Chapter 16

Upstairs? Dane could not believe he had forgotten about that. He picked up the ring and slid it into his tunic's pocket. "...kill that thing," He left for the knight.

"No promises, kid," the knight said. A small sun floated above him, inching toward the Terror. Dane felt the ophidian's eye on his back as he turned for the exit. A hiss left its forked tongue, and he heard a hundred more from the cathedral's entrance.

The two soldiers didn't move, staring at the apocalyptic sun with hollow eyes. Dane shook his head as he jogged away, sword in hand. The hisses grew louder to his right, and he saw their shadows in the corridor's lamplight. They would hunt him down if he let them. He wouldn't.

He pushed the door of the ghouls' cavernous prison open, taking a deep breath. Above him, a lantern was hung up on the wall. Mellow and dim light burned from an ethereal fire inside, and it kept the corpses at bay. He swung the sword, and the glass lantern broke with a clang, the light snuffed out. Hundreds of yellow eyes flickered in the darkness. He shivered as he turned and ran up the stairs to his right.

Long and winding, the stairs did not allow him to catch his breath. When he stopped for a moment, he heard hisses and ghastly screaming. The serpents and the ghouls were fighting each other as planned.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Sounds rang from the staircase. He looked down. Sullied and Tainted Corpses were ascending the stairs in a small pack of six. Their eyes were fixed on him. He resumed his exhausting climb. There were many doors in the walls where the stairs cornered them, but they were all dark and closed, lacking windows.

BOOM! The tell of an explosion reverberated, and dust fell from the ceiling above him. The ringing in his ears got worse, and he missed a step. He fell on his right hand. "Argh!"

He got up, swaying. Up the stairs. Two at a time. Three. In his haste, he missed another step, and the pack caught up to him.

The ghouls crowded him, and he couldn't understand what was happening. His sword flailed in panic, and he felt dust falling on top of him.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

He slipped on dust and tumbled down the stairs with two other ghouls. He felt their long claws dig into his thighs as they looked for leverage as he slammed into a wall. Sullied Corpses were on top of him.

He pulled at his right leg, and strips of flesh tore off. He thrust his sword into one's thigh, and light erupted from it as it disintegrated. The other's fangs sunk into his side, biting with force as it tore a chunk of skin and muscle off. Dane struggled to push it off, but it suppressed him with a clawed hand. It tore into his left eye, blinding it. Pain lanced inside him, and he wailed. His left hand rose in defense, and the sword nicked the ghoul's hand. Barely. Sweet light came, and it crumbled.

[You have slain a dormant monster, Sullied Corpse.]

[You have slain a dormant monster, Sulled Corpse.]

He was positioned awkwardly on the stairs like a disfigured lump of straw. Blood from his blinded eye trickled into his other, and he blinked it away. There were red spots in his remaining eye. 'Up," he told himself. And right after came another voice. 'Haven't I done enough? No one can blame me if I-if I just—' No. He'd blame himself.

He tried moving, but his back refused to obey him. It must have broken. He rolled to the side, and he was on his stomach. Blood trickled down, and there was dust in his mouth. He coughed and crawled up the stairs. One elbow found leverage on the wood, and his knee rose as he pushed his broken body up. And again. And again. And again. A dozen times. Two dozen times. He heard a hiss far below, loud and deep. The knight had fallen. Hah, who could have thought? 

He kept going. There was so much to live for. So much he hadn't experienced. He couldn't die. He had to live. He had to. How could the clan prosper if he died? His uncle couldn't do it all alone. He dragged himself up willfully. He could hear the heavy thuds of the stairs. He could picture it, the serpent's head dragging across each step. With every two thuds, Dane gained a single step. It was catching up.

"Please. Move faster," he begged himself, begging his nonfunctional body for more. Another step. Two thuds. A step. Two thuds. A step…three thuds. He was getting slower. Then, there were no more steps to climb, and a door blocked his path. He pushed it open and crawled inside, trailing blood on the floor. The window. The cold wind tickled his back as the light fell on his face. Right there, already open for him…why was he headed there? What could he even do if he got out? No matter, he kept going. He reached it.

The windowsill reached above his head. He dropped Atticus's sword and reached up with his only working hand, the left one. He gripped it firmly and then reached out with his mutilated right. It barely rested on the sill. He pushed himself up. He felt the bones shift and the muscles rip. A scream tore its way out of his throat, and tears fell from his remaining eye. It wasn't enough. He pushed more, on his knees. His head was over the windowsill! He could see the empty town. He could see the people leaving en masse far on the rocky road away from the hill. They carried torches to light the darkness.

He put his chin on the sill and pushed harder. His chest was over it now.

Hhhhhiiiiissssss. Dane's heart caught in his throat. He pushed on his elbow, and his body turned. His back rested on the window, and blue eyes met his. The serpent looked better than he did, he thought. It was scorched black, and its iron body was bubbling and reforming to cover the wounds. Dane met its eyes defiantly. It slithered toward him, zigzag. The damned tongue flickered.

Someone was crying. It stood behind the serpent. Pitch black and solemn…a soul? His teary eye focused, and he saw Jackal. She looked at him with what could only have been pity. The serpent's head came closer, blotting her out of his view.

Why was she crying? He didn't even know her. Why was she crying for him? He was crying, but only because it hurt. Why wasn't he also crying? He was the one dying, and he didn't even have it in him to weep for himself. Rage churned his guts, and he glared at the serpent.

He hated nothing more than it, he thought. Even more than he hated himself. He wanted to live. He wanted—

He couldn't hear his thoughts anymore, shadowed by his heartbeat. Each beat thumped against his chest so loudly that he could swear the serpent heard it. Was it fear? Indignation? Wrath? He didn't know.

The serpent opened its maw and raised its head, preparing to strike. To sink its fangs into his neck. His heart beat harder than ever. He wished something would change. He did not want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to kill the Terror. Then, he felt it. Something did change.

His heartbeat got louder, and he looked down. His tunic was vibrating in the pocket in front of his heart. The Relic. As the realization came, so did the Spell's voice, resounding in the room and leaving through the window.

[You have roused Heart's Ring with your will.]

[You have offered your heart to the Lord of Hearts.]

[He is dead. He cannot hear you.]

Anger burst through his veins, and he shouted. "Hear me! Damn it! Hear me!"

[You are a wanderer.]

[You do not belong to him.]

[The Lord of Hearts stirs in his eternal slumber.]

[He sends a blessing and a curse from beyond the grave.]

[Beholder of Souls, receive your due!]

The ring flew out of his pocket, glowing with blinding light. The glass shattered, and the mist from within blew into the hole where his eye was. His body glowed with soft light, and he felt himself changing.

The serpent snapped at him. He closed his eyes, waiting. Death did not come. He opened his eye gingerly. The Terror was still. Unmoving as a rock. It did not…no, it could not move. He watched with amazement as it floated in the air powerlessly. Its body stretched to either side and tore in two. Iron bubbled to heal itself, and that iron was ripped as well. It tried to fix itself and was torn again. Soon, the Terror was nothing but flakes of iron and droplets of sapphire blood on the floor. Just like that, the horrible creature was dead.

The Spell whispered:

[You have slain an awakened terror, Effigy of the Iron Serpent.]

[Wake up, Dane! Your nightmare is over.]

[Prepare for appraisal…]