The God of Death's Throne

Chapter 4 The Hypocrites Fall

Darius touched the shortened side of his hair. Color had drained from his face.

“You’re controlling him?”

I laughed. “Control? He dislikes rude guests. Titles carry no weight here, *Your Highness*.”

Darius lurched half a step forward. Before he could take another, pressure slammed his knees into the stone and tore his trousers.

Elara collapsed beside him with a whimper and reached for his sleeve.

He could barely raise his head under the weight. The God of Death stood quietly at my shoulder, without lifting his scythe or moving a hand.

Darius planted one hand on the floor and tried to rise. The system spoke over his grunt.

[New Task Issued: The Cleansing.]

[The Abyss senses the filth of your souls. Present your most profound sin to the Altar of Truth. If the offering is accepted, your soul will be cleansed. If the offering is rejected, await judgment.]

The announcement cut off there. A plain stone altar pushed up through the center of the floor, white light leaking along its edges.

Elara wiped her face and crawled toward it.

“I’ll go first. I’ll confess my sin.”

She reached the altar and placed her hands upon it, bowing her head.

Tears gathered on her lashes without smearing the powder beneath them. I had seen her practice that careful grief at court, usually before asking Darius to punish someone for hurting her feelings.

“My greatest sin is that I’m too kind.” Her breath hitched. “My heart is too soft. I couldn’t save everyone dragged into this place, and I’ll carry that guilt forever.”

She looked to Darius. He had always rewarded that expression.

The altar stayed dark. Then a red light flashed, and a harsh buzzer filled the hall.

[OFFERING REJECTED. HYPOCRISY DETECTED.]

Elara jerked her hands away. “No. That’s impossible. I am pure!”

“Do shut up.” I pointed to the silk pouch at her waist. “The altar wants the truth. Show it what’s in your bag.”

Darius turned to her. Elara clutched the pouch. “It’s personal.”

“It looks like a scapegoat doll to me. Those transfer a fatal blow to somebody else.” I met her eyes. “Who paid for your trip here?”

The dormant livestream screen lit up. The comments disappeared, replaced by a replay.

Grainy footage showed Elara running with a small group while a shadow beast gained on them. A young girl stumbled beside her.

Elara looked over her shoulder twice, measured the shrinking distance, and caught the girl by the arm. Her mouth formed a quick apology before she shoved a crude doll into the girl’s hands.

The beast’s claws tore through the girl’s back. Blood filled the screen. Elara stumbled at the same instant, then kept running without a wound or a backward glance.

The replay ended on Elara’s clean back. Her breathing sounded loud in the hall.

[Punishment protocol initiated.]

The Altar of Truth cracked open. Crimson hellfire climbed Elara’s dress and closed over her body. Her scream scraped through the cavern.

The God of Death trembled beside me. Black mist spun off him in ragged coils. The first coil struck the altar and left a black groove through the stone.

Elara’s pain and fear flooded the dungeon. His body pulled it in too fast, and he doubled over.

His form swelled. Shadows struck the walls and split the stone.