Chapter Fourteen: Welcome to Terrorsburg, Population: Nope
If ever there were a place that begged to be left off maps, whispered about only in curses, and avoided even by ghosts, Terrorsburg was it.
Officially, it wasn't called that. On most maps (those few brave enough to include it), it was labeled The Ruins of Elarind. But everyone just called it what it was: Terrorsburg—a haunted, crumbling city swallowed by vines, fog, and the kind of cursed energy that made your socks soggy for no reason.
"This is a terrible idea," Elric announced as the group stood at the threshold of its skeletal gates.
"I mean... our worst idea so far," Marlow corrected. "And that's a competitive category."
Elliott adjusted the now two-sharded relic strapped to his back. "We follow the map, we get the third shard, we get out. No heroics. No drama. No dying."
Dorian blinked. "Have we ever done anything without those three things?"
"…No," Elliott sighed. "But I can dream."
A Greeting Party of Bats and Bones
As they stepped through the archway, the wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of burnt parchment and wet mildew. The city greeted them with a shower of bats (rude), a falling gargoyle head (ruder), and what appeared to be a sentient trash pile that yelled "Turn back, dumdums!" before collapsing into itself.
"Charming place," Seraphine muttered.
"I stayed in a worse inn once," Dorian offered. "It had fleas. That charged rent."
Despite the name and atmosphere, the ruins held a strange, broken beauty. Cracked towers stood like crooked teeth. Stained glass windows remained intact in bizarre defiance of time, and bioluminescent moss painted every wall in soft green light.
They followed Elric's enchanted compass, which spun wildly for a moment before settling on a direction that looked particularly murdery.
The Echo Market
They arrived at what had once been the city's marketplace—now half-sunken into the earth, with ruined stalls and mannequins frozen in silent trade.
Except one.
One moved.
The mannequin turned slowly, holding out a wilted apple with fingers too long and too wooden.
"Buy something," it rasped.
"No thanks," Elliott said quickly.
"Steal something," it offered with more enthusiasm.
"Definitely not."
"Barter your soul?"
"We're good, really."
It sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed, and slumped back into stillness.
"This place gives 'haunted antique store' energy," Seraphine whispered, eyes scanning the shadows.
Elric paused. "Something's... humming."
And sure enough, faint beneath their feet, came a soft magical resonance—like a harp string plucked under the earth.
"The shard's close."
They continued, passing under a massive fallen statue of a forgotten queen. As they walked beneath her broken gaze, the city trembled.
The Collector Awaits
At the center of the city sat the great amphitheater—a cracked bowl of stone wrapped in chains of ivy and shadow. In its heart, seated on a throne of bones and broken instruments, was The Collector.
Not a man. Not a woman. Not even a creature. The Collector was… cobbled. A humanoid shape made of mismatched pieces—metal, bone, shadow, music. It turned its head slowly as they entered.
"I have been watching you."
Elliott stepped forward, forcing his voice to stay steady. "We're not here to fight. We just want the shard."
The Collector stood, towering and elegant in its own patchwork horror. "Then answer this: What would you pay for it?"
"Money?" Elric offered.
"Laughter?" Seraphine tried.
"A night of peaceful sleep?" Dorian asked grimly.
But the Collector looked at Elliott. "You. What do you offer?"
Elliott hesitated.
The group stood in tense silence.
Then, quietly, Elliott said: "A memory. One I don't want."
The Collector tilted its head. "Interesting. What memory?"
Elliott stepped forward. "The night I ran. The fire. The screams. The guilt."
The relic on his back vibrated violently.
"No," Dorian said. "You don't have to—"
"Yes," Elliott said. "I do."
The Collector reached forward and, with an eerie tenderness, placed a hand over Elliott's head.
There was a flash. A howl of pain. And then—
Nothing.
The shard appeared in Elliott's hands—cool, blue, perfect.
The third of five.
The Memory Lost
As they left the amphitheater, Elliott stumbled.
"El?" Seraphine caught his arm. "Are you—?"
"I… don't remember."
"Don't remember what?"
"I remember being scared. I remember leaving. But… I don't remember why anymore."
Marlow looked pale. "That's the cost."
They walked in silence for a long time.
Elliott felt lighter. Freer.
And somehow, more broken.
Meanwhile, Back in the Tower of Storms…
The shadow man watched the exchange from his obsidian mirror.
"She gives them shards," he murmured. "She wants them to find it. That's dangerous."
A second figure stepped from the mist behind him—taller, made of clockwork and smoke.
"Should I stop them?" it asked in a voice like shattered bells.
"Not yet. Let them gather."
The man turned, eyes glowing red. "Then we break them all at once."
Closing Beat: A New Threat
That night, as they camped on the outskirts of the cursed city, Elric's compass began to spin again.
But this time—it pointed up.
Into the sky.
And from above, in the clouds, a shadow began to descend.
A ship.
A flying one.
With cannons.
And laughter.
"Pirates," Seraphine whispered, eyes wide. "Sky pirates."
"Oh good," Elliott groaned. "I was just thinking this quest lacked aerial combat."
End of Chapter Fourteen