Chapter 258: The Shackled Truth
The Hollow had returned to a steady rhythm in the days following the dungeon descent. The air of exhaustion clung to Kael and his strike team, but the taste of triumph was sharp enough to keep them upright. They had survived the tenth floor. They had gathered maps, resources, artifacts, and more wealth of knowledge than most kingdoms could ever dream of.
But it was not the loot that weighed on Kael's mind. It was the chained figure.
The image had burned into him—the massive form bound in obsidian chains, the oppressive aura of power rolling off it, and those eyes, glowing with the same cruel brilliance Kael remembered from his youth. The daemon was still down there, imprisoned, waiting. And Kael couldn't let it rest.
So he returned alone.
The dungeon was quiet when Kael stepped into the chamber once more, magisteel sword sheathed at his side, shadows coiled tightly around him. The chained daemon stirred at his presence, molten eyes flicking open.
"You return," the creature's voice rumbled, heavy as stone, yet sharp as broken glass. "Why?"
Kael studied him, jaw tight. "Because I need answers."
The daemon laughed low, deep, and cruel. "Answers? You're not ready for answers, half-blood. But perhaps… I'll amuse you."
Kael's fingers twitched near his blade but he held his ground. "Who are you?"
The daemon tilted his head, chains rattling with the motion. "I am one of the Ten. The upper daemons, chosen long ago. My name has been erased from the tongues of mortals, but once I was called Zerathis. The Daemon Lord himself bound me here, sealed in this dungeon to rot."
Kael's heart clenched at the name. He had heard whispers of the Ten during his childhood, though never from his father directly. They were legends—figures too powerful for the mortal world to contain. "Why?" Kael asked.
"Because I defied him," Zerathis said, a sneer twisting his lips. "Because I saw what he sought—eternal dominion over realms—and I refused to be his tool. So he cast me down, chained me in your pitiful dungeon, where adventurers and fools throw themselves into my prison like moths to flame."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And if I released you?"
The daemon's grin widened, teeth sharp as blades. "Then, little half-blood, I would show you what real freedom is. I would tear down every kingdom that ever spat upon your kind. I would burn the mortal world clean until only ash remained. And in the ruins, you would stand beside me—son of a lesser daemon, risen above your father's weakness."
Kael's hand went to his sword. He did not draw it, but the daemon's words stung like poison. "I'm nothing like you," Kael said coldly. "And I will never stand beside you."
Zerathis chuckled, the sound echoing in the vast chamber. "You say that now. But you carry the blood. His blood. One day you'll see the truth—that you were born to rule, not to grovel."
Kael turned sharply and walked away, refusing to give the daemon another word. But his heart was heavy. He could not keep this secret. The Hollow needed to know what sat beneath their feet.
The council chamber was tense when Kael revealed what he had learned. Rogan's hand gripped the edge of the table, veins bulging in his forearm. "An upper daemon? One of the Ten? And it's just sitting down there, chained like a wild dog?"
"Not just chained," Varik said grimly. "Bound. That seal wasn't crafted by mortal hands. It's ancient. If Kael speaks true—and I don't doubt him—then breaking it would be a catastrophe."
Thalos folded his arms. "Which means we should leave it. Whatever power it has, whatever it tempts us with—it's poison. Nothing good can come from it."
"Unless we use it," Rogan countered, eyes flashing. "You didn't hear what Kael said? One of the most powerful daemons alive. If there's even a chance we could bend it to our will—"
"We cannot," Kael interrupted, his voice cutting across the room like a blade. "You didn't feel it. Its hatred. Its hunger. It would burn the world, Rogan. That thing is not an ally. It's a storm waiting to be unleashed."
Silence followed, heavy and cold.
It was Azhara who broke it. She rose slowly, her healer's robes swaying as she clasped her hands in front of her. Her voice was calm, yet carried the weight of ancient knowledge. "I studied daemon lore as a child," she said softly. "Not much survived in written form, but enough. The upper daemons are not like others of their kind. They are ageless, powerful beyond reason. They are closer to gods than to mortals. Each one represents a pillar of destruction—war, pestilence, hunger, ambition. To free one… is to invite the end of nations. They cannot be controlled. Not by mortals. Not by us."
Lyria leaned forward, eyes sharp but thoughtful. "Then the question isn't whether we should use it—it's what we should do to ensure it never becomes a threat."
Kael met her gaze, nodding. "Exactly. We must treat it as what it is: a danger, not a tool. But we also can't ignore it. Knowledge is a weapon too. And if the daemon lord sealed one of his own beneath our feet… that means this dungeon is far more than just a maze of monsters."
The council fell into uneasy murmurs, voices overlapping as fear and curiosity battled in equal measure.
For once, Kael stayed quiet. He let the others speak, his mind churning. Zerathis's words echoed in him still—the venom, the promise, the truth of his blood. Azhara's speech steadied him some, reminding him that power alone did not make something worth following. But the seed of doubt remained.
And as the council debated, Kael knew only one thing with certainty: the chains on Zerathis would not hold forever. And when they broke, the Hollow would need to be ready.