The sky overhead churned with dark clouds, and the wind howled through the Shadelands like a creature in pain. The storm that had followed them from the Hollow Scar seemed to have no end, its ashen winds curling around them with an eerie persistence. The land itself felt alive, but not in a way that was comforting. The trees twisted at unnatural angles, their limbs clawing at the sky as though trying to escape something buried beneath the earth.
Aric couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking in the footsteps of something much older, much darker than Malrik.
"How much farther?" Kael's voice broke the silence, harsh with frustration. His eyes scanned the path ahead, a deep frown etched on his face. "We're getting closer, aren't we?"
Aric didn't answer right away. He had to focus. He had to stay sharp. But there was something inside him, something pressing against his mind—a weight that had been growing since the Hollow Scar. The throne's influence was far from gone. The whispers hadn't stopped.
The closer they got to Malrik, the more the land seemed to warp around them. Aric's thoughts swirled with the weight of his destiny, the power that he could feel stirring inside him, like a coiled snake waiting to strike.
"We're close," Aric muttered at last, his voice distant, as though speaking to himself more than to Kael. "I can feel it."
Selene, walking beside him, glanced over. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, though she wasn't as distracted as Aric. "You're not the only one. This place… it reeks of Malrik."
Aric's grip tightened on his sword, the metal cool beneath his fingers. The further they traveled, the more he could feel the oppressive weight of Malrik's presence closing in on them. It was as if the very land had been corrupted by the villain's power, a scar that stretched across the world.
They reached the edge of a large, barren clearing, the ground cracked and dry, withered trees scattered across the landscape like corpses. In the center, an imposing structure stood, dark and foreboding—a fortress of sorts, though no one knew its true origin. Its jagged stone spires reached toward the sky like claws, and the runes carved into its surface pulsed faintly with an unnatural light.
"This is it," Kael said, his voice barely a whisper.
They had found it. Malrik's stronghold.
Aric stood at the threshold of the clearing, feeling the hum of energy beneath his feet. The fortress called to him, but there was something deeper than that. Something in his blood that surged with recognition, as if the walls themselves knew him. Recognized him.
It was the throne.
"It's him," Aric muttered. "He's here."
Selene's hand rested on his shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "We knew he was. But we can't let him draw us into his game. Not now."
Aric swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right. Malrik wanted him to face him, wanted him to sit on that throne and become like him. But Aric wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure if he would ever be ready.
But if he didn't face Malrik now, he feared he never would.
The air around them seemed to pulse with the remnants of some dark power, swirling around their feet like smoke. A moment later, the ground trembled beneath them, and the sound of distant footsteps echoed from the fortress walls.
Kael gripped his weapon tighter. "We've been spotted."
"Let's move," Aric commanded, turning toward the fortress. There was no more time for hesitation.
They rushed forward, their feet pounding against the cracked earth as they neared the fortress. The walls seemed to shift and twist as they approached, making the structure seem like a living thing. The shadows deepened, and the air grew colder, more oppressive.
Aric felt a surge of power from deep within him—a power he couldn't yet fully control, but it was there. It had been awakening in him since the Hollow Scar, a power that had felt strangely familiar. And now, as they neared the fortress, it surged again, almost as if it recognized its true source.
They reached the massive iron doors of the fortress, and before anyone could react, the doors swung open with a groan of metal on stone. The darkness within the fortress beckoned them.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of decay. The walls were adorned with strange carvings, runes that seemed to pulse with an ancient, almost malevolent energy. Aric could feel them—watching, judging, testing.
And in the center of the room, sitting upon a raised platform, was Malrik. His figure was dark and imposing, surrounded by an aura of power so thick it felt like a physical presence.
"You've come," Malrik said, his voice deep and reverberating, as though the room itself was speaking. "I knew you would."
Aric stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "I didn't come here to talk."
Malrik's smile was slow, deliberate. "Then we shall not waste words." He stood, the shadows shifting around him like living things, his eyes glowing with a twisted light. "I see you've already embraced part of your fate, Aric. But you cannot outrun what you are. You cannot outrun me."
Aric's hands tightened around his sword. "I'm not like you."
Malrik's smile widened. "Not yet, but you will be. All of us are destined to sit on the throne. The question is… will you sit willingly, or will you fall like the others?"
The ground beneath them began to tremble again, the energy in the room surging. Aric felt it—the pull of Malrik's power, trying to drag him down, trying to control him.
"You'll never have me," Aric growled.
Malrik's eyes gleamed with amusement. "We shall see. We shall see."
In that instant, the room exploded with energy. The battle had begun.