Chapter 267: The Chains of Night
The Hollow slept, its streets hushed beneath silver moonlight. But Kael did not. His boots struck the cobblestones softly, his cloak drawn tight as he slipped through the gates and into the forest path that led toward the dungeon's mouth. The torches that marked its entrance flickered faintly in the wind, casting long shadows across the stone steps.
He stood at the threshold for a long moment, his breath steady but his chest heavy. The choice had been made, though it still burned in him like a raw wound. To be a leader meant to weigh every life against his own, to walk a blade's edge between mercy and ruin. But to be Kael — the man, the daemon's son, the warrior — meant something else entirely. He could not live knowing Zerathis sat below, chained but unbroken, watching, waiting.
Tonight would decide everything.
Kael descended into the darkness.
The Descent
The dungeon welcomed him like an old adversary. The air grew colder, the walls slick with moss, the echo of dripping water following him down spiraling steps. He summoned a faint ember of chaos flame to light his path, its purple glow painting the stones with an otherworldly sheen.
His boots struck iron and bone — remnants of beasts already slain in his previous descents. He moved quickly, his blade loose in his grip, his body a weapon sharpened by countless battles. Floors fell beneath him with the ease of a storm tearing through branches. Wolves of stone, serpents of flame, phantoms made of dust — all were cut down. Kael's sword became a streak of black and silver, his chaos magic crackling like lightning as it carved the dark.
By the time he reached the fifteenth floor, his breath was even, his body honed to readiness. The prison was near.
The Prison of Zerathis
The chamber opened vast and hollow, its ceiling lost in shadow. Chains thicker than tree trunks stretched across the black stone, glowing faintly with infernal runes. At their center stood the daemon — Zerathis.
Even bound, his presence dominated the room. His frame was colossal, his skin marred with scars that burned faintly with crimson light. His eyes, pits of molten gold, fixed on Kael the moment he stepped into the chamber. A grin, sharp and cruel, cut across his face.
"You came," Zerathis rumbled, his voice shaking the stones. "I wondered how long it would take before the leash on your soul snapped."
Kael tightened his grip on his sword. "I came to end this. One way or another."
Zerathis laughed, the sound rolling like thunder. "End it? No, boy. You came because you cannot stand the thought of me here, chained, a reflection of your own fear. You came because you must prove yourself — to me, to your people, to the ghosts that claw at your heart."
The daemon leaned forward, the chains groaning. "So then, Kael. Will you break me… or be broken?"
Unseen Shadows
Kael didn't know that shadows moved in the stairwell above. Lyria's sharp breath, Rogan's heavy steps, Varik's muttered curse, and Azhara's unblinking daemon eyes all followed.
They had seen the signs. They had felt his unrest. They had known this night was coming. And though none of them would dare interrupt his fight, they came for one reason only: if Kael fell, Zerathis would never leave this dungeon alive.
They crept to the edges of the chamber, unseen, hearts clenched as the two forces squared off.
The First Clash
Kael lifted his blade, chaos fire sparking along its length. His voice was low but steady.
"If I fall, the Hollow falls with me. But if I win, Zerathis, you will kneel."
Zerathis threw his head back and roared. "Then let us see if the Hollow has a king worth kneeling to!"
The chains snapped.
The fight began.