The tower.

Chapter 47: Tower of scourge

“Are you people ready?” Ikaro asked the shortened group.

“We are.” Entinos replied for the three of them, Aerys and Nixia nodding in agreement.

“Good.” Ikaro said, his voice calm, controlled, too controlled. Beneath it, a quiet tremor ran through him, a tension he could not fully suppress. The fortress loomed before them, and it felt wrong. Not abandoned. Not ruined. Aware.

The closer they stood to it, the more the air seemed to thicken, pressing against their lungs like a slow, invisible weight. The stones beneath their feet vibrated faintly, as if something deep within the tower was stirring in its sleep.

Even Ikaro, who had faced gods and monsters, felt a chill crawl up his spine.

“You three?” he asked, turning toward what appeared to be empty, broken land behind him.
A familiar voice answered.

“We are. Though I’m more afraid of how long Noor and I can hold this spell.”

Kayn’s voice came from thin air as a transparent outline of his body shimmered beside Noor and Iris. The invisibility spell warped the light around them like heat over sand, unstable, strained. Noor stood at its centre, fingers raised and trembling slightly as she sustained the magic, while Iris and Kayn fed it with their own power, extending its fragile duration.

“On my own I can hold the spell fifteen minutes.” She explained.

“I can last twenty minutes, minimum.” Aerys said lightly, a crooked smirk tugging at her lips mocking the persian girl.
Ikaro shot her a sharp look, now is not the time.

She raised her hands in surrender, mouthing a silent apology.

“And the three of you?” Entinos asked, his tone measured but edged with concern. He was already calculating; minutes, distances, casualties.

“Eight minutes at best,” Noor answered quietly. “And counting.”

Ikaro exhaled through his nose.

“That’s the signal then.” Kayn said firmly. “Everyone, you know what to do.”

The front group moved immediately, boots crunching against broken stone as they advanced toward the tower. With every step, the oppressive presence intensified. Whispers crept along the edge of hearing; not words, not voices, but intent. Hunger. Awareness.

“See you on the other side,” Ikaro said, forcing a grin as he glanced back. “The gods know we’ll survive this.”

It was half a joke. Half a promise.

The four of them stopped before the tower’s entrance: two massive obsidian doors, cracked and decayed, yet still standing, still guarding. Dark residue pulsed faintly along the seams, like veins beneath dead skin. The doors let out a low, grinding groan on their own, as if the tower were drawing breath.

Ikaro raised his shield, scanning the shadows. “Alright. We need to get their attention. Any ide—”

Aerys didn’t wait. She snatched a skull from the rubble near the entrance and hurled it with all her strength. It struck the obsidian doors with a thunderous crack, the sound echoing unnaturally, too long, too deep. It reverbed through the tower’s hollow core.

“GET OUT HERE, YOU BONEHEADS!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “WE CAME TO BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ALL OF YOU!”

Silence.

Then, movement.

The tower answered.

A deep, grinding moan rolled through the stone as the doors began to part, inch by inch, exhaling a breath of rot and decay. From within, shadows shifted, and one by one, undead figures emerged; jerking, unnatural, their bones scraping against corroded armour, eyes glowing with a dull, hungry light.
Ikaro sighed.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “That could work.”

The moment the first undead stepped outside, he snapped into command.

“Formation!” he barked. “We give them time, not ground. The moment they push, we pull back. No heroics!”

He planted his spear and raised his shield, taking point. Entinos and Nixia moved in sync beside him, unfolding their weapons with practiced precision. Aerys rolled her shoulders, steel flashing as she drew both sword and axe, her earlier bravado sharpening into lethal focus.

The undead charged.

They came fast, far faster than the ones they’d faced before, limbs jerking at impossible angles, blades and jagged teeth flashing. Their strength didn’t match their fury, but their numbers made up for it.

“V formation!” Ikaro shouted.

They locked in immediately, funnelling the undead into a killing corridor. Steel rang against rusted blades. Bone shattered. Rot sprayed the air.
But then one broke through.

A decayed spear glanced off Ikaro’s shield and bit into his side, tearing through leather and drawing blood. Pain flared, sharp and immediate.

Ikaro grunted but didn’t fall back.

“Hold the line!” he roared, slamming his shield forward and driving his spear through the creature’s skull.

More poured out.

Too many.

“This isn’t an army,” Entinos shouted between strikes, breathing hard. “But it’s close enough!”

Barely fifty undead; but against four, every second mattered. Every mistake would cost blood.

And somewhere behind them, unseen, the tower watched.

Waiting.

On our side, we slipped past the clash like ghosts.

Noor walked at the centre, fingers of her left hand raised and trembling as she sustained the invisibility spell. The magic warped the air around us, bending light and sound alike. Iris and I stayed close, feeding the spell with our own power, anchoring it long enough for us to pass unnoticed through the undead defenders.
The world felt wrong beneath the spell.

Sound arrived late; metal clashing, bones snapping, distant shouts, muffled, stretched, as if we were hearing it through water. Our footsteps made no noise, yet the ground felt them, vibrating faintly beneath our boots. Even our bodies felt… misaligned, like we were half a step out of reality, slightly delayed from ourselves.

“Can we move faster?” Iris whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

“I wish…” Noor replied through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded at her temple as she focused, her tone strained but controlled. “Holding this field at this size is already pushing it. Any faster, and it could collapse.”

We slowed; every step deliberated.

“We’re getting inside,” I whispered. “That’s what matters.”

Undead passed close, too close. One brushed through the space where my shoulder should have been, and for a terrifying heartbeat I felt cold crawl through my chest, as if my body had thinned, half-fading under the spell. The sensation lingered even after it passed.
And beneath it all… something else.

A faint pull. Downward.

Not pain. Not yet. Just a pressure, like gravity subtly increasing, tugging at something deeper than muscle or bone. I ignored it, for now, but the sensation settled uncomfortably in my chest, quiet and patient.

We crossed the threshold and entered the tower.

Inside, the structure opened into a massive stone staircase spiralling in two directions. Upward, toward the upper chambers, where the warlock’s sanctum once stood, and where the Erebosian might even now be watching the battle unfold. Downward, into darkness thick enough to swallow light, the dungeon stood.
The air below moved differently.

“If Chiron’s alive…” I whispered, my eyes drawn to the descending steps, “he’ll be down there.”

Iris nodded immediately, jaw set.

Noor swallowed and gave a small, involuntary whimper, but nodded as well.

We turned downward.

With every step, the air grew heavier, pressing against our lungs. A metallic, poisonous stench crept into our noses, sharp and acidic, mingling with rot and old blood. The walls seemed to close in, damp stone slick beneath our hands as the stairwell narrowed.

Then came the screams. Not constant. Worse.

They rose and fell; broken, distant, sometimes cut short as if swallowed by the stone itself. Between them, silence stretched long and suffocating, each pause daring us to hope it was over… only for another cry to tear through the dark.

We descended slower now.

The pull in my chest strengthened with every turn of the staircase, a dull ache blooming beneath my ribs. Whatever waited below wasn’t just there, it was calling,
whether it meant to or not.

When we finally reached the bottom, the stairway opened into a low, grim chamber. A dungeon.

Iron cages lined the walls, rusted bars bent and stained, some empty… others not. Figures slumped inside, motionless or trembling, shackled and broken. And at the centre of it all stood him.

“This can all be so much easier for you, my lord.”

The voice was calm. Almost polite.

He stood at a grotesque alchemy table cluttered with instruments of **** and vials filled with unnatural fluids. In his hand, he turned a glass container holding a viscous green liquid, watching it swirl with scholarly interest. His tone lacked Arkealus’ raw menace; this was worse, Curious and Methodical. As if pain were simply another subject of study.

“You only need to give me what I want,” he continued mildly, “and I’ll allow you and your companion to walk free.”

He wore a dust-dark robe, a leather apron strapped over his torso, soaked in blood and alchemical residue. A raven-black mask concealed his face, its surface scorched and warped, hinting at burns beneath. The smell around him was unbearable; iron, rot, and something alchemy of ****.

On the table lay a centaur, bound tightly, mouth gagged, body carved and bleeding.

Beside the cages stood another; older, wounded, watching helplessly.

I pressed a hand to my chest. Pain; sharp, deep and certain lanced through my soul, stealing my breath. There was no doubt left in me.
Iris felt it immediately. Her hand found my shoulder, steadying me.

“That’s him,” I whispered, my voice low and grim as I fought the fading ache. “He’s an Erebosian.”

The girls exchanged a disturbed look. Whatever hope remained shattered in their eyes.

“Shit,” Iris muttered under her breath.

“Curse you and your kind,” the old centaur snarled, his voice raw with exhaustion and fury. “You are nothing but an insult to nature itself! I would rather die than give you anything you seek!”

The Erebosian did not react with anger. He tilted his head slightly, as though considering a flawed argument.

“Hm,” he hummed softly. “You lack vision, old Sagitta.” His voice was calm, measured, almost patient. “We are Nature.”

He turned at last, the dim torchlight glinting off the raven mask. Beneath his composed tone lurked something far older than malice, conviction.

“We were here the day the Titans ruled these lands. We were here when your kind first learned to crawl, to hunt, to name the stars.” He took a slow step closer to the cages. “And we will remain when you are gone, extinct, returned to soil and silence with the rest of the filth that once claimed dominion over this world.”

My chest tightened. Not just pain this time, recognition.

This wasn’t random cruelty. This was their doctrine. This was what I had been made to stand against. This was the true face of the erebosian malice.
“Growth,” the Erebosian continued, almost reverently, “means nothing without decay. Life requires rot. Extinction is not tragedy, it is balance. And balance,” he said softly, turning his masked gaze toward Chiron, “is sacred.” With his words he twisted the fauns mantra.

“Like it or not,” he added, his voice hardening, “we are part of the very equilibrium you worship.”

“Chiron,” Iris whispered urgently beside us. “We have to save him.”

“We’ll have to survive first,” Noor murmured back, her eyes never leaving the alchemist’s hands as she assessed distances, timing, spells, escape routes already forming in her mind.

The Erebosian reached for a curved blade, its edge blackened and cold, and wiped it clean with deliberate care. “Tell me,” He said conversationally, “how long do you think one of your own can endure the kiss of stygian iron?”

Before anyone could react, he moved. The blade sank into the bound centaur’s chest in a slow, precise motion. Not deep, not yet. Just enough. He opened him, surgical and methodical, ensuring the wound would not kill him too quickly.

The centaur screamed, but the sound was strangled, muffled by layers of cloth and rope biting into flesh. His body thrashed uselessly against his restraints.

“STOP THIS, YOU BEAST!” Chiron roared, his voice cracking with hatred and helplessness.

“Beast?” The Erebosian chuckled quietly. “No. I am a son of the Titans. A keeper of truths lost to millennia. A harbinger of pestilence.” He leaned closer to his victim, whispering almost fondly. “A numen of this plane, and of you, Sagitta.”

With his free hand, he traced a sigil in the air. Dark magic flared, sinking into the centaur’s body.

The wound stayed open. The victim should have died. Instead, the spell anchored him to life, stretching agony far beyond mercy.

“No matter what you do,” Chiron shouted, tears streaking down his face, “I will never give you what you want! I will never give the Kirelis to your kind!”
The Erebosian paused.

He set the knife down gently, almost respectfully, while maintaining the spell with effortless precision. Then he reached for a vial.

Inside it, a green-black substance writhed, shadow and liquid intertwined. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, hungry.

“Oh, I know,” the Erebosian said lightly. “I’m not foolish enough to expect answers this way.” He lifted the vial, admiring it. “This isn’t interrogation.”
He uncorked it.

“This is demonstration.”

The contents spilled into the open wound.

The fluid clung to flesh and vein, creeping inward with terrible purpose. Organs blackened as it spread. Bones softened, marrow rotting from within. Life was not torn away, it was consumed, drained inch by inch.

“Wh–what sorcery is this?” Chiron whispered, horror finally breaking through his defiance.

The Erebosian watched with academic fascination as the body decomposed while still alive.

“My latest creation,” he said proudly. “Ukkury.”

“Life’s bane,” Noor breathed, her face drained of colour. She had seen it before. She knew what it meant.

The centaur’s eyes went glassy. Black veins spidered across his face. When he finally died, it was not with peace, but with emptiness.

“This,” the Erebosian said, straightening as he discarded the empty vial, “is what awaits your people. Your lands. Your forests and cities alike.”

Chiron bowed his head, whispering a prayer in his native tongue for the fallen. When he lifted his gaze again, it burned with pure hatred.

“I will kill you.”

The Erebosian laughed softly. “No,” he replied. “You will not. You have already lost, here, and at home.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your downfall began from within. You were simply too blind to see it.”

The air went still.

An armoured undead legionnaire burst into the chamber, its skeletal frame encased in corroded steel, joints twisting unnaturally as it knelt before the alchemist. It spoke in a dead tongue, the sound like bones scraping stone.

“Master,” it rasped. “We are under attack.”

The Erebosian clicked his tongue in irritation, not even turning. “We resurrected your corpse, bound you to purpose beyond ****,” he said calmly, “and this is how you repay us? By failing to deal with a handful of fools?”

“It is not that, master,” the fiend insisted, its skull bowing lower. “It’s them.”

That made him pause.

Slowly, deliberately, the Erebosian turned. “Explain.”

“A Rhaadkat satyr. Two Spartans; one female with red hair, one male with medium-length dark hair and a stubbled beard.” The undead hesitated, as if afraid of the words themselves. “Just as Master Arkealus described on Argos.”

The Erebosian’s fingers tightened around the knife.

For the first time since we arrived, his composure fractured, not into panic, but into something sharper. Focused. Dangerous.

“So,” he murmured. “You’re here.”

A spike of pressure slammed into my chest, deeper than before. This time it wasn’t just pain, it was awareness. Like two forces finally acknowledging each other. He took a step forward.

“Interesting,” he said softly. “Very interesting indeed…”

Then, without another word, he turned away from us and toward the exit. As he passed Chiron’s cage, he spoke without looking back.

“I will deal with you later, Sagitta. Enjoy these final minutes Cronos has granted you to reflect on your failures.”.

He left, the undead guards following him upstairs into the battle.

Only when his presence faded did I realize I’d been holding my breath.

“He’s gone,” I whispered, the crushing pressure in my chest easing at last. “Tell Ikaro to get ready to disengage.”

Noor nodded sharply and closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind.

“Ikaro. He’s on his way. Get out now.”

“Understood,” came the reply, tense but steady.

“We have ten minutes,” Noor said aloud, breaking the invisibility spell. “At best.”

“More than enough,” I replied, already moving.

I crossed the dungeon in two strides and brought the hilt of Dawn down against the lock. Metal snapped. The cage door swung open.

Chiron surged to his feet, fury flaring as he grabbed the bars, then froze when he saw us.

“What is this?” he demanded. “Are you with him?!”

“Not in a million years,” I said, stepping aside. Breaking the lock of the cage “Is this proof enough?”

He hesitated, then stepped out cautiously, eyes darting between us. He approached the body on the table, closed the fallen centaur’s eyes, and whispered a brief
prayer.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said hoarsely, “but if you think we can escape this place alive, you’re mistaken.”

“We know,” I replied. “That’s why we’re not fighting our way out.”
I nodded to Noor.

She pressed her palm to the rusted stone wall and began the incantation. The air thickened instantly, magic vibrating like a low hum in my bones.

“You can distrust us,” I told Chiron, “But we are your only way out.”

Footsteps echoed above us.

Closer.

Too close.

Chiron studied me for a long second, then nodded once.

The spell took agonizingly long. Five minutes that felt like an hour.

Shadows crept along the dungeon walls as undead poured down the stairs, their silhouettes stretching toward the forming portal. One nearly reached Noor before Iris loosed an arrow through its skull.

I stepped forward, Dawn and Eclipse blazing in my hands, meeting the charge head-on. Steel rang. Bone shattered. One blade struck close enough to Noor that the portal flickered, and my heart stopped, but she held it.

A luminous blue oval tore itself into existence, filling the wall with blinding light.

“It’s done!” Noor shouted. “Move now!”

“Go!” I ordered. “I’ll hold them!”

Iris helped Chiron, pulling him through the portal as arrows flew past her shoulder. Noor followed, collapsing to one knee just beyond the threshold.

I backed toward the light, carving a path through the last of the undead, and then the stairs erupted.

The Erebosian descended slowly, unhurried, his presence bending the air around him.

His head turned. This time, there was no doubt.

He was looking straight at me.

“So,” he said quietly, a smile evident even beneath the mask. “You are here.”

I grinned back “In the flesh.” and gave him a wink.

Then I stepped through the portal.

Behind me, the erebosian screamed in ire.