Chapter Eight: The Deep Crown
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The darkness inside the Catacombs was absolute.
Even the Hollow Crown's fading glow seemed dimmer here, as if the throne itself devoured light. Kael stood motionless before it, the great seat of bones and blades pulsing like a sleeping heart. Beneath his boots, the very stone trembled.
This was not a place for the living.
"Rule... or be ruled."
The voice echoed again, not into Kael's ears, but directly into his soul. Cold. Calculating. Ancient.
Kael stepped forward. He felt the weight of his mortality dragging behind him like chains. Every instinct screamed to run.
But he did not.
He reached for the throne.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt of the massive sword buried in its side, pain unlike anything he'd known stabbed into his chest. Memories were torn from him. Not just his—but memories of past kings, warlords, monsters.
He saw a hundred coronations.
A thousand betrayals.
He saw himself. Again. Again. Again.
As if Kael had lived these lives before.
He gritted his teeth. He endured.
Until, at last, the throne accepted him.
The Deep Crown rose from the seat—a circlet of jagged obsidian and burning soulflame. It hovered above his head. The Hollow Crown shattered.
Kael did not scream.
He roared.
Power unlike anything he had ever known surged through his body. The void embraced him. Death no longer whispered.
It obeyed.
He collapsed to one knee, panting. Black veins traced up his arms, glowing faintly. His armor reformed around him, no longer cracked and tattered. It was sharp, regal, ancient.
He was no longer just the Hollow King.
He was the Deep King.
---
Outside the Catacombs, Nihrex stood silently atop a hill overlooking the entrance. His one exposed eye blinked once.
"He survived," he whispered. Not with relief. But curiosity.
Behind him, a presence emerged from the mist.
A woman cloaked in red and gold, her face veiled, her voice soft. "So it begins again."
"It never stopped," Nihrex replied.
"You think he can beat Silas?"
"I think," Nihrex said, folding his arms, "that for the first time in centuries... the outcome is uncertain."
---
Meanwhile, in the capital, Silas stood in the Grand Vault beneath the palace.
It was a place none were allowed to see. Not even the Emperor.
Around him floated hundreds of spell circles and celestial diagrams. And in the center of it all—a coffin. Not for a corpse, but for a god.
Lyra stepped into the vault, hesitantly. "You called me."
Silas didn't look at her. "Kael has found it."
Lyra blinked. "The Deep Crown? That was real?"
"Everything's real if it hates you enough," he said dryly. "And now he's no longer the man I killed. He's something worse."
Lyra drew closer. "What do we do?"
Silas turned.
"We stop holding back."
He walked to the coffin and pressed a hand to its seal.
It pulsed.
"Are you sure?" Lyra asked. "You said if we opened that—"
"We lose control," Silas finished. "Yes. But if Kael wants to rule from a broken throne..."
The seal cracked.
"Then let him sit across from a god."
---
Far beneath the Catacombs, Kael stepped from the shadows. The Deep Crown shimmered like a halo forged from forgotten nightmares.
He raised a hand.
The cavern trembled.
From the walls emerged figures — half-rotted kings, ancient warriors, and spectral beasts. The Dead Legion.
His army.
He opened his palm.
The Hollow Realm responded.
Across the world, cracks formed. Places long sealed. Graves long untouched. Ancient kings stirred.
Kael smiled.
Let Silas come.
Let the Empire march.
He was ready.
And this time, he would not lose.
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To be continued...