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Chapter 64: The Altar of Ruin.....
Author: Micci
last update2026-02-23 22:27:24

The cottage is no longer a home; it is a cage of echoes. The fire in the hearth has died down to a bed of glowing, resentful embers that cast a flickering red light across the floorboards. In the corner, the bed creaks—a rhythmic, mechanical sound. Creak. Snap. Hiss. I stand at the foot of the bed, my shadow stretching out long and jagged, merging with the darkness that clings to the corners of the room. Sommy—the creature that wears Sommy’s face—is tied to the frame with heavy, iron-reinforced
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  • Chapter 65: The Voice in the Void

    The Globe is screaming. The sound is a jagged, discordant symphony of rending metal, shattering glass, and the guttural roars of my shadows. I stand in the center of the plaza, my boots planted in the soot and broken masonry. The air is thick, a choking fog of pulverized stone and the copper-sweet Tang of blood. It tastes like ash on my tongue—bitter, dry, and final. I watch the Gilded King systematically dismantle the command tower. Every blow of his massive, golden fist sends a shudder through the ground, a rhythmic vibration that travels up through the soles of my feet and settles in my marrow. Elder Vane is somewhere in that rubble, buried under the weight of the purity he so desperately craved. But the rage doesn't leave. It sits in my chest like a cold, heavy stone. Suddenly, the sky doesn't just darken; it bruises. The clouds swirl into a violent, unnatural purple, and the temperature drops so sharply that my breath hitches, emerging as a thick, white plume. The chaotic nois

  • Chapter 64: The Altar of Ruin.....

    The cottage is no longer a home; it is a cage of echoes. The fire in the hearth has died down to a bed of glowing, resentful embers that cast a flickering red light across the floorboards. In the corner, the bed creaks—a rhythmic, mechanical sound. Creak. Snap. Hiss. I stand at the foot of the bed, my shadow stretching out long and jagged, merging with the darkness that clings to the corners of the room. Sommy—the creature that wears Sommy’s face—is tied to the frame with heavy, iron-reinforced leather straps Hugh found in the barn. She doesn't scream. She doesn't cry. She only thrashes with a mindless, twitching strength that makes the old wood groan. I reach out, my fingers hovering just inches from her cheek. Her skin is the color of wet slate, cold and clammy to the touch. When she turns her head, her teeth click together with a sharp, hollow sound, like dice being shaken in a cup. Her eyes, once hazel and bright with mischief, are now two spheres of milky, unblinking fog. She sn

  • Chapter 63: The Hollow Sanctuary

    The mountain air is a different beast than the dry, choking dust of the plains. Here, it is thin and sharp, tasting of wet pine needles and ancient, frozen stone. It bites at the back of my throat with every breath, a cold reminder that we have climbed far beyond the reach of the Globe’s shadows—and its mercy. The carriage groans as it clears the final ridge, the wooden frame shrieking in protest against the steep incline. Below us, tucked into a jagged fold of the ravine, lies the village. It is a ghost of a place. The houses are sagging skeletons of timber and stone, their roofs caved in like crushed ribcages. Overgrown vines, black and leafless in the mountain chill, wrap around the chimneys like choking fingers. There is no smoke. No barking dogs. Only the low, mournful whistle of the wind as it whips through the hollow doorways. "This is it," Hugh mutters. His voice is a low rumble that barely carries over the rattling of the wheels. He looks older in this light, the deep lines

  • CHAPTER 62 — THE LONG EXILE...

    The air in the Globe's main square tastes of stale sweat and scorched copper which is thick with the heat of a mob that has found its target. I stand at the center of it all, arms locked around Sommy's limp form. Her weight presses against my chest like a stone, her breath a wet, irregular rattle."Out! Out! Out!"The chant hits like a physical blow. I look up at faces I once called neighbors—people who shared communal soup during the frost—now twisted into masks of primal terror. They aren't looking at me. They're looking at the purple, pulsing veins on Sommy's neck. To them, she isn't a child anymore. She's a countdown.Hugh and Elsie are shoved through the iron gates. Hugh stumbles as a Guard throws a tattered rucksack at his chest; it hits the dirt and spills dented cans and dried grain. Elsie clutches a bundle of clothes, her knuckles white, her eyes darting between the Council's fury and the dark mouth of the wasteland beyond."They don't want us," Hugh rasps. "We have to move b

  • CHAPTER 61 — THE HOLLOW VICTORY

    The world shatters completely. I can't believe it. Sommy, my little sister, the one I will do anything for to protect her, is bitten. My body begins to vibrate as I feel raw primitive instinct to attack kick in. In a split second, I go berserk. "Brixen, hold her for me." I instruct, and without looking back, I charge with violence of a cornered animal, driving my knife into anything that touches us, especially Sommy. I slash, tear and stab as nothing but fury envelope me, swallowing me whole. My vision is a red smear. The world is reduced to the wet thud of my heart and the frantic, shallow breaths of the girl in my arms. It is when I hear the faint sob coming from Sommy that I decide to slow down and ultimately stop. I collapse onto my knees in the center of a circle of corpses. My lungs burn, every breath a jagged rasp of fire. My hands are coated in a layer of black sludge so thick I can’t see my skin. I stand up to go back to Sommy and place her into my arms as I tr

  • CHAPTER 60 — HARVEST OF HATE

    The stone floor beneath my back, humming with a low, frantic frequency that rattles my teeth. It’s the Black Level alarm so deep and dissonant it feels like a physical weight pressing against my chest. I sit up, the shackles biting into my wrists with a cold, mocking sting. Beside me, Brixen is a huddle of shadows, his breathing shallow and jagged. The iron door of the cell screams as it is thrown open. The new head stands there, his face the color of bleached bone. Sweat has turned the dust on his forehead into a muddy sludge. He doesn't look like a jailer anymore; he looks like a man standing on the edge of a cliff. "Get out now!" he gasps. His hands tremble as he fumbles with the key to the shackles. The moment the iron bands fall away, I feel my wrists can finally breath again. "What's going on?" I ask, rubbing the irritation off each wrist. "Why is there another alarm.""ThatI should be the one to ask you why that is so." He replies, his stare stinging me right in the fac

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