Light.
Blinding, endless light.
Rick's body plummeted through it, the spear clenched against his chest as if it were the only real thing left. His ears rang with Devil's last scream, still vibrating inside his ribs. He wanted to shout back, to tear the tether whole again, but his throat was raw, and the light devoured every sound.
Then the fall ended.
He slammed into something solid. Stone, though not stone—its surface rippled like molten glass, shimmering with veins of gold that pulsed in rhythm to his own heartbeat. He rolled, coughing, forcing his eyes open.
The place around him was unlike any battlefield he had seen before.
A vast cavern stretched outward, but there were no walls, no ceiling—only rivers of golden fire weaving through the dark, curling into runes that glowed and then faded. They spiraled into a single monolith at the cavern's center: a towering spire made of fused chains, burning faintly with crimson light.
And inside that spire—he saw them.
Faces.
Devil's among them.
Rick staggered upright, his pulse thundering. Devil's face flickered, pale but fierce, her eyes straining against invisible bonds. Her lips moved, whispering something he couldn't hear.
"Devil…" He reached forward, the spear trembling in his grip.
The cavern answered.
Chains cascaded from the spire like waterfalls, hammering into the ground. Each link bore an eye, blinking open, watching him. A voice rolled out—not one, but many, braided together into a sound that shook his bones.
"You have reached the Core."
The spire's surface shifted, and the masked figure stepped out. No longer fractured, no longer faceless—its body now solid, sculpted from the same gold and void that filled the cavern. It was taller, broader, crowned with jagged chains that writhed like living serpents.
Rick tightened his grip on the spear. His body screamed with exhaustion, but his will refused to bend. "Give her back."
The figure tilted its head. "You cannot claim what you cast away. She is not yours. She is ours."
Rick's chest burned. "If she was gone—if she was truly yours—you wouldn't keep showing her to me."
The figure's chains rattled, a low, metallic snarl. "Defiance again. You wear the Hollow's crown, yet you still resist. Very well."
It raised its hand. The chains around the cavern writhed, eyes flashing. "Then resist against truth."
The air warped. The cavern floor convulsed. And from the molten ground, shadows rose.
Rick froze as he recognized them.
Devil's silhouette. Dozens of them. Each one twisted, warped, bleeding shadow-light. They stared with hollow eyes, their mouths whispering fragments of her voice: laughter, cries, rage, pleas.
Illusions. Memories. Ghosts.
The Hollow had given her faces shape.
"Fight them," the figure said, its voice echoing. "Strike them down, as you did before. Every blow a confession. Every wound the truth you bury."
Rick's stomach churned. His spear flared. The shadows moved—darting with Devil's speed, her grace, even her fury.
He swung. The first shadow dissolved into dust. Then another lunged at him, voice shrieking his name. He grit his teeth, cutting it down. His chest ached with every strike.
These aren't her. These can't be her.
But the more he fought, the more they came. Faster. Louder. Dozens became hundreds. Each face more convincing, each cry sharper, digging into his ribs like knives.
"Rick!"
"Don't leave me!"
"You burned me!"
"You failed!"
He stumbled, dropping to one knee. His lungs burned. His grip faltered. The spear dimmed.
The figure's voice thundered across the cavern: "This is the Core. There is no Devil. Only your Hollow, dressed in her skin. You belong here. You belong to us."
The shadow-Devils closed in. Clawing, screaming, pulling at his arms, his throat.
And then—
The tether.
It blazed again, faint but unbroken, still wrapped around his wrist. Its glow sliced through the swarm of shadows, burning them away like fog in sunlight. For the first time since falling into the Core, Rick breathed.
Her voice rang, not from the illusions, but from within him. Clear. Steady.
"Don't stop, Rick. I'm still here."
The shadows shrieked, recoiling. The masked figure staggered, chains rattling violently. "Impossible. You severed her root!"
Rick pushed to his feet, chest heaving, the spear blazing white-gold again. "No. I tried to save her. And she's been saving me ever since."
He spun the spear, light erupting outward, vaporizing the illusions. The cavern trembled. The spire cracked. Devil's face inside it glowed brighter, her eyes wide, her lips forming a single word—Fight.
Rick roared. "I'm not your crown-bearer. I'm hers!"
He hurled himself forward, spear poised to strike the Core.
The masked figure howled, its form swelling to block him. Chains lashed out, thousands at once, eyes blazing.
Rick didn't slow. His spear flared, gold fire wrapping around his arms, his chest, his very blood. Each heartbeat echoed like thunder, shaking the cavern.
The two forces collided—spear and chain, light and void.
The cavern shattered.
The spire split down the middle. Devil's scream tore through the Core, shaking every stone, every chain, every false voice.
The tether snapped taut, pulling Rick and Devil toward each other—
And then everything stopped.
The masked figure froze mid-strike, its void-body cracking like glass. The spire crumbled. The shadows dissolved.
Rick staggered, eyes wide. Devil stood before him. Not an echo, not a ghost. Her body shimmered faintly, but her eyes, her presence—real.
"Rick…" she whispered.
He reached for her. Their fingers almost touched—
And the cavern ripped apart.
The chains collapsed inward, dragging both of them into a whirlpool of light and void. The masked figure's fractured body sank into it, its voice a final, broken hiss:
"This is not the end. This is the crown."
Rick screamed her name as the whirlpool devoured them both.
The world folded.
Black.
Silence.
And then—
He opened his eyes.
Not in the Hollow.
Not in the cavern.
But in a place he had never seen before.
A throne room of broken crowns.
---
To be continued…