Song stood atop the black platform, his legs trembling under the weight of the hall's oppressive gaze. The sea of black-clad warriors below stared up, their eyes glinting like predators in the unnatural light. The air was thick, charged with a viscous energy that clung to his skin, heavy as oil and sharp with menace. The platform itself seemed alive, its obsidian surface pulsing faintly, reflecting the hall's blinding glow in ripples of red and black. Song's single-stripe tattoo burned on his arm, a faint ember of defiance against the overwhelming power surrounding him. His breath came in shallow gasps, the relief from the vanished energy tide quickly fading.
The unseen presence he'd sensed moments ago grew stronger, a cold, calculating force lurking just beyond his perception. It's watching me, he thought, his heart pounding. It knows I'm here. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, his instincts screaming to run, but the slave collar around his neck tightened faintly, a reminder of his chains. Song's eyes darted to Kael, standing nearby, his jerky movements stilled, though his face was a mask of terror. The other slaves on the platform were no better—some trembled, others stood frozen, their faces pale as death. The crowd below was silent, their anticipation a palpable weight that pressed against Song's chest.
What are they waiting for? Song wondered, his mind racing. The platform's hum grew louder, a low vibration that resonated in his bones. The runes on the walls pulsed in sync, their blue light intensifying, casting stark shadows across the hall. Song's gaze flicked to the warriors below, their black robes blending into a writhing mass, like a nest of serpents. Their power was undeniable—some bore the aura of Fifth Overlords, others higher, their tattoos hidden but their strength radiating like heat from a forge. Song felt small, insignificant, a mere spark against their inferno.
His thoughts drifted to the palace itself. Its black stone walls, polished to an unnatural sheen, seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The dragon-carved gates, now closed behind them, loomed in his memory, their scale and craftsmanship beyond human capability. This place wasn't built for us, he thought, a chill settling in his gut. It's too old, too… other. The runes, the columns, the platform—all spoke of a purpose far grander, far darker, than a mere slave prison. Is this a temple? A tomb? The questions gnawed at him, each one deepening his dread.
A sudden shift in the air snapped him back to the present. The platform's hum peaked, a sharp note that pierced his ears. The viscous energy surged again, thicker now, wrapping around him like a noose. Song's knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand, his tattoo flaring with what little power it held. I won't break, he told himself, gritting his teeth. Not here.
Kael let out a choked whimper, his body trembling as the energy pressed down. One of the slaves, a gaunt man with hollow eyes, collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. The crowd below stirred, a low murmur rising, their eyes gleaming with something akin to hunger. Song's stomach twisted. They're not just watching, he realized. They're waiting for something to happen to us.
The warriors who'd led them stood at the platform's edge, their armored forms motionless, their visors hiding any trace of emotion. Song's gaze darted to them, searching for a clue, but their silence offered nothing. The runes above flared brighter, their light now almost blinding, and the platform's surface grew warm beneath his feet. It's alive, he thought, panic rising. This thing is alive.
A memory flashed through his mind—Kael's brother, the Fifth Overlord, staring at the iron gate back in the cave. He knew something, Song thought. He saw this coming. The man's absence now felt ominous, a puzzle piece missing from a picture Song couldn't yet see. Where did they take him? The question burned, but there was no time to dwell.
The platform shuddered, a violent tremor that nearly threw Song off balance. The slaves gasped, some stumbling, others clinging to each other. Kael's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The crowd's murmur grew louder, a chant-like rhythm that sent chills down Song's spine. The energy in the air thickened, pressing against his chest, his tattoo struggling to keep it at bay.
What's happening? Song's mind raced, his eyes scanning the platform for answers. The obsidian surface gleamed, its red undertones pulsing like a heartbeat. At its center, a faint crack appeared, barely visible, but growing wider with each tremor. Song's heart stopped. Something's coming, he thought, his pulse roaring in his ears. Something's waking up.
The crack widened, a soft glow emanating from within—red, like blood, but colder, more sinister. The crowd's chant grew frenzied, their voices rising in a language Song didn't know, yet it stirred something primal in him, a fear older than reason. The warriors raised their hands, and the energy surged, pinning the slaves in place. Song's body locked, his muscles screaming as he fought to move. No, he thought, panic clawing at him. I won't let it end like this.
The glow from the crack intensified, and a shape began to form within—a shadow, vast and formless, its presence crushing. Song's tattoo burned, its power flaring in defiance, but it was like a candle against a storm. The shadow moved, its edges sharpening, and Song's breath caught as he glimpsed something within—eyes, countless and unblinking, staring directly at him.
What are you? he thought, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst. The shadow's gaze pierced him, peeling back his thoughts, his fears, his very soul. The platform shook again, the crack now a gaping maw, and Song felt himself drawn toward it, as if the shadow was calling his name. His tattoo flared brighter, a desperate spark of resistance, but the shadow's pull was relentless, a tide he couldn't fight.
As the chant reached a fever pitch, a voice—low, resonant, and impossibly ancient—whispered from the crack, its words unintelligible yet chilling. Song's blood ran cold. It's speaking to me, he realized, terror and defiance warring within him. But what does it want?