Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 13

Bruce fell into the absolute dark. 

The heavy stone trapdoor slammed shut high above him with a loud BANG. The sound echoed loudly in the tight space. Bruce was falling down a narrow, vertical shaft. The air rushing past his face was stale and smelled like old dust. 

For a second, panic gripped his heart. He could still hear the terrible echo of Lady Hestia’s voice bouncing off the stone walls. “...Burn the mother to kill the son... we offer her soul to the Deep Beast!”

She was going to kill his mother. After nineteen years of pain, after finally finding out the truth, he was going to be too late. 

But Bruce was not alone in the dark. 

Suddenly, massive arms wrapped around his body. They were cold, feeling like polished bone and thick leather. The Ashen Seraph pulled Bruce close to its chest. 

Whoosh. 

The Seraph snapped its six giant wings open. The feathers scraped against the sides of the narrow stone chute, shooting sparks of dark silver light into the blackness. The giant wings acted like a parachute, catching the air. Their fall instantly slowed down. They were no longer dropping like a stone; they were floating down into the deep earth.

"I have you, Master," the Seraph’s voice whispered in Bruce’s mind. The voice was deep and calm. It made Bruce’s racing heart slow down. 

"She is down there," Bruce said aloud, his voice shaking. "Hestia is down there. We have to hurry!"

"Patience," the Seraph replied. "Fear is a heavy stone. If you carry it, you will sink. You must be sharp."

They floated downward for what felt like a long time. The shaft was incredibly deep. It bypassed the main floors of the Iron-Heart Estate completely, going straight down into the foundation of the manor. Finally, Bruce saw a faint gray light below them. 

The Seraph folded its wings slightly, and they dropped the last ten feet, landing perfectly on a solid stone floor. 

Bruce stepped away from the angel and looked around. 

They had landed in a hidden, square room. There were no windows. The walls were made of rough, dark gray stone. The air in here was different. It did not smell like the expensive perfumes of the estate above. It smelled like wet dirt and loneliness. 

There was a small, magical crystal glowing dimly on the ceiling, casting a weak, gray light. In the center of the room, there was a heavy iron bed bolted to the floor. The bed had no mattress, just bare metal bars. There were old, dried stains on the floor near the bed. 

Bruce felt a cold chill run down his spine. "What is this place?"

"A forgotten cage," the Seraph answered. The angel stood tall, its mask of silver bone reflecting the dim light. "This is where they kept her first. Many years ago. Before they moved her deeper into the dark."

Bruce walked toward the iron bed. He could feel the sadness in the air. This was the exact spot where his mother had suffered in secret while the rest of the clan lived in luxury above her. He closed his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. 

"The chanting stopped," Bruce noticed. The air was totally silent now. "I heard Hestia’s voice when we were in the attic. Why can't I hear it now?"

"The voice you heard was traveling through the air vents," the Seraph explained. "The matriarch is much further below us. The ritual has begun, but it is not finished. We still have time. But we must find the true path."

Bruce closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He focused on the silver fire burning inside his new, larger mana core. He remembered the feeling of his mother’s heartbeat. It was a golden, pulsing light. 

He opened his eyes and activated his True Sight. 

The gray room vanished. The world turned into a dark canvas painted with bright, glowing lines of energy. Bruce could see the history of the room. He saw faint, ghostly blue footprints walking in circles around the bed. He saw scratch marks of magical energy on the walls. 

But most importantly, he saw the golden pulse. 

The beautiful golden light was coming from directly underneath the heavy iron bed. The heartbeat was acting like a beacon, calling out to him in the dark. 

Bruce walked to the bed. It was made of solid iron and bolted to the stone floor. It must have weighed a thousand pounds. Yesterday, Bruce would not have been able to move it a single inch. But today, he was different. He had devoured the magic of a master assassin. His body was filled with dark, buzzing strength. 

Bruce grabbed the thick iron frame of the bed. He planted his bare feet firmly on the stone floor. He pulled. 

The metal groaned. The bolts in the floor cracked and popped. With a loud, ugly screech, Bruce ripped the heavy iron bed right out of the floor and pushed it to the side. It crashed against the stone wall, sending a cloud of dust into the air.