The Chains (^•^)
The chill of Acheron was a living thing, a cold that seeped into Aki's bones and settled into his very soul. He lay on a slab of obsidian, his wrists and ankles bound by chains of a dark, shifting metal that pulsed with a malevolent, humming energy. These were not mere chains. They were a physical manifestation of the Architect's will, forged from the purest form of corruption to bind a being of pure light. The darkness of his prison was absolute, a void of sound and light that was a perfect echo of the Architect's own empty heart.
Inside his mind, Lyra's voice was a desperate, panicked whisper. Her essence was a tiny, fragile flame in this sea of darkness, and the chains that bound Aki were like a cold wind to her.
"Aki, we have to try! The chains… they're made of corrupted magic. Your power can purify them! We have to weaken the links!"
Aki took a deep, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes, forcing away the terror, and focused on his core. The golden light of the True Pact, the essence of the serene god, was still within him, though it felt distant and weak in this place. He extended his spiritual will, reaching out to the dark metal of the chain around his right wrist.
His power, the gentle, healing light of purification, touched the chain. For a single, fleeting second, the dark metal glowed with a faint, golden brilliance. He felt a flicker of hope, but it was immediately extinguished. The chain resisted. It didn't just passively absorb his power; it actively pushed back, a surge of vile, corrupting energy that jolted through his body with a vicious, electric pain. He cried out, his muscles clenching in agony, and the golden light on the chain died. He was exhausted by the effort, his head throbbing, but the chain remained solid, utterly unbreakable. The attempt was a miserable failure.
"Again!" Lyra's voice urged, her hope wavering. "Maybe you need more power! Concentrate!"
The second attempt was worse. Aki, fueled by a frantic desperation, tried to pour more power into the chains. He channeled all of his focus, trying to summon a powerful wave of purification. He could feel the golden light in his core resisting, as if it knew the attempt was a waste of energy. He ignored it and pushed, pouring his essence into the links.
This time, the chains didn't just resist. They fed on his power. The dark metal of the chains grew warmer, its malevolent hum intensifying into a low, mocking growl. The light from his essence was being absorbed, consumed, and twisted into a source of energy for the chains themselves. The pain this time was a deep, soul-crushing agony, a sensation of being drained from the inside out. When he finally pulled back, he was panting, his body shaking with exhaustion, and the chains were vibrating with a new, dark power. He had not only failed but had made his prison stronger.
"This can't be!" Lyra's voice was now a terrified sob. "He's using your power against you!"
He lost track of the next attempts. The dark, desolate void of the prison, with no day or night, made time meaningless. He tried to focus on a single link. He tried to summon a burst of power. He tried to find a weakness in the chain's design. Each attempt was met with the same cold, brutal resistance. The chains would feed on his energy, and the pain would leave him gasping, his body aching, his spirit weary. Three times he failed. Four times. The golden mark on his forehead was now a dull, dying ember, and Lyra's voice was barely a whisper. She was fading. They were both fading.
Finally, in a last, hopeless effort, he lay his head back against the cold stone. He had no more energy to give. He had been a hero, a savior, and now he was a broken prisoner. The Architect's cruel plan had worked. He had exhausted his power, weakened his spirit, and destroyed the only hope they had of escape. He was a prisoner in every sense of the word. He could hear the faint, mocking laughter of the Architect echoing from the throne room, and he knew it was directed at him. His power was gone, his spirit was broken, and his friend, Kael, was the key to his torment. He was alone, utterly and completely defeated.