The cave suddenly widened, giving way to an immense chamber.
The ceiling was lost in darkness, but the floor, smooth and black, reflected a red light coming from a crack in the rock high above. The air smelled of dried blood and iron. And in the center of the chamber, blocking the passage, a living mass of exposed ribs and gray skin.
Xalveth.
The Monarch of Hunger.
He was larger than any creature I had ever seen – larger than the Leviathan, larger than the Krakeriar, larger than the cyclops in the academy dungeon. His ribs, white and pointed, peered through the torn skin. His mouth, split to his chest, showed yellow, irregular teeth. His eyes, small and dark, fixed on me.
"Food," said the creature, his cavernous, dragging voice. "Food..."
"I'm not food," I replied, dragging myself back. My legs, broken, hung useless. My bleeding hands slipped on the smooth stone. "I'm poison. Do you eat poison?"
"Poison is also eaten."
Xalveth advanced.
The ground trembled. The creature's ribs cracked with the movement, a dry, sharp sound, like wood splitting.
I had no strength to fight. No legs to run. The little mana I had, I saved for emergencies. The sword, stuck at my waist, would be useless against a wall of flesh and bone.
You're going to die, I though, refering myself as 'you'. You're going to die here, in hell, without seeing Mira again.
Without saying goodbye.
The backpack pulsed. The egg, still unhatched, seemed warmer than before. More urgent.
"Not yet," I whispered.
I took the Fruit of Belzhar from my pocket.
It was dark purple, shiny, with black veins that pulsed like blood. The smell, sweet and nauseating, filled the chamber. Alice had warned me: temporary power, yes. But then, fevers, deliriums, perhaps death.
"Poison," I repeated.
I bit into the fruit.
The taste was sweet, cloying, with a metallic tang that burned my tongue. The pulp, soft, melted in my mouth. Mana – an absurd amount of mana – flooded my body like a river of lava.
Xalveth hesitated.
"What..." the creature began.
I didn't let him finish.
The sword, which had been heavy, now felt light. My broken legs hurt, but I ignored the pain. I stood up. My body trembled. The power ran through my veins like fire.
"Now!" I shouted.
I advanced.
The first blow hit Xalveth's leg. The flesh tore. Black, thick blood gushed. The creature roared – a deafening sound that echoed off the stone walls.
"Food!" he shouted.
"No food for you, fucking animal!!"
The second blow hit his chest. The ribs cracked. The third, his neck. The fourth, his head.
Xalveth fell.
The creature's body trembled once, twice, three times. Then, it lay still.
Silence returned.
The sword fell from my hand. I fell to my knees. My body trembled. The power that minutes before had set me ablaze now burned me from within.
"Poison," I whispered again.
The Fruit of Belzhar had kept its promise. And now, it collected its price.
---
The fevers came first.
My body, hot, burned as if submerged in lava. My skin, sweaty, stuck to my tunic. My teeth chattered. My eyes burned.
And then, the deliriums.
I saw Mira. Not the Mira I knew – six-year-old Mira, with curly hair and an easy smile – but an older Mira, with empty eyes, floating in the dark.
"Zirinos," she said, in a voice that was not hers. "Why did you leave me?"
"I didn't leave you," I replied, my voice trembling. "I will return. I swear!"
"You'll return too late, I know. And I... I don't need you anymore."
Her face dissolved. In its place, Fenísia appeared. The girl from the sea towns, the one who died in my arms, the one I loved without knowing I loved.
"You killed me," she said. "You let me to die."
"It wasn't my fault."
"It was. It always was. Don't lie to yourself."
Fenísia's body crumbled to ash. Then Lysara. Then Zequila. Then my father.
All the faces I had failed. All the deaths I had caused.
"Wake up," I whispered. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."
An ancient voice cut through the delirium.
Zirinos.
It was a man's voice, old, tired, but firm. It did not come from my body. It came from outside. It came from everywhere.
Your destiny does not end here, boy. Get up.
"Who are you?" I asked, my eyes still closed.
Someone who has walked the same path. Someone who survived worse shit than you.
"The Pope?"
The voice did not answer. It only repeated:
Get up.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling of the cave, black and irregular, was still there. The floor, hard and cold, was still there. The backpack, pressed against my chest, pulsed.
I stood up.
My legs hurt. The broken bones creaked. But I was on my feet.
"Thank you," I whispered.
The voice did not answer.
---
The Fortress of Chains rose before me like a mountain of iron and bones.
The walls, black and rough, glowed with a red light that came from cracks in the rock. The ceiling, high, was lost in darkness. The floor, covered in rusty chains, crackled with every step.
And in the center of the fortress, Kharion.
The Scarlet Executioner.
His armor was red, made of fused bones, with a helmet that hid his face. The axe, enormous, shone with a black light. His hands, covered in steel gauntlets, held the weapon with a deadly calm.
"Zirinos," said Kharion, his metallic voice coming from inside the helmet. "The hero of Endomyar."
"The apprentice," I replied. "Still."
"Apprentices die to young."
"Apprentices also learn 'to young'."
Kharion advanced.
"Very well. Than show me what you've learned."
The axe came down upon me like thunder. I dodged by centimeters. The blade hit the ground, shattering the stone. Shards flew, cutting my face.
"Fast," said Kharion. "But not fast enough."
The second blow hit my shoulder. The armor creaked. The bone hurt. I fell to my knees.
"Get up," ordered Kharion. "I want to see you fight."
"I'm not going to fight," I replied, my voice gasping. "I'm going to win."
I took Ophisrael's scale from my pocket.
It was black, shiny, with red veins that pulsed like blood. The poison I had stored there, during the fight with the serpent, was still fresh.
I rubbed the scale on the blade of my dagger.
Kharion hesitated.
"What..." he began.
"Poison," I replied.
The executioner advanced. The axe rose again.
I dodged. The dagger blade entered Kharion's arm, between the plates of his armor. The poison spread. The executioner's skin began to darken, to crack.
"No..." Kharion recoiled, gasping. "It can't be..."
"It can and it is!"
I drove the dagger into his neck.
The Scarlet Executioner fell to his knees. His red armor darkened. The heavy axe fell to the ground with a dull sound. His body, motionless, lay with its eyes open.
Silence returned.
I fell to my knees again. The poison on the dagger did not affect me – Ophisrael's scale protected whoever touched it.
"Thank you," I whispered, to no one.
The serpent did not answer.
The chains covering the floor of the fortress crackled. Some, broken. Others, still intact.
"What held me?" I asked aloud.
The fortress did not answer.
I stood up. My legs hurt. My body trembled. But I was alive.
I dragged myself toward the exit.
The darkness outside continued.