Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 12

Bruce looked down at the wooden floorboards. The True Sight allowed him to see right through the wood, through the stone ceiling below, and down into the deep structure of the Iron-Heart Estate. 

Before, he had only seen a small golden pulse near the bed. That pulse had been the hidden compartment containing his mother's diary and her lock of hair. 

Now, with his mana center expanded and powerful, Bruce could see much deeper. He pushed his vision down, down, down. Past the second floor, past the grand dining hall, past the wine cellars. 

Suddenly, Bruce gasped. 

Deep, deep underground, far beneath the foundation of the estate, he saw it. 

It was a massive web of glowing, golden energy. It looked like a giant root system of a magic tree. The golden energy was flowing through the stone walls, up into the manor, powering the magical defenses, the glowing lights, and the wealth of the Iron-Heart Clan. 

And in the very center of that golden web was a single, bright, beautiful heart. It was beating. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Mother," Bruce whispered. His own heart ached when he saw it. The golden light was beautiful, but Bruce’s True Sight allowed him to see the truth. The golden web was not a natural thing. It was a machine. It was a prison made of magic chains. The golden heart was beating, but it was beating slowly, weakly, like it was being drained dry. 

They were drinking her life, drop by drop. 

"I see her," Bruce said, his fists clenching tight. "She is directly below the main keep. But the entrances to the catacombs are guarded by heavy iron doors and Elite Sentinels."

"You do not need their doors, Master," the Seraph said. The angel stepped forward and pointed its long, silver finger at a large, heavy rug sitting in the middle of the attic floor. 

Bruce looked at the rug. With his True Sight, he saw a faint, blue magical square hidden underneath the old, dusty fabric. 

Bruce walked over and kicked the rug aside. 

Beneath the rug was a wooden trapdoor. It was locked with a heavy iron padlock. But more importantly, the edges of the trapdoor were sealed with glowing blue runes. It was another magic lock, meant to keep people out. Or maybe, it was meant to keep something in. 

Bruce didn't even use the Ashen Seraph this time. He knelt down and placed his hand on the glowing blue runes. He used his new Devour skill. 

The blue magic flickered in fear. Bruce closed his hand, and the runes shattered into blue sparks. He absorbed the small amount of mana, adding it to his growing core. 

He grabbed the heavy iron padlock. With his new physical strength, he just squeezed his hand. The thick iron bent, cracked, and broke like cheap plastic. He tossed the broken lock over his shoulder. 

Bruce grabbed the iron ring on the trapdoor and pulled it open. 

A rush of cold, stale air blew up into his face. It smelled like wet dirt, old bones, and ancient magic. 

Bruce looked down. There was a narrow, spiral staircase made of dark gray stone. The stairs went down into absolute, pitch-black darkness. This was a secret servant's passage, one that probably led all the way down to the deepest parts of the estate, skipping the main floors completely. 

This was his path. 

"We go down," Bruce said, gripping the hilt of the Blade of Lost Tears. The smoke-blade hummed with dark anticipation. 

"Wait, Master," the Seraph warned suddenly. The angel's pits of fire flared brightly. It leaned over the hole, looking into the darkness. 

"What is it?" Bruce asked. 

"The golden pulse... it is your mother. But there is something else down there," the Seraph whispered. The giant angel actually sounded cautious. "A shadow that does not belong to us. A very old, very angry shadow. The Iron-Hearts have dug too deep."

Before Bruce could ask what the angel meant, a sound echoed up from the dark hole. 

It was not the sound of a monster roaring. It was not the sound of guards marching. 

It was the sound of a voice. 

It was a woman’s voice, echoing up the stone shaft. It sounded like Lady Hestia, but the tone was completely different. It was frantic, desperate, and chanting in a language Bruce had never heard before. It was a dark, guttural language that made Bruce's teeth ache and his new mana core tremble. 

“...Sanguis ad portam... aperire inania... the blood is ready... the vessel is ready...”

Bruce’s eyes widened. 

She was chanting a sacrifice ritual. 

Lady Hestia wasn't waiting for the High Inquisitor to catch Bruce. She was already down in the catacombs. Mike had been a distraction to keep Bruce up in the attic while the Matriarch did her dirty work. 

Hestia knew the clan was doomed if Bruce saved his mother. So she was going to kill Victoria Thompson right now and use her blood to open a forbidden gate. 

“...Burn the mother to kill the son... we offer her soul to the Deep Beast!” Hestia's voice echoed up the stairs, followed by the sound of a woman crying out in pain. 

It was his mother's cry. 

"NO!" Bruce screamed. 

He didn't walk down the stairs. He jumped straight into the pitch-black hole, falling into the dark with the Ashen Seraph diving right behind him, as the stone trapdoor slammed shut above them, locking them in the dark.