17. Chapter 17

We wandered through another dank corridor illuminated by Elias' magical fireflies. Our bodies and minds were exhausted, battle fatigued, the tension palpable.

One more chamber, one more killer. If we won this next fight—

"Splendid! I didn't expect you to make it this far," Malachar's voice sounded through the wards, his slow clapping filling the silence. "Delightful to watch you wander the fog, seeing the madness and despair growing in your eyes as you cry out for each other. But the most standout performance by far was our little Myna. She is quickly becoming a fan favorite, you see. What would you have done without your beautiful sister to save your lives?"

Cyn growled. "I'm gonna enjoy tearing your arms from their sockets before I do the same with your eyes, you voyeuristic sicko!"

"That's no way to take a compliment! All I wanted was to provide moral support, boys. You seem to need it." Malachar let out a sarcastic sigh. "Look at yourselves, there isn't much time left. The end is near. Poor Elias can't stop trembling. Is the cold already setting in? And you Cynthian, swaying as you walk. Do you feel your nerves numbing, too?"

"By the Creators, what's your point, Malachar?" I yelled, throwing my arms in the air. "If you already hold all the power, why bother speaking to us?"

Malachar laughed, a grating, guffawing noise laden with cruelty. "Because I enjoy tormenting you, of course."

Tears of anger turned the corridor blurry. I shouldn't have let him get under my skin, but I'd had enough of his gloating.

"I'm not entirely without compassion," Malachar continued as we neared the next door. "You boys seem in no shape to continue fighting. So, generous as I am, I've taken it upon myself to grant you a gift. You will soon see what it is. Use it well. This is going to be the show of the decade, and I will be drowning in coin." His snickering faded as the wards' connection severed.

Cyn pushed the key into the lock and turned to Eli and me. He favored us with one of his lopsided smirks, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"You two, dead at my feet. Your flesh ripped open by my whip. Your blood on my cleaver," he said, his tone flat.

My head tilted as I exchanged a confused glance with Eli. "What?"

"The damn hallucinations. First, I saw the orphanage. Then, my time here in the House of Grief, the experiments. I don't wanna talk about that shit." Cyn's shoulders rounded ever so slightly. "But by far the fucking worst was the last bit. I couldn't resist my urges, slicing and hacking at you. I continued long after you stopped moving. When I was done, your wrecked bodies were just lumps of carrion, reduced to meat scraps by my death-stained hands."

Emotions warred in his gaze, a swirling vortex of guilt and fear, lips pressed into a thin line.

"And then … I wanted to die."

A crack echoed through my chest.

"Brother, your last nightmare held as little truth as ours," Eli said, shaking as he grasped Cyn's hand, brushing a kiss on the back. "Nothing but demented falsehoods. Depression wielded our fears like a dagger. Our trepidation smelted in the fire of sorrow and shaped into a vile blade by the merciless hammer of our self-doubt. The pain stirred by what you saw is valid, your feelings are real—but the sharp point held to your neck is nothing but a lie."

I took Cyn's other hand to kiss it like Eli had, and his breath hitched.

"My faith in both of you was the reason I figured out that last vision wasn't reality. I knew neither of you would ever speak to me with such disrespect. You would never demand such a cruel sacrifice of me. And I know with equal certainty that you would never hurt us, Cyn." I smirked. "At least not in that way."

Cyn yanked us against his chest. He hugged us and Elias' hands met mine at his back, our fingers locking.

"Fucking Hells," Cyn mumbled. "I'm sorry for getting all whiny like some flaccid prick." He made a gagging noise, and I chuckled.

"You know you don't always have to be a badass around us, right?" I asked. "You're allowed to have emotions."

"Creators … don't start with this please, Hellspark. Not now. I appreciate it. But if I—"

Light flooded the corridor as the door behind us opened.

Cyn pushed us back, his body our shield, and brought his cleaver up. With a wet thud and a crack, it found its target: Right in the chest of a human male.

My brows shot up as I gaped at the stranger standing in the doorway. A deep gash split the front of his mustard-yellow doublet and the flesh underneath, thick, black ooze running over his chest in lazy trickles.

Demonic blood.

There was no doubt: It was him. Our final opponent.

Acceptance.

But why the Hells wasn't he collared?

Apart from his obvious disregard for the grievous wound he sustained, Acceptance must have been the most unremarkable man I'd ever seen.

His eyes were a dull brown, the same as his medium-length, wavy hair. He wasn't particularly tall or short, neither hefty nor skinny. Neither tan nor pale. A few wrinkles creased his face as a sly smirk moved his thin lips, but his skin was otherwise unblemished. I couldn't pinpoint if he was twenty or forty. If I saw him in the streets, I wouldn't have even noticed him.

"I would recommend higher up," Acceptance said in Elvish with a rough accent, pointing at his neck. "Around … here."

I'd never heard Cyn gasp in shock before, and Elias wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders, hitching me closer. Growling, Cyn pulled the cleaver free and sliced horizontally.

Acceptance's head lolled to the side, held only by a few strings of sinew, yet he kept standing. He chuckled and grabbed his head, aligning stump and neck. As he pressed the flesh together, the unthinkable happened:

His wounds healed. Seamlessly.

I recoiled further into the safety of Eli's embrace as I tried to wrap my panic-stricken thoughts around the dreadful sight and what it meant for us.

Doom.

"Creators save us," Eli mumbled under his breath, his trembling fingers digging into my arm.

How were we supposed to kill a man whose flesh bore a deadly strike like a feather's tickle?

"Well then, with the brutal formalities out of the way," Acceptance said, waving his hand and his doublet was whole again, not a trace of blood on him. He stepped back as he gestured to the door. "Please, come in. Follow me."

Elias nudged Cyn in the back. "No point in standing here, brother. Let's go."

Cyn gave a distracted nod, as he took the key from the lock and put it back in his pocket.

Side by side, we entered an impressive hall, the vaulted ceiling supported by mighty marble pillars. The blue moon—another environmental illusion—shone through arched windows. A solid iron gate towered at the far end of the space, presumably the exit from the dungeon. Intricate stucco decorated the walls alongside hundreds of oil paintings in elaborate, golden frames.

They differed in size from tiny to massive, but all of them showed Acceptance in various flattering situations and heroic poses. Slaying beasts and humans alike, hair adrift in the breeze and a winsome smile on his face. Peasants groveling at his feet, showering him with flowers and gifts. Nobles setting a crown atop his head, wrapping a fur-trimmed cloak around his shoulders.

An exquisite mural covered the high ceiling, illuminated by gilded sconces and chandeliers. It depicted a knight with white hair and a divinely glowing left hand, the other driving a long blade through the chest of a figure cloaked in black.

Acceptance snickered. "Ah, I see the mural has drawn your eye, Miss Mynarin. Are you a fellow patron of the arts?"

"No."

"Are you familiar with the tale of Vilthrys and Esdra then?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"A pity. It's a famous legend in my home country, the human kingdom of Valourya, and the inspiration for this stunning artwork," Acceptance said as we walked along the spotless, polished wooden floor toward a dais with a plain iron chair atop it. "In fact, dear guests, I had this entire space loosely modeled after the ballroom of the royal palace in Cervos, the capital."

I took a steadying breath, inhaling the rich scent of brimstone and myrrh. Acceptance's casual chatter had my belly in knots. I expected outright aggression, an immediate confrontation, but he didn't even perceive us as a threat. He was a beast toying with its food.

"I remember the tale," Elias suddenly spoke up. "Vaguely. I read about it once. A celestial knight defeating a necromancer, a classic story of good triumphing over evil."

"Oh, bravo." Acceptance clapped. "At least one of you is a learned soul." He climbed the stairs of the dais and dropped onto the seat. Legs crossing and hands steepling, he grinned.

"But enough idle conversation. Let us begin."

Acceptance snapped his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, the room had changed.

The moon had split into two red orbs resting amidst lavender clouds, dipping the hall into light as crimson as sin itself. Dark spots specked the parquet, damaged by deep scratches. Strung up by their feet hung dozens of bodies wrapped in bloodied linen, dangling high along the pillars.

The chair Acceptance sat on had changed, too.

Now it was a throne of spiked metal, skulls with sparkling gems for eyes adorning it. By its side stood an exhibition stand with a glass case atop. In it, on a silken pillow, laid his key.

"Oh, Creators," I breathed, rubbing my eyes.

"Don't worry. This isn't another cheap illusion like that amateur Depression used. This is true power." Acceptance chortled, glancing down at us. "Now, for my first task. Master Malachar has asked me to give you a helping hand. Perk you up for a grandiose battle, so to speak."

He snapped his fingers again, and a large, crimson ritual circle appeared right ahead of us at the bottom of the dais.

Purple candles stood in between the double outer borders, giving the impression of a cage without bars. Unnatural heat rose from the foreign, shifting runes drawn in sharp lines of vibrant, glowing red. My thoughts grew muddled, and it felt like someone was pushing needles through my sockets, puncturing my brain. I groaned, but I couldn't avert my eyes from the pulsing symbols.

"Don't look at the runes, Myna," Eli said, turning my head toward him. "They're demonic. If a mortal gazes at them for too long, their mind will shatter."

A swallow worked its way down my throat as I folded my arms around myself, the smile I gave him quivering. "T-thank you."

"How lovingly you take care of each other! Then, you might want to consider this: the poison is progressing fast," Acceptance said, gesturing toward us. "To feed, to nurture your Demons is the only way you will live long enough to lay a hand on me. Or well …" He grinned. "Try to, at least."

"You are going to provide us with the means of strengthening ourselves?" Elias asked with a scoff. "Isn't helping your enemy the last thing you'd want?"

Acceptance gave a dismissive wave. "There is no joy to be found in slaughtering worn out, meek opponents. And Master Malachar has requested a thrilling spectacle for his patrons. You simply dropping dead won't do to satisfy their bloodlust. My master has given me everything I've ever wanted, so when he asks something of me, I follow his wishes. It's the honorable thing to do."

"Is that why you're not collared?" I burst out, my confusion and frustration brewing into a volatile mixture. "Because you're his damned lapdog?"

Acceptance's thick brows rose.

"No, Myna dear," he said with a patronizing, amused lilt that had my hackles rising. "I'm not collared because I'm the guardian of this dungeon. The last line of defense if upstarts like you ever get the stupid idea of trying to escape. Besides, I have no wish to leave. Everything I need is here. Before Master Malachar remade me, I was a nobody. A pathetic servant at the court in Valourya. Ignored. Overlooked. Now, I am adored and feared. And within these walls—"

He spread his arms.

"I am God and King and Emperor. This is my domain, and nobody leaves my realm alive. So, choose, my friends."

His gaze fell on Eli and Cyn, a sly grin cutting across his features.

"Accept my master's generous offer and die with honor," he said, his tone casual. "Or refuse and watch me break your little fire-hearted mate while you writhe on the floor, succumbing to the poison."