The air went black.
Not dark—black. The torches along the tower walls guttered out one by one, snuffed like candles before a storm. The chains hanging from the ceiling groaned, their movement no longer soft but jerking, violent, as though an unseen hand had seized them.
Elma gritted her teeth, clutching the shard at her chest. It burned hotter with every pulse, veins of light creeping down her arm like cracks in glass.
Calista grabbed her dagger, stepping in front of her. "Whatever this is," she hissed, "stay behind me."
"Not happening," Elma muttered.
The shadows at the far wall rippled and pulled away from the stone. What emerged wasn't human.
It had the vague shape of a man, but stretched and wrong—too tall, limbs bending at unnatural angles. A serpent's mask of bone hid its face, and its fingers were long, hooked chains dragging sparks on the stone floor.
The Guardian.
Its voice came from everywhere at once, rattling the chains overhead.
"Vessel."
Elma swallowed hard. The shard's voice whispered back in her skull: It knows.
"Who are you?" Calista demanded, blade raised.
The thing's head tilted toward her. "Not yours to question." Its voice rattled through the stone, making the whole chamber tremble. "The leash's master calls. You come to steal my key."
Calista's jaw tightened. "We came to kill him."
That earned a low, hollow laugh. The creature took a step forward, each chain dragging like an executioner's bell. "Then prove you can bleed."
The first strike came fast.
Chains lashed from the ceiling like whips, cracking stone where Elma had been standing a second earlier. Calista shoved her aside, rolling under another strike, blade flashing as she cut through one of the swinging chains. It screamed like metal alive, recoiling in pain.
Elma scrambled to her feet, the shard pulsing in her hand. She thrust it forward on instinct, and a burst of white light blasted through the room. The Guardian hissed, staggering back, but only for a second.
"You carry it," it growled. "The leash-breaker. Dangerous."
"Yeah," Elma snapped. "That's the point."
The Guardian moved again, impossibly fast. One chain snapped around her arm, yanking her off her feet. Pain flared white-hot as it dragged her upward.
"Elma!" Calista shouted, leaping to grab her.
Elma twisted, grabbing the chain with her glowing hand. The shard flared, and the chain hissed, releasing her in an explosion of sparks. She landed hard, rolling to her knees.
"This thing isn't stopping us," she spat.
"Then burn it," Calista said, voice low, sharp.
Elma's breathing came ragged, the shard's voice threading through her thoughts like silk. Vessel chosen. Chainbreaker. Destroy.
She stood.
The Guardian lunged again, but this time she didn't dodge. She met it head-on, thrusting the shard into its chest. Light erupted, filling the tower with blinding brilliance.
The chains shrieked as they burst apart, writhing like dying snakes. The Guardian let out a sound that wasn't quite a scream but something older, angrier—a roar of something bound for centuries being torn apart.
The blast threw both women back.
When the light cleared, the Guardian was gone. Only the cracked remains of its mask lay on the floor, glowing faintly.
Elma staggered to her feet, trembling. "Is it dead?"
Calista moved to her side, hand steady on her shoulder. "Looks like it." She picked up the mask, holding it carefully. "This must be the key."
The shard pulsed once, softly this time. Door opened.
A grinding noise echoed through the tower as a hidden passage revealed itself—a narrow staircase leading upward.
Elma met Calista's eyes. "He's up there."
Calista's grip tightened on her dagger. "Then let's finish this."
The manor was silent now.
Not the panicked silence of retreat. The calm silence of a predator lying in wait.
As they climbed, Elma could feel Nitron's presence pressing down on her like a weight. He knew they were coming. Maybe he wanted this.
But she wasn't prey anymore.
At the top of the stairs, a set of ornate double doors stood open. Golden light spilled out into the dark hall, and beyond it, Nitron's throne chamber awaited.
Calista's voice was low. "Last chance to run."
Elma smirked, though her hands were shaking. "And miss killing him? Not a chance."
They stepped through.
Nitron was waiting, seated casually on his throne, one leg crossed over the other.
"You made quite a mess," he said softly, voice calm and cold. "I should thank you. You've proven what I already suspected."
Elma's grip on the shard tightened. "And what's that?"
Nitron smiled. "That you're finally worth killing."
[Quest Updated: Thronebreaker]
Status: Active.
Objective: Kill Nitron.
Risk Level: Fatal.