2025-04-28 11:39:34
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Chapter 273: The Sanctum
The air in Neraxis’s sanctum fractured like glass.A low, resonant hum filled the chamber—not sound exactly, but a vibration that crawled through Joaquin’s bones, making his heartbeat feel out of sync with itself. The black stone floor rippled beneath his boots, melting into a shifting mosaic of impossible colors and shapes.Neraxis raised one clawed hand, and reality itself bent. Pillars elongated like drawn shadows, then twisted into spirals. The ceiling stretched upward until it vanished into an infinite void where constellations churned and collapsed on themselves. Joaquin could feel his mind protesting, his sense of space, gravity, even self being toyed with.“Welcome to the end of your reason,”
Chapter 272: The Battle Begun
The doors of black stone parted with a sound like the grinding of mountains. Beyond them, the air was thick—so thick that Joaquin’s lungs fought for every breath.Magic pressed down on him from all directions, dense and oppressive, like a living thing wrapping its claws into his bones.The inner sanctum stretched wide before him, its walls veined with molten crimson light that pulsed in rhythm with some unseen heartbeat.Every flicker cast jagged shadows across the floor, where intricate runes spiraled outward from the center—a place where the very air seemed to warp and twist.And there, at the heart of it all, stood Neraxis.The warlord’s presence was not merely seen but
Chapter 271:The Keeper of Frozen Oaths
The spiral runes on the floor pulsed brighter, the light crawling up the walls like veins of molten frost. The temperature plummeted again, sharp enough that Joaquin’s breath crystallized midair.A ripple passed through the chamber’s shadows. Then they rose.From the darkness above, an immense shape descended—first the clawed limbs, then the hunched torso clad in jagged plates of black ice. Its head was elongated, crowned with curling obsidian horns etched with sigils that glowed faint crimson. Where eyes should have been, there were only swirling storms of frost and ash.The thing landed without sound, its sheer presence pressing against Joaquin’s chest like a physical we
Chapter 270: The Shifting Path
The instant Joaquin crossed the threshold, the Spire swallowed the light behind him.The massive doors sealed with a sound like a thousand locks snapping shut at once, and the obsidian walls on either side began to breathe. Not just the illusion of movement—actual motion, slow and sinuous, like muscle shifting under skin.The passage was narrow, the floor made of polished black stone that reflected him in warped, elongated fragments. His footsteps echoed, too loud, bouncing back in strange rhythms that made it impossible to tell where the next corner was.Joaquin reached out, palm brushing the nearest wall. It was warm. Pulse-warm. The obsidian rippled under his touch, then drew away as though rejecting him. He let his hand drop.The Spire didn’t want him her
Chapter 269: Into the Spire
The gates of the Black Spire groaned open, their surface formed from some dark alloy that shimmered faintly as if swallowing light.Joaquin stepped forward, the Veilstorm’s roar fading behind him. The air changed the moment his boots crossed the threshold—denser, charged, tasting faintly of copper and ash. Every instinct in him screamed caution.The courtyard was unnaturally still. No wind. No birdsong. Even his footsteps seemed muted, like sound itself was being swallowed.Ahead rose the Spire’s inner walls, covered in etchings that shifted when he wasn’t looking directly at them—runes that seemed to breathe.Then it began.From the runes spilled a faint silver mist, curling upward b
Chapter 268: Through the Hollow Glade and the Veilstorm
The first leg of the journey was quiet—too quiet. That kind of quiet that didn’t comfort, but prickled at the skin, making every muscle expect something to break it.The Hollow Glade loomed ahead, its trees warped and skeletal, their trunks twisting like the spines of ancient beasts. Leaves shimmered in colors that didn’t belong—gold one moment, bleeding crimson the next—changing without the whisper of wind.The moment Joaquin crossed the threshold between the first two trunks, the air shifted. A smell of rain clung to the forest, though the ground beneath was bone dry. A child’s laughter danced faintly between the trees—light, fleeting—then cut off mid-breath.A flicker of movement darted at the edge of his vision: a figure running just ahead, vanishing behind a tree.He didn’t follow.The queen’s warning rang sharp in his mind: Not all you see in the Glade exists in your moment.But the shadows began to betray him. They stretched long and thin like sunset silhouettes, only to snap b
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