Chapter 23: The Price of Power

A colossal throne room stretched before him, ancient yet pristine. Massive pillars rose into a sky that didn't exist, glowing runes pulsing like the veins of a living being. Beasts; Dragons, abyssal horrors, creatures beyond comprehension all stood in silent reverence.

On a throne of black stone and crimson fire, a man sat, regal despite the divine chains binding him. His piercing purple eyes locked onto Lance.

"My heir," Tyrial's voice echoed through the vast chamber, resonating with power even through his bonds. "We meet at last, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

The pain that had dropped Lance to his knees outside the dungeon still throbbed through his body. His shadow rat materialized beside him, its third eye studying the chained figure and the monstrous audience with cautious intensity.

"There's a connection between us," Tyrial continued, the golden chains clinking as he shifted on his throne. "I cannot fully explain it, even I don't understand its true nature. But know this - in moments where your life hangs in the balance, I can reach you, guide you."

"The Seven Primordial Gods," he went on, his purple eyes flaring with ancient anger, "they feared my power, my influence over the dungeons. So they united, combining their divine might to create this." He rattled his golden chains. "The Primordial Seal - a curse bound not just to me, but to my bloodline. And as you grow stronger, as you reclaim the power that is your birthright, the curse tightens its grip."

"This pain," Lance managed, clutching his chest, watching as the surrounding beasts stirred at his discomfort.

"Yes. Their curse flows through our connection." Tyrial's form seemed to flicker, the crimson flames of his throne dancing higher. "But there is a way to break it. The Seven Wonders of this world - each one is a gateway to a Primordial God's domain. Find these Wonders, breach their domains, and you can reach them. Defeat them, and the curse will weaken with each victory."

Lance's shadow rat hissed. "MASTER, HIS WORDS CARRY TRUTH... AND DANGER."

"The rat sees clearly," Tyrial nodded, a smile touching his regal features. "It will be dangerous. But you have no choice. This curse doesn't just bind me - it will destroy you if you don't break it. And you're only beginning to tap into your true strength."

The vast chamber began to fade, the monstrous audience dissolving like smoke. Tyrial's voice grew distant, but his final words rang clear:

"Find the Wonders, my heir. Save us both. But remember - they're watching. They know another of my line has risen to power. And this time, they won't make the mistake of letting you grow too strong."

Lance's eyes snapped open, finding himself back in Serpent's Coil. The pain had subsided to a dull ache, a constant reminder of the curse flowing through his veins. His shadow rat circled him anxiously, its third eye pulsing with concern.

Dawn was breaking over Graybourne when Lance pushed open the door to Roland's forge. The rhythmic sound of hammering filled the air, accompanied by the hiss of hot metal meeting water. The blacksmith stood at his anvil, working on what appeared to be the final touches of Lance's order.

Roland looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Lance's changed presence. "You feel... different." The master craftsman set down his hammer, wiping his hands on his apron. "The weapons felt it too. Started resonating about a week ago. Like they knew you were growing stronger."

He moved to a cloth-covered table and pulled back the fabric, revealing two scythes that seemed to drink in the forge's light. The larger one, nearly six feet in length, curved like a crescent moon. Its smaller companion, roughly half the size, matched its design perfectly. Both weapons bore edges of deep purple, the Void-touched iron gleaming with an otherworldly sheen.

"The Nightfall Steel in the handles," Roland explained, "it's not just absorbing light anymore. It's... hungry. And these patterns..." He traced the intricate designs etched into the metal. "They carved themselves during the forging. Never seen anything like it."

Lance examined the twin scythes, feeling them resonate with his power. The larger weapon, its six-foot length graceful despite its size, hummed with barely contained energy. The smaller one seemed to whisper to its larger twin, creating harmonics that made his shadow rat's third eye pulse with interest.

"They're not just weapons anymore," Roland said, his craftsman's eyes noting how the purple edges seemed to ripple when Lance touched them. "Something happened during the forging. The Nightfall Steel and Void-touched iron... they started changing. Adapting. Like they knew who they were meant for."

Lance lifted both scythes, feeling their perfect balance. The Nightfall Steel handles didn't just absorb light - they seemed to pull in shadows themselves, making the weapons look like they were wreathed in living darkness.

"Test them," Roland urged, stepping back to give Lance space. "But be careful. They've got a mind of their own."

Lance moved to the forge's testing area, a reinforced space designed for examining enchanted weapons. The moment he began his first practice swing, he understood what Roland meant. The scythes moved like extensions of his will, the larger one flowing into attacks while the smaller one danced in complementary arcs.

"The purple edges," Roland noted as Lance worked through increasingly complex patterns, "they're not just for show. The Void-touched iron seems to... remember the strikes it makes. Watch."

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Lance saw it then. Each swing left trails of purple energy in the air, lingering for moments before fading. When he swung through the same space again, the weapons moved faster, as if guided by muscle memory they themselves possessed.

"They're learning," he said, watching the patterns build upon each other.

Roland nodded. "And that's not all. Try channeling your power through them."

Lance let his shadow energy flow into the scythes. The reaction was immediate and stunning. The Nightfall Steel handles drank in his shadows, amplifying them, while the Void-touched edges began leaving cuts in reality itself. Small tears in space hung in the air where the blades passed.

"By the gods," Roland whispered, watching as Lance's experimental swings began literally splitting the space around him. "What have I created?"

Before Lance could respond, a new presence filled the forge. Heavy footsteps approached from behind, accompanied by the subtle song of drawn steel.

Lance turned, scythes at ready, to face a mountain of a man in steel-gray armor. Garret Valst, the Steel Dragon of Etheria, stood in the doorway, his massive greatsword already drawn.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. The knight charged with frightening speed, his blade cleaving through the air with devastating force.

Lance barely got his scythes up in time, crossing them to catch the greatsword. The impact sent him crashing through the forge's wall into the street beyond. As he rolled to his feet, he saw Roland diving for cover.

"MASTER!" his shadow rat called in warning as Garret burst through the hole in the wall, armor gleaming in the morning sun.

The battle that followed was unlike anything Graybourne had ever seen. Lance and Garret tore through the city streets, their weapons creating shockwaves that shattered windows and cracked stone. The Steel Dragon's raw power was overwhelming, each swing of his greatsword carrying enough force to split buildings.

But Lance's new weapons gave him options. The smaller scythe's spatial cuts created temporary barriers, while the larger one's shadow-enhanced strikes kept Garret on the defensive. They crashed through the market square, scattered onlookers fleeing as vegetable stalls exploded and fountain water turned to steam from the heat of their clashing blades.

Lance saw his team watching from a rooftop - Marina's barriers ready, Kestrel's bow drawn, Rook and Thorn prepared to intervene. He signaled them to stay back. This was his fight.

"You've grown strong," Garret spoke for the first time as they locked weapons in the city center. "But not strong enough."

The knight's next series of attacks proved his words. Despite Lance's new weapons and enhanced skills, Garret's experience and raw power began to overwhelm him. Each blow felt like being hit by an avalanche, and even his scythes' spatial cuts couldn't fully deflect the Steel Dragon's technique.

The end came suddenly. Garret feinted with his greatsword, then shoulder-charged straight through Lance's guard. The impact sent him crashing through a stone wall, his weapons flying from his grasp.

As Lance struggled to rise, he saw his opportunity. His shadow rat had positioned itself perfectly, and in the last moment before his defeat, he managed to infuse both poison and shadow energy into Garret's armor through the gaps between plates.

The Steel Dragon's blade stopped an inch from Lance's throat. "Well done," he said, though his voice betrayed no strain from the poison now coursing through his system. "Not many manage to wound me at all."

He stepped back, sheathing his greatsword with fluid grace despite the toxic shadows now writhing beneath his armor. "The king was right about you. You have potential."

Lance retrieved his scythes, noting how they seemed to pulse with anticipation of future battles. "Why the test?"

"King Alistair collects strong allies," Garret said, his armor hissing slightly as it fought against Lance's poison. "And enemies. He needed to know which you would be." A rare smile crossed the knight's face. "I think he'll be pleased with the result, regardless of which you choose."

The knight turned to leave, but paused. "Train hard, Jest. Our next meeting won't be a test." With that, he strode away, his heavy footsteps leaving cracks in the cobblestones.

Lance's team joined him as he watched the Steel Dragon depart. Their expressions mixed awe at the battle they'd witnessed with concern for their leader's defeat.

"Well," Kestrel said, trying to lighten the mood, "at least you poisoned him."

Lance looked down at his new scythes, feeling them resonate with his power, already adapting to the lessons learned in battle. "We need to train," he said simply. "All of us."

The curse's dull ache in his chest reminded him of Tyrial's words. He needed to grow stronger, find the Seven Wonders, and break the Primordial Seal.

But first, he needed to understand these weapons. Their true potential had only been glimpsed in this fight. And next time he faced the Steel Dragon, he intended to win.

As the dust settled, Jest exhaled sharply, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. The battlefield lay in ruins, a stark reminder of the battle’s intensity. His shadow rat twitched, its third eye scanning the surroundings.

Then, he saw her.

A lone figure standing at the edge of the destruction, watching him with a keen, calculating gaze. Jest’s grip instinctively tightened on his scythes. Her deep purple hair, illuminated by the setting sun, framed her striking golden eyes—eyes that held both amusement and something deeper.

Kali Sylphyra.

She approached him with slow, measured steps, each movement deliberate, controlled. Jest didn’t move, though his muscles remained coiled, ready for anything.

“You survived,” she said simply.

Jest scoffed. “Would you have preferred otherwise?”

Her lips curved slightly. “Not at all. If you had died here, then I would have wasted my time coming.”

She gestured toward a secluded alleyway. “Come. We have much to discuss, and I’d rather not be interrupted.”

Jest hesitated for only a moment before following. He wasn’t naive—this woman clearly knew something. And right now, information was more valuable than anything else.

They stopped in the shadows of an abandoned courtyard, far from prying eyes. Kali leaned against a broken stone pillar, arms crossed.

“You’re painfully weak,” she stated, her tone devoid of sympathy.

Jest’s eye twitched. “Great start to a conversation.”

“I’m not here to coddle you,” she said flatly. “You survived today, but only barely. If you keep fighting like this, you’ll be dead the moment a real monster comes for you.”

Jest narrowed his eyes. “And I assume you have a solution.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You need to grow stronger. Fast. The best way to do that is by seeking out an ancient beast—one who remembers the Dungeon King.”

Jest stiffened. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Kali met his gaze. “The Dungeon King had powerful creatures under his command, monsters who either served him directly or were forced to submit. Some of them still exist today, scattered across the world. If you can find one and make them acknowledge you, you’ll have a real chance at survival.”

Jest crossed his arms. “And where exactly am I supposed to find one of these creatures?”

“There should be at least three or four in each continent,” she replied. “But tracking them down won’t be easy. They don’t exactly make themselves known.”

Jest smirked. “I’ve already met one, actually.”

Kali arched a brow. “Oh?”

“The Jester King,” he said.

Kali frowned slightly. “Well, he would count… but there’s a problem.”

Jest tilted his head. “What problem?”

“He’s in Myrica,” she explained. “And right now, Myrica is at war. Their borders are locked down. No one gets in or out without serious backing.”

Jest clicked his tongue. “Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.”

“That means you’ll have to look for an ancient beast here, on this continent,” Kali continued. “And I know of a few possibilities.”

She raised a hand and began listing them off.

“Kytus, the Blue Flame Cerberus—he’s said to roam the volcanic wastelands to the east. A beast of pure destruction.”

“Kezar, the Blind Ogre—an old warlord who relies on instincts rather than sight. They say he can predict his opponent’s moves before they make them.”

“Hope, the Werewolf of the Blue Moon Clan—she’s not just strong; she’s a leader. If you can get her to acknowledge you, it’ll mean more than just gaining a mentor.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I think there’s one more, but I don’t remember…”

Jest let out a breath. “Great. So my options are a fire-breathing hellhound, a blind warlord, and a werewolf with an entire clan behind her.”

Kali smirked. “That’s about right. But that’s the level you need to aim for.”

Jest stared at the sky for a moment, weighing his choices. None of these options sounded particularly easy, but he had no choice. Strength was the only path forward.

Then, Kali’s expression shifted slightly. “There’s one more thing.”

He looked at her. “What?”

She met his gaze directly. “Based on the contract I made… I’ll be accompanying you from now on.”

Jest blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” She shrugged. “Our goals align, and it benefits me to make sure you don’t get yourself killed before you reach your potential.”

Jest narrowed his eyes. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to keep me on a leash?”

She smirked. “Think of it however you want. But from this point on, you’re stuck with me.”

Before Lance could respond, Kali grabbed his wrist, yanking him forward. “We’re leaving,” she said, her grip like iron. “You’ll thank me later—if you survive.”