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Chapter 43: Descent into the Dark
The moon had sunk low over Duskmoor, veiled by a mist that turned the city into a place of ghosts. The crooked streets were empty of carts, the taverns long since shuttered, and not even the drunkards dared to sing tonight. Somewhere far off, a stray dog barked once and then fell silent, as if it too had remembered the warning whispered across the city—Don’t be outside after midnight.Rian stood at the mouth of an old drainage tunnel in the western quarter, clutching a torch in one hand and the hilt of a dagger in the other. The thief had worked for smugglers, mercenaries, and even a few nobles in his time, but none of those jobs had chilled him like this one.Kael’s voice still rang in his head:> “Find what lies beneath the city before the Regent’s hounds do. If you fail…”He didn’t need Kael to finish. The memory of those glowing crimson chains slithering across the temple floor was warning enough.He muttered a curse under his breath and lit the torch, the sudden flare of light pu
Chapter 42: Chains of Shadow
The city of Duskmoor lay under a moon as pale as bone, wrapped in the uneasy stillness that comes before a storm. The streets were empty save for the wind, which carried with it the tang of scorched stone and the faint coppery scent of blood drifting still from the western quarter.No torches burned in the poorer districts. Even the thieves who prowled the alleys had hidden themselves away, as if the Devil’s shadow could reach into their dens.Kael did not sleep.He stood beneath the broken arch of the western temple’s gates, staring at the shattered statue that still towered in the gloom. The jagged stone idol, once the pride of the priests, now leaned against the moonlight like a wounded giant. Beneath it, the temple’s altar was blackened with soot, the air thick with the lingering weight of burnt prayers.Kael’s eyes glowed faintly crimson as the whispers swirled around him—low, slithering voices that came not from the living world. They told him of soldiers deserting, of nobles tr
Chapter 41: Whispers in the Regent's Hall
The Regent’s hall was built to inspire awe. High ceilings arched above like the ribs of some great beast, banners of crimson and gold spilling down the stone walls. The lions stitched into their fabric glared with eternal defiance, their claws sharp, their jaws wide. Torches flared in iron sconces, filling the chamber with warmth and the smoke of pitch. But even here, in the heart of power, the air was thick with unease. The murmurs of fear that had spread through Duskmoor seeped into this hall like smoke through cracks in stone. The Regent sat upon his throne, a massive chair carved of black oak and gilded at its edges. The crown on his head was not large, but it weighed heavily. His hair, streaked with gray, clung damp to his temples. Shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He had not slept since the bells had stopped ringing. At his feet, kneeling on the marble floor, was a courier. The boy’s uniform was torn and muddied, his boots caked in blood and filth from the night’s
Chapter 40: The Fractured City
The silence of the temple bells spread like poison through the veins of Duskmoor. One toll, cut short in the night, was all it took to unravel what little order remained. By dawn, every soul in the western quarter knew: the priests were dead, their temple ruined, their gods silent.Whispers carried the news faster than messengers ever could. In markets, women trading scraps of grain leaned close and muttered of crimson chains that tore stone apart. In taverns, drunkards claimed the gods themselves had abandoned the city. Children, too young to understand, pressed their ears to the walls of their homes and repeated the stories they heard outside until their mothers wept and hushed them.The city did not fall in a single night. It cracked. The fractures spread outward from the ruined temple, reaching into every hall, every alley, every heart.In the barracks, fear stank stronger than sweat. Rows of soldiers sat on their bunks, polishing swords with shaking hands. Some stared at the floo
Chapter 39: Silence of the Bells
Night settled over the western quarter like a funeral shroud. The streets grew empty, doors barred, windows shuttered tight. Even the wind carried no laughter, no songs, only the faint echo of bells tolling from the temple ahead. Each clang trembled as if the bronze itself feared the sound it was forced to make.Kael walked at the head of his chained. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing in the silence. The boy marched just behind, his thin arms tight around the shaft of his spear, his lips moving in a whisper that repeated Kael’s name over and over. The soldier kept her blade bared, her jaw clenched, eyes sharp with purpose. The thief moved light-footed, scanning every shadow, though sweat shone on his brow. Lira strolled at the rear, her humming low and lilting, as though they were on their way to a feast rather than slaughter.The temple rose from the heart of the street like a wounded beast. Its once-white stone was blackened by soot, its roof patched with wood after
Chapter 38: The March West
The ruined square still reeked of blood and smoke. Ash clung to the stones where Broken Men had died, their corpses dragged into the shadows to rot. Yet silence never truly returned. Whispers lingered like an infection, curling through the minds of the chained as if the dead themselves breathed into their ears.Kael sat on the crumbling fountain, unmoving, while his new followers twitched in restless sleep or sat in broken wakefulness. He studied them in turn, measuring how the System’s curse reshaped them.The soldier clenched her fists in her sleep, teeth grinding, shoulders jerking as though she fought invisible battles. Sweat rolled down her scarred brow, and sometimes she muttered, begging comrades long dead to hold the line. When she woke, her eyes were bloodshot, but she still saluted him without hesitation.The thief did not even try to rest. He perched against a broken wall, dagger gleaming in his lap, eyes hollow. Every time he blinked, his hand twitched toward the weapon, a
