Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 17

The Matriarch swung the glowing purple dagger down in a brutal, shining arc, aiming directly for Victoria Thompson’s heart. 

"NO!" Bruce screamed from the catwalk. 

But he was too high up. He was too far away. The distance between the metal walkway and the black obsidian platform was hundreds of feet. Bruce could not run fast enough to stop the blade. He could not throw his shadow-spikes that far. 

Time seemed to slow down. Bruce watched the purple light of the dagger get closer and closer to his mother's pale chest. 

Then, a massive shadow stepped in front of Bruce. 

The Ashen Seraph did not panic. The giant angel simply raised its empty left hand and flicked its long, silver-bone fingers. 

BOOM.

A shockwave of solid, black air shot out from the angel's hand. It traveled across the massive cavern faster than a bullet. The black wind hit the obsidian platform exactly half a second before the dagger reached Victoria’s skin. 

The force of the impact was incredible. It sounded like a bomb going off. 

Lady Hestia was thrown backward. She flew through the air like a broken ragdoll, screaming as she dropped the purple dagger. The five Clan Elders in their red cloaks were also caught in the blast. They were knocked off their feet, tumbling across the hard, shiny black stone. 

The shockwave did not hurt Victoria. Instead, the black wind wrapped around her like a protective blanket, shielding her body from the blast. 

Bruce let out a massive breath of relief. His knees shook. He gripped the rusty metal railing of the catwalk so hard his hands bled, but he did not care. His mother was still alive. 

"The ritual is interrupted, Master," the Seraph said calmly. "But the enemy still breathes."

"Let's get down there," Bruce growled. His eyes burned with bright silver fire. 

Bruce did not wait to find stairs. He saw a rusty iron ladder attached to the side of the catwalk, leading down to the cavern floor. He grabbed the ladder and began to slide down. The rusty metal cut into his hands, but the new magic in his body healed the cuts almost instantly. The Seraph simply floated down behind him, its six giant wings drifting on the cold air. 

When Bruce's bare feet finally hit the stone floor of the cavern, the true horror of the place hit him like a physical punch. 

Up on the catwalk, the cavern had looked terrible. But down here on the ground, it was a waking nightmare. 

The air was incredibly thick. It smelled like copper, sweat, and ozone. A red, bloody fog rolled across the floor, clinging to Bruce's ankles. The noise was deafening. There was a constant, heavy thrumming sound, like a giant mechanical heart beating inside the walls. 

Bruce began to run toward the center platform where his mother was chained. But as he ran through the red fog, he had to pass through the outer rings of the factory. 

He ran past the giant elemental spirits chained to the stone walls. He saw a beautiful hawk made of pure wind, exactly like the one his cousin Nicholas had summoned. But this hawk was missing a wing. Thick iron chains held it down, and glowing transparent tubes were stabbed directly into its chest, sucking away its silver light. 

Bruce felt sick, but he kept running. 

Then, he passed the spirits and entered the next section of the cavern. 

Bruce stopped running. He froze in his tracks. The silver fire in his eyes widened in absolute shock and horror. 

He was standing at the edge of a massive forest of glass. 

Stretching out in every direction were rows upon rows of massive, crystalline vats. They were huge glass tubes, each one at least ten feet tall and four feet wide. There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They were lined up perfectly, row after row, disappearing into the dark shadows of the cavern. 

The vats were filled with a thick, glowing green liquid. Small bubbles floated slowly from the bottom to the top. 

But it was not the liquid that made Bruce freeze. 

It was what was inside the liquid. 

Inside every single glass vat, floating in the green fluid, was a human being. 

"No," Bruce whispered. His voice was completely hollow. He felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "No, this... this cannot be real."

He walked slowly toward the closest row of vats. He stepped up to the thick glass of the first tank. 

Inside, floating with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, was a young man. The man looked very pale. He was wearing the simple, rough clothes of a common farmer from Oakhaven. Several thick, glowing tubes were attached to his chest, arms, and forehead. The tubes burrowed right into his skin. 

Bruce looked at the tubes. Inside the transparent pipes, small pulses of bright, white light were moving. The light was being sucked out of the young man's body. The tubes went up, connecting to a massive metal pipe on the ceiling, carrying the glowing white light up toward the Iron-Heart Estate above. 

"Soul essence," the Seraph whispered, standing right behind Bruce. The angel looked at the vats with cold, uncaring eyes. "Or as you mortals call it, mana. They are being drained."

Bruce stumbled away from the young man. He walked to the next vat. 

Inside was a little girl. She could not have been more than ten years old. She was hugging her knees to her chest, floating in the green liquid. The tubes were attached to the back of her neck. 

Bruce recognized her. She was the daughter of the local baker. Two years ago, the baker had refused to pay an extra tax to the Iron-Heart Clan. A week later, his daughter disappeared in the middle of the night. The clan told everyone that wild wolves had taken her. 

Bruce moved to the next vat. His heart was hammering against his ribs.