The journey to the Forbidden Armory was a descent into the throat of the world.
There were no servants here. No tapestries depicting the glories of the Human Empire. The spiral staircase was hewn from raw, damp bedrock, winding down so deep that the air grew thin and tasted of iron. The only light came from the magical orb floating above Briar's palm, casting long, dancing shadows against the rough walls.
Nyx walked two steps behind her. The silence between them was heavy, filled only by the rhythmic scuff of their boots and the distant, rhythmic dripping of water.
"You're quiet," Briar said, her voice echoing down the shaft. She didn't look back, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of Ignis.
"I'm listening," Nyx replied, his eyes scanning the darkness.
"For what? The traitor?"
"For chains," Nyx admitted softly. "And for the hunger."
He looked at his right hand. The skin was pale, smooth, and unremarkable. Yet, he knew that beneath the surface lay a mouth that could swallow a soul. The energy he had drained from the Shadow Walker, a cold, frantic energy, had finally settled into his muscles, making him feel stronger than he had since waking up. But it was a stolen strength. It felt foreign.
"The traitor used a Key," Briar said, changing the subject. Her tone was tight with suppressed anger. "Only the Triumvirate has Keys to the Wards. "That means either my father, Uncle Thorn, or Seraphina betrayed us. Or...."
"Or?" Nyx asked.
"Maybe they were mind controlled but there's a low chance of that happenning becuase they're not strong enough to control an Emperor," Briar shook her head. "They have Solar Realm mental defenses. To crack their minds, you'd need an Ancient, like Lilith."
She stopped at a massive door made of black iron, reinforced with bands of glowing runic silver. A skull of a dragon, not a carving, but a real, fossilized skull—was embedded in the center, its hollow eye sockets staring at them.
"We're here," Briar announced. She fished the heavy iron key from her belt. "The Forbidden Armory. Or as Lyra calls it, the Graveyard of Bad Idea" she chuckled.
"Why Forbidden?" Nyx asked.
"Because the weapons inside aren't just enchanted," Briar explained, sliding the key into the dragon's mouth. "They're alive. And they're hateful. Most of them were forged by madmen, or bathed in the blood of so many innocents that they gained a consciousness. They don't just cut flesh, they eat life force. If a normal soldier touches one, they wither into a husk in seconds."
She turned the key. The mechanism groaned, a sound like a dying beast, and the heavy doors swung inward.
"Luckily for you," Briar glanced at him, a grim smile touching her lips, "you seem to have a talent for eating things that try to eat you."
They stepped inside.
The Forbidden Armory was a cavernous hall, cold enough to see their breath. It wasn't organized like the neat racks of the Royal Guard. Piles of weapons lay scattered on stone slabs or shoved into the dirt floor. Spears with writhing shadows, axes that dripped eternal poison, shields that screamed faintly when the light touched them.
The air was thick with a miasma of malice. A normal person would have fainted from the killing intent radiating from the artifacts.
Nyx inhaled deeply.
To Briar, the room smelled like death. To Nyx, it smelled like a buffet.
His First Shackle vibrated violently against his ribs. The Void inside him stirred, sensing the dense, corrupted mana filling the room. It wanted to lash out, to suck the magic out of every sword and shield until they were nothing but rusted scrap.
"Control it," Nyx whispered to himself, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms. "I need a weapon, not a meal."
"Take your pick," Briar said, leaning against the doorframe. She didn't dare step further in. Her own sword, Ignis, was vibrating at her hip, uneasy in the presence of these cursed kin. "But be careful. If the weapon rejects you, it will try to kill you."
Nyx walked forward.
He passed a rack of daggers that seemed to be made of frozen blood. He passed a warhammer that pulsed with a heartbeat.
He stopped in front of a longsword resting on a velvet pillow. The blade was translucent, crackling with blue lightning. It was beautiful.
"The Storm-Caller," Briar called out. "Forged from the spine of a Thunder Beast. It electrocuted its last three owners."
Nyx reached out.
Clang.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the lightning arced. A bolt of electricity that could stop a dragon's heart shot into Nyx's arm.
Nyx didn't flinch. He didn't scream.
Instead, the lightning stopped.
The translucent blade turned grey. The crackling energy was sucked instantly into Nyx's fingertips, swallowed by the Void. The sword crumbled into dust, leaving Nyx holding a useless leather hilt.
"Uh?" Nyx muttered, dropping the hilt.
"That cost forty thousand gold pieces," Briar sighed, rubbing her temples. "Try not to eat the inventory, Nyx. Find something... compatible. Something that doesn't rely on pure elemental mana."
Nyx moved deeper into the room.
He tried a spear made of shadow. The Void ate the shadow, leaving a wooden stick. He tried a shield made of light. The Void swallowed the light, leaving a metal disc.
Nothing worked. His "Gift", the power he have was too absolute. It refused to coexist with normal magic. It consumed everything it touched.
"It's no use," Nyx said, frustration creeping into his voice. He looked at his hands. "I destroy everything I touch. I am not a warrior. I am just... emptiness."
He turned to leave, the weight of his failure pressing down on him.
Thump.
A sound echoed from the back of the cavern.
It wasn't the scream of a banshee or the roar of a beast. It was a heavy, dull thud. Like a heartbeat buried under ten tons of rock.
Nyx froze. The First Shackle went still. The Void inside him didn't lunge, it paused. It felt... resonance.
"What's back there?" Nyx asked, pointing to the darkest corner of the armory, where the shadows seemed to pool like black water.
Briar squinted. "Nothing good. That's the 'Condemned Section'. Weapons that were too dangerous even for the Forbidden list. They're usually sealed, they were found by the ancient empire from our history, no one knows of their origins"
Nyx walked toward the corner. The air grew colder with every step. The whispers of the other weapons faded, silenced by the presence of whatever lay in the dark.
He reached a pedestal made of black obsidian. Chains, real, heavy iron chains, were wrapped around the object, binding it to the stone.
It was a Greatsword.
It was massive, nearly as tall as Nyx. The blade wasn't made of steel or crystal. It looked like a shard of the night sky, jagged and rough, as if it had been broken off from something much larger. But running down the center of the black blade was a single, jagged crack filled with Gold.
It wasn't glowing. The gold was dull, chipped, and fading. Like a star that was dying.
Nyx reached out. His hand trembled.
He didn't feel the hunger. He felt... sorrow.
He felt the memory of falling. Of burning. Of being cast out.
"Don't touch that one!" Briar shouted, stepping forward in alarm. "That's the Star-Slayer. I told you no one knows about it's origins. Every man who touched it went insane. It doesn't just drain life; it drowns you in despair!"
Nyx didn't listen. He couldn't.
He placed his hand on the hilt.
WHAM.
There was no lightning. No fire.
A wave of crushing, absolute grief slammed into Nyx's mind.
Images flashed in his mind. A golden city in the clouds. A throne room made with beings filled with starlight. A figure standing in the center holding this sword. The sword was far brighter then, Burning with the light of thousands of stars. The man's expression was unreadable but the smiles of shining beings turned into sneers can be seen. The Light around them started turning into chains. The sword shattering as the man fell, its light leaving it's vessel rapidly leaving behind a Void.
The sword wasn't cursed. It was him. It was his own weapon, the Divine Blade of the Dawn, broken and twisted just like its master.
"You waited," Nyx whispered, tears he didn't understand pricking his eyes. "You waited for me."
He understood that man who was wrapped in chains was himself and this sword was his. Even when he didn't knew anything about himself, His sword never forgot him.
The only problem is how the sword got here even before him.
'Let's not think much about these things, Let's get you out of here' Nyx thought to himself putting the questions back at his mind.
He reached out to it, the Void inside him surged, but it didn't eat the sword. It rushed into the blade, filling the cracks, mingling with the dying gold.
SNAP.
The iron chains binding the sword shattered instantly.
Nyx lifted the weapon. It should have weighed three hundred pounds. In his hands, it was weightless.
The black blade suddenly hummed. The dull gold crack ignited, not with holy light, but with a terrifying, dark-golden aura. The room shook. The other cursed weapons rattled in fear.
Nyx turned around.
He stood there, the massive black greatsword resting on his shoulder. His golden eyes were glowing, and for a brief second, the shadows behind him formed the shape of broken wings, he looked like an angel fallen from heaven.
Briar stared at him, her mouth slightly open. The "Charm" was gone, yes. But this... this was something else. This was something else.
"What is that thing?" Briar whispered, her voice trembling.
Nyx looked at the blade. It wasn't the shining sword of the Dawn God anymore. It was scarred, dark, and hungry. Just like him.
"It doesn't have a name anymore," Nyx said, his voice dropping an octave, resonating with the power of the weapon. "The old name died with the light."
He swung the sword. The air screamed as the blade cut through reality itself, leaving a faint trail of void ripples.
"I will call it Requiem," Nyx declared. "A song for the dead."
He lowered the blade, the dark-gold aura settling into a low hum. He looked at Briar.
"I'm ready to go to the Vault now."
Briar swallowed hard. She nodded, stepping back to let him pass. She realized then that locking Nyx in the Vault wasn't trapping a prisoner. It was storing a nuke.
"Right," Briar managed to say. "The Vault. This way."
They walked back up the stairs, leaving the Forbidden Armory silent behind them.
But as they reached the top of the stairs, the heavy iron doors were open.
Standing in the hallway wasn't a guard.
It was Lyra.
She was pale, her hands clutching her grimoire so tightly her knuckles were white. She looked at Nyx, then at the massive sword on his back.
"We have a problem," Lyra said, her voice shaking.
"What is it?" Briar stepped forward. "Did you find the traitor?"
"I found the trail," Lyra said. "I traced the mana signature of the person who paused the wards. It led to the West Wing."
She looked at Briar, disappointment welling in her eyes.
"Briar... the signal came from my father's study. It came from Emperor Kael. "
Briar froze. The color drained from her face. "That's a lie. why would he?... he hates the Vampires."
"The data doesn't lie!" Lyra cried out. "The Key used was his!"
Nyx stepped forward, the hilt of Requiem cold in his hand. The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Kael, the man who wanted to weaponize him. Kael, who had given the key to the armory. Kael, who had suggested the Vault.
"The Vault," Nyx said, a cold realization washing over him. "Who holds the key to the Vault?"
"Emperor Kael" Briar whispered.
"And where is the Vault located?" Nyx asked.
" beneath the West Wing," Briar said, looking at Nyx with horror. "Directly beneath his study."
Nyx gripped Requiem.
"He isn't locking me up to protect me," Nyx said, his voice grim. "He's locking me up to experiment on me. Or to feed me to something else."
He looked at the two Princesses.
"I'm not going to the Vault."