I Was Sent To Kill The Cursed King

Chapter 7: Descent into Void

The floor beneath them gave way with a sound like grinding teeth. Gravity ceased to be a constant as the entire tower groaned under the weight of its own collapse. Malphas wrapped his arms around Lyra, his grip firm, and plummeted into the churning darkness that had once been the interior of the throne room.

They fell past levels of crumbling history, through layers of cold stone and forgotten tapestries that disintegrated upon contact with the air. Malphas shifted his body to shield her, his skin still raw from the exertion of the fight, his breathing ragged. Above them, the city was tearing itself apart, the obsidian foundations shattering into a thousand jagged shards that rained down like black snow.

They slammed into a subterranean ledge, the impact jarring enough to make Lyra see stars. She gasped, clutching at the dust-covered stone to find her footing, while Malphas rolled to his feet instantly, his sword drawn even as his hands shook. The light from the quartz monoliths was dying, fading into a murky, suffocating grey.

Where are we? Lyra asked, her voice tight with panic.

Malphas didn't answer. He stared into the darkness ahead, where the walls of the cavern pulsed with a dull, bioluminescent slime. This was the throat of the city, the hidden mechanism that kept the curse alive. The King was gone, but his death had acted as a trigger, releasing a vacuum of magic that was now drawing everything into the deep.

The floor shook again, a deep, tectonic rumble that vibrated in their marrow. The path forward was blocked by a wall of liquid shadow that hissed as it touched the rock. It was the hunger the King had warned them about, a formless entity composed of every soul that had been sacrificed to keep the bloodline intact.

We have to move, Malphas said, his voice stripped of all emotion. If we stay here, the city will swallow us.

He took her hand, his palm rough against hers. They ran through the winding tunnels, their boots slipping on the slick, frozen moss. Behind them, the roar of the collapsing tower grew into a deafening scream. The entity of shadows chased them, not with speed, but with the inevitability of a rising tide.

They emerged into a vast, open space beneath the mountains. It was a forest of white quartz pillars, a mirror of the plaza above, but here, the monoliths were cracked, leaking a pale, glowing nectar that smelled of ozone and ancient death.

Look, Lyra whispered, pointing to a circular altar at the center of the grove.

The altar was engraved with the same seal Malphas bore on his chest, but it was shattered. A single, crystalline shard sat in the center, pulsing with a rhythm that mirrored Malphas's own irregular heart.

That is the source, Malphas murmured, his eyes locking onto the shard. The King said the power would return to the soil, but he lied. He wanted it to return to me. He wanted me to become the new prison.

Lyra walked toward the altar, her footsteps light against the glass floor. She felt the pull of the shard, a magnetic sensation that tugged at her blood. She realized then that the curse had not been Malphas's alone. It had been designed to bind him to this place, to keep him as a battery for the entities that lived beneath the mountain.

If you touch it, you are lost, Lyra warned.

Malphas stood inches from the shard. His reflection in the crystal was not of a king, but of the beast. The golden eyes stared back at him, pleading for release, for destruction, for a way out. He looked at Lyra, his face reflecting the conflict of a thousand years of trapped royalty.

If I leave it, we both die, he said. The entity behind us is coming, and it will not stop until it consumes our spirits. If I take it, I might be able to channel the force to clear a path out of these mountains.

And if you lose yourself? Lyra reached out, touching his arm, feeling the coldness of his skin.

Then you use the dagger, he replied softly. You told me you would not let me turn into them. This is the only way to hold the line.

The shadows reached the edge of the grove, a wall of darkness that blotted out the dim light. They were close now, the air growing thick with the scent of decay. Malphas turned to the altar and slammed his hand onto the crystal shard.

Light erupted, blinding and absolute.

Lyra shielded her eyes as the world turned into a kaleidoscope of white and gold. She felt a shockwave of raw, unfiltered magic blast through the cavern, pushing her backward. She hit a pillar, the breath knocked from her lungs, and watched as Malphas was engulfed by the light.

He was no longer a man. He was a beacon, his body radiating energy that tore through the incoming shadows like fire through dry parchment. The entity shrieked—a sound that shattered the quartz pillars—as the light purged the grove of its darkness.

But as the light began to fade, Lyra saw the cost. Malphas was slumped over the altar, his body motionless. The shard had fused into his chest, glowing with an ominous, flickering pulse. He was breathing, but it was shallow, labored.

Lyra rushed to him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't look at the shadows, which had retreated into the crevices of the cave, nor did she look at the collapsing ceiling. She knelt by the altar and pulled his head into her lap.

Malphas, wake up, she pleaded, her hands hovering over the shard embedded in his skin.

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering. His eyes were not grey, and they were not gold. They were a brilliant, terrifying white. He looked up at her, and for a moment, he didn't seem to recognize her.

The mountain is quiet, he whispered, his voice sounding like multiple voices speaking at once. The hunger has been silenced, but the void... the void is watching.

He reached up, his fingers brushing her cheek, his skin burning with an unnatural heat. We have to go, Lyra. They have found the breach.

He struggled to stand, his strength returning, but it was the strength of the monoliths, cold and hard. He looked at the tunnel leading further into the deep, away from the surface.

They are blocking the exit to the mountains, he said, looking back at the darkness. If we want to survive, we have to go lower.

Lyra glanced at the tunnel, then at the man she loved, who was becoming something far more than a king. She knew that by following him, she was walking deeper into the heart of the curse, but she didn't hesitate. She took his hand, feeling the hum of the shard against her own palm.

Together, they descended into the unexplored depths of the mountain, leaving the ruins of the city behind, unaware that something else was emerging from the shadows to follow them.