The door hissed open with a sigh of ancient steam.
A shimmer of cryptic green chi crawled across the runes embedded in the stone arch, reacting to Ash's presence like a heart recognizing its long-lost beat. The air thickened. Heavier. Older. We stepped through. My gaze was sharp, spine straight. Felicity stood beside me, hands curled around the frost rapier, her beast-aura smoldering like frozen oil. Marla followed a step behind—shackled in spirit, not in mind. Her vipers were coiled into a high bun atop her head, lending her a strange, almost oriental elegance. Faeluxe twirled her dagger with theatrical unease, her ribbon fluttering.
"The energy here is deliciously final," she said. "I hope we're not late for the coronation."
Before us lay the heart of the prison. A dome of black obsidian and fossilized coral cradled the chamber, lit by an inverted sun suspended above—a green-flamed core orb, bound in memory-iron chains. Beneath it: A cruciform dais. Marla's true body, sealed in stone. Four spirit-spike pylons pulsed with array-script.
And from ceiling to floor, a final binding chain twisted downward—not forged of metal, but of will. Of vow.
It coiled through Marla's exposed core sigil, where her soul remained fused to the tomb.
A prison and a throne. I stepped to the platform's edge. "This is it."
Marla advanced. Her taloned feet struck the stone with echoing certainty. Black witch-blade armor hugged her green bluish form, her folded serpentine wings clasped at the collarbones like a cloak of menace. She looked up at the chain, her voice distant, aching. "That chain is bound to the tomb's oath-script—carved into the bones of kings. You'll need to sever it... but not with steel."
Felicity narrowed her eyes, suspicion sharp in her tone.
"Then what? soul gamble? You've led us into cursed grounds, Marla."
Marla nodded. Slowly.
"The final chain is metaphysical. Anchored to a law: The wicked may not walk free unless witnessed by one who walks between judgment and chaos."
"You mean me," I said.
"Yes," she whispered.
Faeluxe spun a dagger and sighed. "Of course it's him. Who else has such a complicated résumé?" My hand twitched. "You want me to sever a karmic oath." "No," Marla said. "I want you to rewrite it—with your purple lightning qi. You alone possess that essence. And it can overwrite the celestial binding writ. If you do, I'm free. And we walk from this place... alive."
A silence passed. I thought of the surface. Of the Beast Vein. Of the weight still ahead of me. "Let's do this." I placed both palms on the celestial writ.
And let my monk level intent flow. The tomb shuddered. Three glowing sigils unfurled in the air above: fire, water, lightning.
An elemental chain lock. The Forge trembled again—black coral cracked open as spiritual guardians emerged. Ten gorgon wraiths stepped from shadow-portals, armed with fang-curved blades and wrapped in oath-runes. Their ghost-fire screamed punishment for false vows. "Begin the Rite," Marla said, low and unwavering. "I'll hold the guardians."
She stepped into the center of the dais—
—and ignited.
Her aura flared, drawing every phantom eye.
Felicity's wings spread wide. She launched a barrage of blood-animus-infused bone darts—piercing the wraiths and erupting in a cascade of splash damage. Qi hissed out as they howled, now suffering bleed debuffs, their vital force draining. Faeluxe blurred through their ranks, a ribbon of fae light. Her daggers slashed green wind-charged arcs through ethereal torsos. Marla's vipers shimmered. Twelve eyes pulsed. A searing green beam erupted—igniting one Wraith in blistering ghost-flame. Its scream was inhuman.
I looked up at the glyphs. Fire. Water. Lightning. Each one demanded purity of intent. I had an idea.
I reached into my spiritual pond—
—and contacted the three beast spirits that formed my foundation:
The ember coil serpent.
The storm-claw raptor.
The colossal spire crab.
I asked. They answered. Ember scales across my skin began to ripple and glow. Lightning feathers surged with crackling storm energy. My crystal exo-armor shimmered blue, bubbling with defensive essence. Sparks arced from my scales. Wind-charged lightning danced across my arms. Bubbles of pure aqua floated around me in a gentle spiral. Animus streamed upward, each current threading toward its glyph.
Slowly—
—the sigils responded.
Fire glowed.
Water rippled.
Lightning sparked.
I pushed harder, channeling true will. Behind me, battle raged like a tempest—but I stood at the eye.
The others had this. Now it was my turn. The three glyphs pulsed above me—hungering for balance. For proof of command. I narrowed my stance.
Fire. Water. Lightning. Each element begged to rage, to spiral outward in raw force. But force wasn't what the writ demanded. It wanted precision. Harmony. Dominion.
I breathed in.
And moved.
My left hand twitched—guiding the ember coil serpent's molten qi upward into the fire glyph. The sigil ignited in a plume of red-orange fury, lines flaring like veins under glass. My right hand flowed open—releasing the colossal spire crab's aqueous qi into the water glyph. A bubbling shimmer danced up the path, and the sigil rippled, refracting light like a gemstone submerged in still tide. Then, with a breath between heartbeats, I raised both arms—
—and my storm-charged feathers surged with current as I hurled the Storm-Claw Raptor's lightning essence into the third glyph.
The sigil snapped to life—lightning dancing in prismatic arcs across its edges. All three glyphs shone together. A triad of elemental harmony. The air tightened. A bass note throbbed through the Forge.
And then—
They shattered.
Each glyph burst into radiant shards, fragments of divine script scattering like falling meteors, absorbed back into the celestial writ. The platform stilled. I placed my palms back upon the binding chain. The chain pulsed with old law. Memory. Sin. I could feel it now—Marla's crimes etched in bone, each carved with the weight of judgment:
Slaughter.
Treason.
Unnatural Path.
The Gorgon Pact.
Consort of the Wicked Flame.
Her crimes and also her sentences. Executions that never reached finality. Not while she remained bound here.
But I had the purple lightning qi. The rarest form. Not just a force of destruction—
—but a force of divine revision. Of rewriting celestial law.
I let it rise. It climbed my spine like a divine serpent, burned through my veins with the heat of fate. My arms glowed, not with fire or lightning—but with intention. The animus roared through my will and down into the celestial writ. And then I did what no spirit, no ancestor, no god had dared:
I rewrote the law. The script flared beneath my palms—spilling radiant purple light into the stone dais. And with focused breath, I shaped the characters—
Etched them into the divine matrix with searing purpose.
PARDON GRANTED.
' ' BY THE WITNESS OF JUDGMENT AND CHAOS.
THE SINS OF MARLA THE DEFILER, ONCE KATARINA OF THE BROKEN ARROW, ARE STRICKEN FROM RECORD.
SHE IS RELEASED.' '
The tomb screamed. The chain shrieked, unraveling from ceiling to floor, dissolving into motes of silver-blue regret. The soul-bond—broken. The law—overwritten. Marla gasped, her knees buckling, as her body—stone for centuries—suddenly softened, color flooding into her limbs. The spirit-shackles shattered. And the weight of ten thousand oaths lifted like dust caught in rising wind.
She collapsed to her hands, breath ragged, wings twitching. Then slowly—she rose. Whole. Alive. Unbound. Felicity landed beside me, wings wet with blood, the last Wraith impaled behind her. Faeluxe twirled her dagger with a smirk, blood and starlight on her cheeks. Marla stood in the dais's center, blinking in disbelief, her expression unreadable. Then—she looked at me. And bowed. Not low. Not meek. But with a reverence reserved for kings.
"I was the monster bound by my own past," she said quietly, voice stripped of venom. "You... rewrote the world." I shook my head. "Just one line." And then the inverted sun above us dimmed—its purpose fulfilled. The forge was no longer a prison. It was now a sanctuary.
And Marla was free.