Immortal: Death in love

The Beast’s Throne

The mist clung to his armor like cold breath from the grave. Lucius stood before the citadel of Aliath., an endless sprawl of black spires and collapsed archways, swallowed by silence. The air was thick, unmoving, as if the world itself feared to stir the sleeping darkness within.

He had crossed half a continent to reach this place. Scars burned beneath the plates of dwarven steel that now covered him, each one a memory of how far he’d fallen and how far he’d clawed his way back. In his hand gleamed Heartbane, its edge whispering faint echoes of dwarven runes. It thrummed with power, but beneath that power was doubt. The blade could cut through demons and stone alike, but could it free the woman he loved from a god’s curse?

Lucius forced himself to breathe. “For her,” he murmured. The sound vanished into the fog.

He stepped forward, boots scraping against the ashen earth. The first gate loomed before him, iron melted and fused into twisted forms of weeping angels. As he passed beneath, the mist thickened, muffling even the sound of his heartbeat. Shadows moved at the edges of his vision, half formed figures that dissolved whenever he turned to look.

Inside, the citadel was a labyrinth of ruin. Columns carved with ancient runes leaned like dying trees. A faint red light pulsed from the cracks between the stones, as if the walls themselves bled. Lucius advanced carefully, hand on his sword hilt, every sense sharpened by years of training and fear.

Then came the whispers.

They rose from the floor, the walls, the very air, voices woven from the breath of ghosts. You left her… you let her fall.

Lucius froze. The words weren’t entirely wrong; they were his own guilt made sound. He pushed forward, jaw set. “You won’t break me,” he growled.

The corridor opened into a vast hall, roof lost in darkness. Broken banners hung like old skin from the rafters. At the center stood a throne carved from obsidian, massive and cracked. Around it lay dozens of statues, humanoid, yet not quite human faces twisted in agony.

Lucius approached one and brushed off the dust. Flesh. Not stone at all.

He staggered back. These were no statues but bodies calcified by sorcery, victims caught in the instant of their undoing. Each face bore an expression of pleading reverence, as if they had worshiped Aliath even as he devoured them.

A deep hum shook the air. The crimson light brightened, spilling from the seams of the floor. Lucius gripped his sword tighter. He wasn’t alone.

Something moved across the far end of the hall slow, deliberate. A figure draped in tattered black, its steps echoing like the toll of a bell. Lucius raised his blade, but when the figure lifted its head, he froze.

It had Morgana’s eyes.

Not her face, her eyes. They burned gold through the shadow, filled with pain and recognition before vanishing back into darkness. The illusion flickered and was gone.

Lucius’s heart pounded. He forced himself to move again, deeper into the citadel. The hall led to a spiral staircase that seemed to descend forever. As he went down, the air grew colder. Every breath felt heavy, laced with ash. He remembered the stories the dwarves had whispered about Aliath’s domain that it was not built by mortal hands but grown from the beast’s own corruption, a place where reality bent under divine malice.

At the base of the stairs, a gate of bone and iron waited. Its hinges moaned as he pushed it open, revealing a bridge suspended over a vast abyss. Below, darkness swirled like a living sea. Above, the citadel’s spires pierced a sky that bled faint, sickly light.

Lucius stepped onto the bridge.

The wind was silent. No howl, no whispers only the beating of his heart. Halfway across, the surface rippled under his boots. Black smoke rose, forming shapes of faces again, hundreds of them, mouths open in silent screams. They reached for him, spectral hands clawing from the mist.

He swung Heartbane. The blade cut through them like light through shadow, each swing scattering the smoke. Yet with every strike, the air grew heavier, the whispers louder.

You can’t save her… she belongs to Him now…

He ignored them, though each word struck deeper than a sword.

At the end of the bridge stood a pair of doors taller than any cathedral gates. They were carved with scenes of creation and ruins, angels bowing, flames consuming worlds, a single figure standing triumphant above it all: Aliath, the Beast of the End.

Lucius pressed a hand against the cold metal. Beneath his palm, he felt a heartbeat. The citadel lived.

He closed his eyes, forcing the tremor from his breath. He remembered Morgana’s laughter before all this, bright, stubborn, human. The woman who had believed in him when no one else did. He remembered how her eyes had gone distant when the curse took hold, how she’d whispered his name before vanishing into light.

Now he was here, on the edge of her prison.

“For you,” he said again, softer this time.

The doors groaned open, the sound rolling through the citadel like thunder. A rush of cold air swept past him, carrying the scent of burned roses and old blood.

Beyond lay the inner sanctum.

The light within was wrong, neither night nor flame, but something that moved like liquid shadow. Pillars rose from pools of black water, reflecting distorted shapes. At the far end, half shrouded in darkness, stood another throne, this one alive with veins of light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Lucius stepped inside. The air trembled.

Behind him, the doors slammed shut.

He didn’t turn. He knew the way back was gone; it always had been. He moved forward instead, the echo of his steps swallowed by the living dark. Somewhere above, the citadel groaned, as if sensing the trespass.

Every instinct screamed that he was being watched.

At the base of the throne, something stirred, slender fingers tracing the edge of the armrest. Then a figure rose from the shadows, tall, graceful, cloaked in black. Her hair fell like strands of night, her skin pale as frost.

Lucius stopped breathing.

“Morgana…” he whispered.

She turned toward him.

And though her face was hers, the smile that curved her lips was not.

“Morgana…” The name left Lucius’s lips like a prayer and a curse at once.

For a moment, she only looked at him still, unreadable, her golden eyes faintly glowing beneath the veil of shadow. Then she stepped down from the throne. Her movements were fluid, almost regal, but there was something wrong beneath the grace. The way the light bent around her. The way the air itself recoiled.

“Lucius,” she said and it was her voice, but deeper, layered with something vast and hollow. “You came for me.”

He swallowed hard, every instinct screaming that this was not the woman he’d loved. But hope is a cruel thing. It made him take one step forward when he should have fled.

“I came to bring you home,” he said.

The faintest flicker crossed her face confusion, maybe recognition but it was gone before he could trust it. She tilted her head, and the shadow deepened behind her, forming something like wings.

“Home?” Her lips curved into a slow, cold smile. “There is no home left for what we are.”

Her voice shifted, the echo of another breaking through a tone ancient and terrible. “She belongs to me.”

Lucius’s hand tightened around Heartbane. “Then I’ll take her back.”

He rushed forward, steel flashing. The blade met her hand but instead of blood, sparks of dark fire erupted where steel touched skin. The impact sent him stumbling back. She hadn’t even moved her feet.

The laugh that followed was soft, wrong, and it wasn’t Morgana’s. “You think mortal metal can wound a god?”

Lucius gritted his teeth. “It’s not the metal that will.”

He struck again, faster, the dwarven runes flaring bright across the blade. This time the air itself shuddered. He managed to slice across her shoulder, black smoke hissed from the wound, and for a heartbeat, she cried out in her voice.

“Lucius…..stop…..”

He froze. Her eyes flickered back to gold, full of pain and terror. “He’s inside…run!”

Then her body convulsed, and the darkness swallowed her again. When she looked up, Aliath’s voice thundered through the hall.

“Your love made her weak. Your love gave me this vessel.”

The ground cracked beneath Lucius’s feet. Pillars split, shadows crawling up the walls like living serpents. He raised his sword again, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him. He couldn’t bring himself to strike her.

“Morgana,” he whispered. “Fight him. I know you can hear me.”

Her head tilted. “She can hear you,” said Aliath. “She just doesn’t want to.”

She moved faster than sight. Her palm struck his chest and sent him crashing into the far wall. The armor absorbed part of the blow, but pain bloomed through his ribs. He forced himself to stand, gasping, vision swimming.

He remembered the dwarves’ words: The beast feeds on despair. Do not give him yours.

Lucius steadied his breath. He raised his sword again, muttering the old battle oath. The runes flared white. “You’ll not take her from me.”

He charged, every ounce of training, fury, and love burning through his veins. The clash was blinding steel and shadow colliding with sound like thunder. For a moment, it seemed he was pushing her back. He could see flashes of Morgana in her expression, grief, confusion, the woman beneath the god.

But Aliath’s laughter drowned it all.

The darkness around her condensed, solidified, forming blades of shadow that slashed through the air. One struck his side, tearing through armor. He cried out, falling to one knee. Blood darkened the stones beneath him.

Aliath stepped closer, using Morgana’s voice now, soft and cruel. “You can’t save her because she doesn’t want to be saved.”

Lucius lifted his head, eyes burning. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” she whispered. “Ask her.”

For one horrible instant, she leaned close, so close he could see tears shimmering in her eyes. And then, beneath the god’s power, Morgana’s true voice trembled through.

“I’m sorry, Lucius. He’s stronger. Run please”

Her hand moved faster than thought, striking his chest again. Heartbane flew from his grip, spinning across the floor. Lucius fell backward, hitting the cold stone hard.

The citadel began to quake. Cracks spread across the floor, glowing with molten light. The pillars broke, raining debris. The whole fortress shuddered like a living thing in agony.

Aliath–Morgana spread her arms wide. “You wanted her back. Now watch her kingdom fall.”

Lucius tried to rise, but his legs wouldn’t obey. His vision blurred; every breath burned. He could hear the roar of collapsing towers, the wail of the abyss beneath the citadel.

“Morgana!” he shouted.

For a heartbeat, the darkness flickered. Her eyes softened. Her lips moved soundless but he knew what she was saying. Forgive me.

Then the roof caved in.