that wasn't there. Around it were more carvings: the Black Dragon, wings wrapped around the slot like it was protecting the space, waiting.
Seraphine approached slowly, her face pale. "The Dimensional Key," she whispered. "It was meant to be placed here."
The room went dead silent. Even the torches seemed to falter, their flames shrinking. Zeke felt his chest tighten, the strange mark on his skin pulsing like a heartbeat out of time. He stared at that empty slot and felt something stir deep inside him, something that wasn't entirely his own.
And in that heavy stillness, with shadows pressing close and the altar looming before them, Zeke understood the truth. The Key had already been taken. The cult was one step ahead. And whatever they planned to unleash in these mountains… they were already too late to stop it.