Right outside the cell.
Keys rattled. Metal scraped against metal. The cell door screeched open، the sound like a dying animal.
Four demon guards entered، their yellow eyes sweeping across the prisoners like searchlights.
They were larger than the ones Don had seen before—soldiers، not jailers. Black armor. Red cloaks. Swords at their hips that radiated that same aura of death.
One of them—the leader، judging by the extra horn on his helmet—pointed directly at Don.
"You،" the demon said، his voice like grinding stone. "The red-haired one. The King wants to see you. Now."
Don's stomach dropped.
Rough hands grabbed him before he could react، yanking him to his feet. His exhausted body nearly collapsed، but the demons held him upright with iron grips.
He caught Martha's eyes for a brief second as they dragged him toward the door.
She gave him a slight nod.
Survive، her expression said. Whatever it takes. Come back.
The guards pulled him out of the cell، and the door slammed shut behind him with a finality that echoed in his bones.
As they marched him down the corridor، Don realized with growing dread that they weren't going deeper into the dungeon.
They were going up.
Level by level، they climbed steep stone staircases worn smooth by centuries of use. And with each level they passed، Don saw things that made even his Madness-touched mind recoil.
Level Six:
Prisoners chained to the walls by iron hooks driven through their shoulders. Their bodies were twisted، broken، some missing limbs. A few were still alive—Don could hear their faint whimpering، see the slight rise and fall of their chests.
Others hung limp، eyes vacant and staring at nothing، mouths open in silent screams.
Blood and filth covered the floor.
Level Five:
Torture chambers.
Through open doorways، Don glimpsed demons working with methodical، almost surgical efficiency. They used tools Don had no names for—devices of iron and bone and something that pulsed with sickly green light.
The screams that echoed from those rooms made Don's newly enhanced hearing feel like a curse.
One prisoner was strapped to a table، his chest open، and a demon in a leather apron was pulling out his organs one by one، examining them، then putting them back before the Immortality-like regeneration could fail.
The prisoner was conscious. Aware. Screaming.
Level Four:
Monsters.
Huge، grotesque things locked behind iron bars thicker than Don's arm. Some had too many limbs—eight، ten، twelve—all ending in claws or pincers. Others had no face، just smooth skin where eyes and mouth should be، but Don could feel them watching him.
One creature was the size of a horse، with skin that looked like melted wax and a mouth that opened vertically down its torso، lined with teeth like broken glass.
They all watched Don with hunger as he passed.
Level Three:
A laboratory.
Tables covered in blood and strange instruments. Vials of luminous liquids. Diagrams on the walls showing human anatomy with demonic modifications drawn over them in red ink.
A demon in a white robe—a stark contrast to the usual black and red—stood over a dissected corpse، taking notes on a piece of parchment. The corpse was still moving، fingers twitching، mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
The demon looked up as Don passed، and their eyes met.
The demon smiled.
Level Two:
Silence.
Empty cells. But the walls were covered in scratches—messages carved by desperate hands، some so deep they'd cut through stone.
• HELP US
• GODS SAVE US
• WE ARE FORGOTTEN
• DAY 47 THEY TOOK MARA TODAY
• I CAN HEAR THEM IN THE WALLS
• MAY THE SEVEN FORGIVE US
• MOTHER PLEASE
Don's yellow eye could see more details than he wanted—old bloodstains، fingernail marks where prisoners had clawed at the stone until their fingers were stumps.
Level One:
Hallways lined with trophies.
Skulls mounted on the walls—hundreds of them، maybe thousands، each one polished and labeled with a small brass plaque.
• Sir Roland of the Silver Dawn - Fell Day 3 of the Siege
• Archmage Velthara - Burned Alive
• King Magenda the Eleventh- Unknown
Weapons too—swords، spears، staffs—all broken، all mounted like hunting trophies.
Banners from defeated armies hung from the ceiling، tattered and faded.
And at the end of the hall، a single painting.
It showed a battle—demons and humans clashing on a field of fire. In the center stood a figure in golden armor، raising a sword that blazed with white light.
The figure's face had been scratched out، defaced so thoroughly that only a dark smear remained.
And finally، they reached it.
The Throne Room.