The gates yawned open as if they had been waiting centuries just for him.
El Como strolled through with the posture of a man entering a tavern rather than a fortress that reeked of death and secrets. His boots echoed across polished black stone, each sound bouncing like laughter off walls that were too tall, too clean, and far too empty.
"Well," he muttered, glancing around the cavernous entry hall, "if I were a paranoid king with an ego problem, this is exactly how I'd decorate. Cold, dark, and utterly pointless. Perfect ambiance for brooding."
The hall stretched on endlessly, banners drooping from the walls. They bore no sigils he recognized—only abstract shapes, jagged lines, half-circles, and fractured spirals. At first glance they seemed random, but when he squinted too long, the designs writhed like worms. He decided not to squint again.
"Lovely touch," he said to himself, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing screams 'welcome, traveler' like curtains possessed by geometry."
The air inside was worse than the silence outside. It wasn't still—it was too still, as if even air refused to circulate here. Breathing felt like swallowing dust from a grave. Yet the torches burned on the walls, though no smoke rose, and no fire flickered. The flames stood perfectly upright, unmoving.
"Of course," El Como muttered, dragging his palm along a wall as he walked. The stone was warm, almost pulsing faintly under his hand. "Living walls. Why wouldn't they be alive? Truly, architecture at its finest—nothing screams 'sleep well' like a house with a heartbeat."
He came to the base of a staircase so wide it could host an army's march. The steps rose into shadow, spiraling out of sight. He squinted upward, half expecting the stairs to reach into the clouds. Instead, they led to… another empty landing.
He smirked. "Ah. A staircase to nowhere. Marvelous. Someone clearly put thought into this design—perhaps the same genius who invented spoons with holes."
Up he went, boots clanging against stone. The sound grew hollower with every step, as though the castle swallowed his echoes. The landing offered three arched doorways, each leading to a corridor lined with doors upon doors.
El Como stopped, planted his staff against the floor, and squinted. "Three hallways, dozens of doors. You know what this means?" His mouth twisted in mock enthusiasm. "It means we've reached the exciting part of the tour where the guest either finds treasure, death, or a particularly nasty broom closet. My money's on broom closet."
He chose the left passage and pushed the first door open. Hinges groaned like something dying slowly. The room beyond… empty. Just four walls, a bare floor, no windows.
He laughed under his breath. "Wonderful. An empty box. I walked ten minutes for the privilege of opening a stone pantry with no food. Truly, the mystery deepens."
Next door—empty.
Next door—empty.
The fifth door revealed a chair. Just one, made of iron, bolted to the floor.
El Como stared at it a long time, then tapped the chair's back with his staff. "Well, well, at last, the king's throne! The mighty seat of Untamed Ability. I imagine this is where he sat, pondering deep questions like: why do I have no friends? Or why does my castle echo like a coffin?"
His laughter bounced strangely in the chamber—too loud, then too quiet, like the room disliked humour.
He left and shut the door firmly behind him.
The corridor stretched on for what felt like forever. He paced its length, muttering quips to himself.
"Another hall. Another batch of doors. Because nothing screams 'grand design' like identical corridors stacked together. I suspect the architect was paid by the door."
He tried the next set—again, emptiness. Some rooms contained scraps: a broken shield on the ground, a wooden stool missing a leg, one peculiar stone with a groove worn across its center. Nothing worth keeping, nothing with answers.
At one point he found a mirror. Its surface was dusty, cracked, but when he peered in, his reflection was gone. He tilted his head, raised a brow. "Oh splendid. A mirror that refuses to acknowledge me. Very polite. Shall I bow and apologize for existing?"
He licked a finger and smudged the glass. For half a second something appeared in it—a blurry, hunched figure, too many arms folded across its chest. Then the surface went black.
El Como gave a mock bow to the mirror. "Thank you for your time, sir. Most illuminating. Next time, perhaps you'll at least wave."
He moved on.
Hours seemed to bleed into each other. The castle stretched without end, each hall leading to another, staircases coiling like veins, windows opening to walls of stone. Time itself began to feel ridiculous.
At one point he collapsed on a stair, clutching his ribs, laughing so hard tears slicked his eyes.
"A castle with hundreds of rooms," he wheezed between chuckles. "And not a single bed, not a dining table, not even a decent skeleton to keep me company. Truly, this must be the great seat of power—the mighty fortress of interior decorators who hated furniture."
He lay there for a while, letting the laughter fade, before rising and dusting off his coat.
"Onward, then. Maybe the next room will have a table leg. I should not get my hopes up for the luxury of two legs."
El Como turned down another stairwell, the torchlight bending strangely here. The flames leaned away from him as he passed, as though afraid to burn him.
He smirked. "At least someone here knows their place."
The stair ended in a vast double door, black as pitch, carved with spirals that moved ever so slightly, as if drawn by invisible hands. He pressed his palm to the door. It shuddered under his touch, then creaked open into a cavernous hall.
And once again—emptiness.
He stepped inside anyway, chuckling. "Another enormous room with nothing in it. Magnificent. At this point I expect the grand finale to be a broom closet filled with dust that whispers in Latin."
But as he crossed the floor, a faint hum stirred in the air.
He froze.
For the first time since entering, the silence broke.
Great — let's continue with Fragment 2 (~1,000 words). This will carry El Como deeper into the empty castle, his sarcasm sharpening as the faint hum lures him toward the round
The hum wasn't loud. It was thin, almost hesitant, like a note played on an instrument too old to hold tune. But in the tomb-silence of the castle, it thundered through El Como's skull like a war drum.
He tilted his head, listening, his lips twisting into a grin. "Finally. After walking through enough empty rooms to bore a ghost, someone decides to hum. I was beginning to think this castle's greatest secret was its furniture budget."
The vast chamber had no furniture, no banners, no columns. Just smooth black stone stretching to high ceilings where shadows gathered like cobwebs. The hum seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, leaking through the walls.
El Como walked slowly, his staff tapping the floor. Tok. Tok. Tok. Each sound felt muffled, as though swallowed before it could echo back.
He whispered, mock-solemn: "Oh great hum of the void, reveal yourself. Are you a choir of insects? The castle's stomach growling? Or perhaps just my sanity filing for divorce?"
The hum grew a little louder.
It pulled him toward the far wall, where a narrow archway yawned. Beyond, a spiral staircase descended into darkness.
El Como groaned dramatically. "Ah, of course. Down. Always down. Never once does the mystery involve a pleasant balcony with a view. No, always the damp, haunted basement stairs."
He put a foot on the first step. The stone was colder here, slick with a damp sheen that clung to his boots.
Halfway down, he stopped and leaned against the wall, smirking. "If anything jumps out at me, I swear I'll applaud. At least it would mean this castle does something besides imitate a very expensive mausoleum."
The stairs ended in a long, narrow corridor. The hum pulsed stronger now, vibrating faintly in his chest, a steady thrum like a heartbeat buried too deep in the stone.
The corridor's walls were lined with alcoves. Each alcove contained a pedestal, and upon each pedestal sat… nothing. Just smooth slabs of stone where something should have been.
El Como raised his brows. "Empty pedestals. Magnificent. This place is truly a museum of disappointment. Perhaps the great treasures of Untamed Ability were stolen, or perhaps they were just invisible. Either way—excellent display choices."
At the far end of the corridor, a door stood ajar. The hum leaked brightest from within.
El Como approached, staff raised lazily. "Well then. Shall we see the grand prize? After endless corridors, broom closets, and sulking mirrors, I expect nothing less than the holy grail of underwhelming."
He pushed the door open.
The chamber beyond was round, domed, with walls carved smooth. And there, at its exact center, floated a sphere.
It wasn't large—perhaps the size of a man's head. Its surface was pale, not quite glass, not quite stone. Light bent around it strangely, as if even illumination didn't dare touch it directly.
The hum came from the sphere itself, steady, endless.
El Como leaned on his staff and tilted his head. "Ah. The legendary ball of… humming. Truly, my pilgrimage is complete. Shall I kneel? Shall I weep? Or perhaps I should simply clap and call it a night."
He circled the chamber, boots scratching against the floor. The sphere hung motionless, ignoring him entirely.
"Round, mysterious, and humming. If this thing starts giving sermons, I'll leave immediately."
He reached out with one finger and flicked the surface.
The instant he touched it, fire rushed through his arm. Not burning fire—draining fire. His veins shriveled, his muscles weakened, his breath caught as if invisible hands wrung his lungs.
He staggered back, gasping.
"Well," he croaked, laughter shaking through the pain, "isn't that delightful. A glowing ball that makes me feel like I've aged seventy years in a second. I should've expected nothing less."
The weakness faded as soon as he let go. His knees buckled, but he steadied himself with his staff, still grinning.
"Congratulations, castle. After all this walking, you've given me a toy that sucks the life out of me. At last, something useful!"
He stepped closer again, squinting. The sphere's surface shifted faintly under the light—like liquid stone, rippling gently though no hand touched it.
"So this is your secret, Untamed Ability? A humming marble that turns strong men into wheezing grandfathers? Charming." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You could have at least put it in a box, maybe added a warning label. 'Touch at your own risk—contents may include premature death.'"
The hum deepened for a moment, vibrating the chamber.
El Como smirked. "Ah, so you can respond. Lovely. Shall we have a conversation? I'll go first: hello, I'm El Como, destroyer of patience. And you are?"
The sphere hummed louder, as if mocking his tone. His smile widened.
"Silent type, eh? I like that. Very mysterious. Very brooding. Tell me, do you also keep journals full of tragic poetry?"
No answer. Only the steady thrum.
He paced around it again, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar appraising an artifact. His sarcasm sharpened.
"Well, my round friend, you're the first thing in this castle with personality. Everything else is doors, chairs, and disappointment. You, at least, make me weak. That's progress. At this rate, by tomorrow, perhaps I'll find a spoon that screams when stirred."
The hum pulsed again, faintly louder.
"See?" El Como said with a chuckle. "It likes me. Or hates me. Hard to tell the difference."
After a long silence, he squatted in front of the sphere, chin resting on one hand. "So… Untamed Ability. What does that mean? That if I lick you, I'll gain wings? That if I juggle you, the world explodes? Or is it just a fancy way of saying, 'Congratulations, you found the castle's most expensive paperweight'?"
He reached out again, hesitated an inch away. His grin flickered—just slightly—as he remembered the draining rush.
Then he leaned back and laughed. "No. Once was enough. I don't need you to remind me I'm mortal. I've already got mirrors for that."
He stood, stretching his back, and turned toward the door.
"Still, I suppose I should thank you. At least you're something. After three hundred doors of nothing, you gave me a hum, a headache, and a near-death experience. That's more hospitality than this castle's shown me all day."
As he stepped out of the chamber, his voice echoed one last sarcastic remark:
"Goodbye, humming death-ball. Keep up the good work. You're the most charming host this place has."