Episode 35: The Crumbling Throne
The Obsidian Heart was gone. What remained was silence—so deep, so absolute, it seemed to muffle even the sound of their own breath. For a moment, the Reclaimers stood frozen, surrounded by the stillness of the Hollow Sanctum, each of them unsure if what they'd just witnessed was real—or merely the eye of a greater storm.
Then came the quake.
The floor beneath them shuddered, a low, guttural rumble rising from the very bones of the Black Citadel. Cracks formed across the walls, black mana spilling like blood from wounded stone. The ceiling began to splinter, veins of magic unraveling as the spellwork binding the fortress together began to collapse.
"The Citadel's dying," Sylvhar muttered, eyes darting around. "And it wants to take us with it."
Kael was still standing on the shattered spire, his sword embedded in the ruins of the Heart. The immense strain had drained him; he trembled with fatigue, his body battered from the battle. But there was no time to rest.
Auren grabbed him by the shoulder, steadying him. "Move. Now."
The Reclaimers bolted.
They ran back through the spiraling descent, which now crumbled around them. Staircases collapsed mid-air, forcing Seraphine to lift them with bursts of celestial wind, guiding them across falling platforms. Vaeronth flew above, weaving through cascading debris, using his flames to blast away collapsing arches.
As they neared the surface, a roar—deep, guttural, and wrong—shook the Citadel. From the depths below, something awoke. Something that had been feeding on the Obsidian Heart for centuries.
A last defense.
It rose through the broken sanctum like a god of shadow—an Abyssborn Titan, an entity formed of agony, bound souls, and cursed magic. Towering with skeletal wings and a serpent-like body coiled in chains, its face bore no features—only a gaping void where soundless screams echoed.
"You destroyed the Heart," whispered Seraphine, pale. "But you didn't sever the root…"
The Titan's gaze—or absence of one—fell upon them, and in that moment, the Reclaimers felt the weight of a thousand deaths. It began climbing through the collapsing chambers, clawing toward the light, toward the surface—toward escape.
"We can't let it leave," Kael said hoarsely. "If it escapes, it'll consume everything left in this realm."
"But we can't fight it down here," Vaeronth growled. "We'll be crushed before we strike a blow."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Then we lead it out."
A risky plan. But the only one.
They burst into the upper halls, where the ceiling had already begun collapsing. Kael leapt across a broken bridge, landing hard and slicing through shadowspawn that lingered like parasites. Auren shattered barriers with his hammer, clearing a path. Sylvhar darted ahead, leaving magic traps along the route to delay the Titan's ascent.
As they neared the exit—a jagged portal still pulsing with mana—the Titan erupted into the open, its body tearing through the top of the Citadel like a blade through parchment.
Kael turned back, knowing what must come next.
"We make our stand here."
The battlefield was a ruined platform atop the Citadel's highest tower. Above them, the sky was a churning storm of gray and crimson, the sun choked by dark clouds. Lightning flashed in twisted patterns, responding to the Titan's presence.
The Reclaimers took their positions.
Auren raised a wall of stone to halt the Titan's advance, but it shattered it with a scream. Seraphine launched purifying flames, but they passed through the creature's form, burning the souls it had consumed—but not stopping it.
"Hit the chains!" Kael shouted. "It's bound! That's its weakness!"
Sylvhar zipped across the battlefield, slicing at the runic chains that held its body together. Each strike loosened its form, made it flicker like a dying flame. Vaeronth soared high, drawing its attention, baiting it with draconic fury. The Titan struck at him, missing only by inches, shattering the tower beneath.
Seraphine called down a pillar of holy light, a concentrated lance that pierced the Titan's back, severing two of its wings. It howled in silence—a sound felt, not heard—and lashed out, sweeping Kael and Auren aside.
Blood stained the platform.
Kael coughed, clutching his ribs. "We end this. Now."
He looked to Seraphine, who nodded, wings aglow. Auren stood beside him, hammer alight with the power of the mountain. Vaeronth dropped from the sky in a blaze, and Sylvhar flashed into place behind the Titan.
The final attack began.
Seraphine lifted them with celestial wind as Kael's Ignis burned with ancestral flame. Auren channeled his strength into the platform itself, drawing runes of binding into the stone. Vaeronth distracted the Titan with a final barrage, his fire now golden—drawn from his very soul.
Kael leapt, blade aimed for the Titan's core, where the last remnants of the Heart pulsed.
He struck true.
Ignis pierced the void. There was a moment of silence—then the Titan erupted in a fountain of dark energy, its body unraveling into thousands of screaming souls, finally freed.
The shockwave threw them all back, but the storm above began to clear.
The Citadel groaned once more—and then collapsed.
---
Hours Later…
The Reclaimers emerged from the ruins, bloodied and burned, but alive. The wasteland around the Citadel was scorched, but no longer cursed. The black mana had dissipated. The Abyssborn threat had ended.
Kael looked at the horizon—where Arcland waited. Where the next war would brew.
This victory was real. But it was only a piece of a much greater war.