The commander's sword came down.
It was a slow, crushing blow, but the pressure in the air made it impossible to move away.
Lily was still on the ground.
Her blade was stuck in the base of the throne.
Daniel didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward, throwing his weight into Lily's shoulder, knocking her out of the path of the descent.
The commander's sword struck the stone floor.
The cave didn't shake this time.
Instead, a line of absolute darkness tore through the ground, splitting the stone open right between Daniel and Lily.
The air in the rift tasted like ozone and old graves.
"Get up," Daniel muttered, his voice strained.
His hands were still numb from the frozen hilt of his weapon, which now lay across the chamber, covered in hardened black frost.
Lily scrambled to her feet, her hands empty.
"My sword," she whispered, looking at the throne.
The weapon was sinking into the black rock, the stone absorbing the steel like water.
They were weaponless.
In a closed room.
With a dead commander who possessed the strength of the mountain.
The commander pulled his blade from the floor.
The black liquid was now covering his entire armored frame, turning him into a towering silhouette of shifting tar and gold trim.
"You have no badges," the grinding voice echoed from the walls.
The creature stopped.
The empty eye sockets tilted down toward the floor, searching.
"You threw them away."
The voice sounded different now. Less aggressive. Confused.
"The marks... are gone."
Daniel noticed the shift immediately.
The creature wasn't attacking. It was waiting.
"We are not the academy's property anymore," Daniel said, his voice echoing in the small space.
He stood straight, keeping his hands visible.
"We are Ghost Killers. But we do not serve the gates."
The commander's armored head tilted.
The black liquid on its body slowed its frantic movement, cooling into a dull, matte black shell.
"The gates... lied," the voice whispered.
It wasn't a roar anymore. It sounded like an old man's sigh.
The wall of ash at the entrance began to loosen.
The heavy, pressurized soot crumbled, falling to the floor in harmless gray piles.
The path out was open.
But the commander wasn't looking at the exit.
He lifted his left hand, pointing a bony, tar-covered finger toward the deeper chamber behind the throne.
The darkness there was absolute.
"He waits," the voice said.
"Finn Foster?" Daniel asked.
The commander didn't answer.
The black fluid holding the skeleton together began to dry up, turning to fine gray dust.
The armor clattered to the ground.
First the pauldrons, then the chest plate, and finally the skull.
Within seconds, there was nothing left but a pile of old, gold-trimmed iron and ash.
Lily walked over to the throne.
She pulled her sword free. The stone had let go, but the blade was stained with thin, black lines that wouldn't rub off.
"He let us go," she said, her voice quiet.
"No," Daniel replied, walking to the edge of the deeper tunnel.
He looked down into the dark abyss.
"He just opened the door."