Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 15

"Yes. Long before your clan existed, long before the city of Oakhaven was built, there were others who ruled this land. Ancient beings. Dark kings. They built cities deep underground to hide from the sun. This place is an ancient ruin. A remnant of the Old Times."

Bruce touched the rough stone wall. It felt freezing cold, like ice. "So the clan found this ruin and claimed it."

"They found it, and they found the machine inside it," the Seraph said. "A machine designed to siphon spiritual energy. But the machine was broken. It required a pure, powerful soul to turn it on. They needed a battery."

"My mother," Bruce whispered. His heart ached. 

"Yes. Your mother possessed a rare, ancient spirit. She was the perfect fuel. The clan locked her in the ruins to power their own wealth. They are like mice, living in the bones of a dead dragon, pretending they are dragons themselves."

The truth made Bruce sick to his stomach. His cousin Nicholas acting so proud. Lady Hestia acting so holy and powerful. All of it was a lie. Their beautiful silk robes and their shiny swords were bought with the blood and pain of a woman locked in the dark. 

Bruce’s grip on his smoke-blade tightened. "I am going to bring the whole estate down on their heads."

"A worthy goal," the Seraph agreed. 

They finally reached the bottom of the spiraling staircase. 

Bruce stepped off the last stair onto a flat, wide platform made of smooth black stone. The tunnel ended here. But the path forward was blocked. 

Standing in front of them was a pair of massive wrought-iron doors. 

The doors were huge. They were at least twenty feet tall and ten feet wide. The metal was thick and black, covered in hundreds of sharp iron spikes. But that was not the scariest part. 

The entire surface of the iron doors was covered in glowing, blood-red runes. They were similar to the wards on the latch upstairs, but these were a thousand times stronger. The red light pulsed like a giant, angry heartbeat. The air around the doors was so hot it warped and shimmered, like looking across a desert road on a hot day. 

"The Blood-Seal of the Matriarch," the Seraph said, stopping behind Bruce. 

Bruce stepped closer to the doors. The heat pushed against him like a physical wall. He raised his hand, thinking he could devour this magic just like he did the latch upstairs. 

But as his fingers got close, his mana core screamed in warning. The silver fire inside him flickered. 

"Do not touch it, Master," the Seraph warned quickly. "You have grown strong, but you are still a mortal vessel. That seal contains the combined blood-magic of four generations of Iron-Heart Matriarchs. If you try to eat that much energy at once, your mana core will shatter like a glass cup filled with boiling metal. You will explode."

Bruce pulled his hand back. He could feel the overwhelming power coming from the iron doors. The Seraph was right. He could not eat this. The magic was too old, too dense, and too angry. It required the actual blood of Lady Hestia to open peacefully. 

Bruce looked at the massive barrier. He could hear a faint, low humming sound coming from the other side. It sounded like a giant machine. 

"I can't open it," Bruce said. He felt a sudden spike of frustration. He was so close. He could feel his mother’s heartbeat on the other side of these doors. 

Bruce turned to the Ashen Seraph. He looked up at the terrifying, six-winged angel. 

"Can you do it?" Bruce asked. 

The Seraph tilted its head. The silver bone mask did not have a mouth, but Bruce could almost feel the creature smiling a dark, cruel smile. 

"I am the Sovereign of Cinders, Master," the Seraph whispered. Its voice vibrated so deeply that the stone floor shook. "I am the end of all things built by pride. Doors are for mortals."

The Seraph stepped forward. The angel moved with a strange, gliding grace. It stood in front of the massive wrought-iron doors. The red, glowing runes flared up, sensing a threat. The heat coming off the doors grew twice as intense, trying to push the angel away. 

The Seraph did not care. 

The giant angel slowly raised its right arm. It reached out with a long, skeletal hand. Its fingers looked like silver needles. 

The Seraph placed its palm flat against the center of the giant iron doors. 

For one second, nothing happened. The red runes flashed brightly, trying to burn the angel's hand. 

Then, the Seraph released its power. 

It was not an explosion. It was not a loud crash. It was a terrifying, quiet wave of absolute decay. 

The red glowing runes suddenly flickered and turned gray. The bright red light died instantly, sucked into the ashen fire of the angel’s hand. 

Then, the metal itself began to change. The thick, black iron turned orange. Then it turned brown. Then it turned a sickly, flaky yellow. 

Bruce watched in absolute shock.