Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 2

The sound was sickening, a loud hiss as flesh met enchanted metal. White smoke rose from Bruce’s skin, smelling of burnt copper and salt.

The crowd leaned in, waiting for the scream. They wanted to hear him howl. They wanted to see him break. But Bruce Thompson did not scream.

He bit his tongue so hard that blood filled his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body shaking with the agony of the purple fire searing into his very soul. It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into his nerves. 

The Brand of the Void was trying to lock his soul, trying to shut the door to the supernatural world forever.

“I will not give you the satisfaction,” Bruce thought through the white-hot pain. “I will not scream for you.”

Hestia held the iron there for ten long seconds. When she finally pulled it away, a glowing purple mark was burned deep into Bruce’s shoulder. The jagged symbol pulsed with a dim, dying light.

"It is done," Hestia panted, her eyes wide with a strange kind of triumph. "He is Void-Born. He is nothing."

She turned to the guards. "Drag him to the edge of the city. Throw him into the Gray Wastes. If he returns, kill him."

The guards grunted and began to haul Bruce up. His legs were like jelly. His vision was swimming in shades of red and black. He could feel his energy draining away, the Brand acting like a vacuum, sucking the life out of his spirit gate.

"Wait!" Nicholas shouted, stepping forward. He had a cruel glint in his eye. "Before he goes, shouldn't he watch a real master? Let him see what he can never have."

Nicholas didn't wait for an answer. He turned to the floating crystal, the Hollow Throne. He puffed out his chest and reached out his hand.

"Witness me!" Nicholas cried. "I, Nicholas of the Iron-Heart, call upon the spirits of the upper realms! Come to me!"

Nicholas touched the crystal. Usually, when a noble touched the Throne, the crystal would glow with a soft light, and a spirit would materialize gently beside them. A hawk made of wind, or perhaps a hound made of shadows.

But the moment Nicholas’s fingers brushed the surface, the light of the crystal didn't grow. It died.

The blue glow vanished instantly. The entire plaza fell into a terrifying darkness. The rain seemed to stop mid-air, the droplets hanging like diamonds in the gloom.

Thump. A sound echoed across the plaza. It wasn't a sound from the air; it was a sound from the ground. It was deep, heavy, and wet.

Thump. It happened again. It sounded like a giant heart beating deep beneath the earth.

"What... what is happening?" Nicholas stammered, pulling his hand back from the crystal as if it had bitten him.

The Hollow Throne began to vibrate. The pedestal beneath it cracked. The stone stage beneath Bruce’s feet began to groan and split.

THUMP. The third beat was so loud that people in the front row covered their ears, some falling to their knees as their noses began to bleed. 

The spiritual pressure in the air became so thick it felt like trying to breathe underwater.

"The crystal," Hestia whispered, her staff trembling in her hand. "It’s... it’s reacting. But Nicholas isn't touching it anymore."

Everyone looked at the stage. Nicholas had backed away, tripping over his own robes in fear.

The only person near the crystal was Bruce.

The guards had let go of him, paralyzed by the sudden, overwhelming weight in the air. Bruce was slumped on his knees, his branded shoulder smoking, his eyes half-closed.

The Hollow Throne wasn't just vibrating now. It was pulsing with a dark, radiant light that no one had ever seen before. 

It wasn't blue. It wasn't the purple of the curse. It was a color that shouldn't exist, a blinding, ashen white that felt colder than the deepest winter.

The heartbeat grew faster.  Bruce felt a tug. It wasn't a physical pull, but a hook in his chest. 

The Brand of the Void on his shoulder, meant to seal his soul, began to crack. The purple light of the curse was being swallowed by the ashen light of the crystal.

"Bruce... get away from there!" Hestia screamed, her voice cracking with a sudden, sharp terror.

Bruce didn't listen. He couldn't. His mind was filled with a voice. It wasn't a human voice. It sounded like a thousand wings fluttering at once. It sounded like the roar of a furnace.

“Do you want to see them burn?” the voice asked.

Bruce looked at the Matriarch who had branded him. He looked at the cousin who had used him as a footstool. He looked at the crowd that had cheered for his suffering.

"Yes," Bruce whispered.

His hand moved. It felt heavy, like it was made of lead, but he reached out. His fingers, covered in mud and blood, touched the cold surface of the Hollow Throne.

The world exploded. A pillar of black and white fire shot into the sky, tearing through the clouds and shattering the gray gloom of Oakhaven. 

The shockwave was so powerful it sent Nicholas and Hestia flying backward off the stage. The stone pedestal disintegrated into dust.

In the center of the storm stood Bruce Thompson. But he was no longer alone.

Above him, a figure began to take shape. It was twice the height of a man. It had six wings, not the white wings of the legends, but wings the color of soot and embers. 

Its face was hidden behind a mask of silver bone, and in its hand, it gripped a sword that dripped with liquid shadow.

The air temperature dropped forty degrees in a single second. The mud on the ground turned to ice.

Professor Walsh, the Academy’s oldest scholar who had been invited to oversee the ceremony, fell to his knees. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

"That... that is not a spirit," Walsh croaked, his voice trembling with a primal fear. "That is a Forbidden Angel. The Sovereign of Cinders..."

Bruce looked up at the terrifying being he had summoned. The Angel looked down at him. It didn't attack. It didn't vanish. It leaned down and pressed its forehead against Bruce’s, a gesture of absolute loyalty.

Bruce felt the power rush into him. The pain in his shoulder vanished. The hunger in his stomach died. He felt like he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky.

He turned his head slowly to look at the Iron-Heart family.

Nicholas was shivering in the mud, staring up at the six-winged nightmare. Lady Hestia was clutching her staff, her knuckles white, her face a mask of disbelief and horror.

"The Void-Born..." Nicholas stammered, his voice high and thin. "Trash like him... he can't... he can't control that! It’s impossible!"

Bruce stood up. He didn't look like a servant anymore. He didn't look like a bastard. He looked like an executioner.

The Forbidden Angel spread its wings, and the sound was like a hundred swords being drawn at once.

"You told me I was nothing," Bruce said, his voice echoing with the power of the beast behind him. "You told me my mother was garbage."

He took a step forward, and the ground beneath his foot turned to ash. "Now," Bruce whispered, "it's my turn to speak."

But as he moved to take his revenge, a sudden, sharp pain flared in his chest, not from the brand, but from the crystal.

The Hollow Throne, now shattered, began to glow with a second, hidden light. A map of stars appeared in the air for only Bruce to see, pointing far to the North, toward the Forbidden Peaks.

And in the center of that map, he saw a vision of a woman behind bars of gold.

“Mother.” The distraction lasted only a second, but it was enough. The high bells of the city began to ring, the alarm for a Heresy Class Event.

Bruce looked at the gates. He looked at his enemies. He had the power to kill them all right now, but he realized that if he did, he might never find her. The truth was bigger than this plaza.

He looked at Lady Hestia, who was already signaling the elite guards to surround the stage.

"This isn't the end," Bruce promised, his voice cold and sharp. "I’m going to find the truth. And then, I’m coming back to burn this house to the ground."

The Forbidden Angel let out a roar that shattered the windows of every building in the plaza. 

In a flash of ashen light, both the boy and the beast vanished, leaving behind only a smoking crater and a family paralyzed by the ghost of the boy they had tried to destroy.