CHAPTER 38

CURSED RUINS

The underground corridor was pitch black, swallowing every trace of light. Nothing was visible until Triska summoned a glowing orb of fire in her hand, its flickering light pushing back the darkness. The corridor, wide at first, narrowed as they moved deeper. The walls on either side were etched with eerie murals of humanoid figures, their twisted bodies looking as though their bones had been shattered and clumsily pieced back together over and over.

They pressed forward. A dead end loomed ahead, forcing them to take a sharp left turn into another cramped hallway.

“How big is this place?” Triska asked, her voice echoing off the tight stone walls. “Feels like we’ve been walking forever.”

Mark glanced at the strange murals as they passed. “One thing’s for sure—this temple isn’t the Holy Church’s work. None of this matches their theology. But who the hell could’ve built something this massive underground?”

Before Triska could reply, the corridor opened into a vast chamber. The air grew colder, swirling with pale, ghostly figures that glided through the darkness.

“Intruders!” one screeched, its voice a piercing wail.

The ghosts surged toward them, their translucent forms glowing faintly in the firelight.

“Stay back!” Mark barked, unsheathing his spirit sword. The blade hummed with a green glow, pulsing like it was alive.

He lunged at the nearest ghost, plunging his sword into its chest. The ghost erupted into a burst of light and vanished. Another one swiped at him with icy claws, but Mark sidestepped and cleaved it in half, sending it back to the underworld.

A third ghost lunged from above, but Mark ducked just in time, driving his sword into its stomach. It dissolved with a hiss.

Two more came at him from opposite sides. Mark leapt into the air, avoiding their grasp, and landed smoothly. With two swift slashes, both ghosts disappeared into nothingness.

Only one ghost remained. Mark charged, thrusting his glowing blade straight into its heart. The final specter let out a shriek before fading into oblivion.

Mark exhaled, wiping his brow. “Let’s move.”

Triska gave a quick nod, and they pressed on, stepping carefully through the now-silent chamber. At the far end, they found another door leading into a shadowy, narrow corridor.

They moved cautiously through the corridor when a low, menacing growl froze them in their tracks. Without warning, two creatures emerged from the shadows. They were humanoid in shape but grotesque—unnaturally gray-skinned, hairless, naked, and crouching on all fours like feral beasts. Their long claws gleamed in the dim light as they charged at Mark.

The narrow corridor left Mark little room to maneuver, but he quickly drew his sword. The first creature lunged, and with a swift, precise swing, Mark cleaved it clean in half at the waist. Its torso and legs hit the ground with a sickening thud, spilling sticky, dark blood.

The second creature moved faster, slamming into Mark and pinning him to the floor. Its claws raked across his cheek as he struggled to keep it at bay with the hilt of his sword.

“Mark, hold on!” Triska shouted. She conjured an ice shard and hurled it with deadly accuracy. The shard struck the creature square in the forehead, and it collapsed lifelessly on top of Mark.

“Fucking monster!” Mark growled, shoving the heavy corpse off and scrambling to his feet. He glanced at Triska. “Thanks. Let’s keep moving.”

They pressed forward, emerging into a large chamber—and froze. Dozens of the same gray-skinned monstrosities filled the space, snarling and baring their claws.

“Oh, great,” Mark muttered, gripping his sword tighter. “Here we go.”

The horde charged. One leapt high, aiming to land on Mark. He rolled to the left just in time, evading the attack, and countered with a clean swipe of his blade, severing the creature’s head. The head rolled across the floor with a heavy thud, followed by the lifeless body.

Another beast lunged at him, claws outstretched. Mark met it with a quick slash, severing its hand at the wrist before finishing it with a brutal cut across the chest.

Suddenly, three creatures attacked at once, coming at him from different directions. One clawed at his chainmail, tearing through a section and grazing the skin beneath. Mark spun, delivering a powerful back kick that sent the attacker sprawling. At the same time, he drove his sword through the chest of the second creature, the blade piercing clean through. With his free hand, he landed a crushing punch to the face of the third creature, shattering its nose in a spray of blood.

Retrieving his sword from the second creature, Mark pivoted and slashed the third across the chest, dropping it instantly. He turned just in time to dodge a charging attack from the first creature, now back on its feet. Sidestepping gracefully, he delivered a final slash across its back, killing it.

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Meanwhile, Triska faced her own onslaught. Four creatures rushed her at once, their claws gleaming dangerously. She raised her hands and conjured orbs of fire, launching them like missiles. The monsters were engulfed in flames, their screams echoing as the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

But the fight wasn’t over. Three more creatures emerged, one of them moving alarmingly fast. It leapt at Triska, claws poised to strike. She barely managed to conjure an invisible energy shield, and the creature slammed into it like hitting a brick wall, falling back dazed.

Triska didn’t waste a second. She summoned an ice bolt and hurled it, freezing the creature mid-motion. With a flick of her hand, she shattered it into a thousand glittering shards. Turning to the remaining two monsters, she raised the ice shards with a simple gesture and sent them hurtling like deadly projectiles. The shards pierced the creatures, leaving them crumpled in a dark, bloodied heap.

“That was intense,” Triska said, her breath heavy as she lowered her hands.

Mark nodded, wiping blood from his cheek. “Yeah. Let’s hope that’s the worst of it.”

They moved cautiously through the chamber, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls, and entered another narrow corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly. Minutes passed, the silence pressing on them like a heavy weight.

“Just how big is this place?” Mark muttered.

At last, the corridor opened into a small, dimly lit room. In its center stood a stone altar, and resting on top was a brilliant gemstone—a radiant blue that shimmered like it was alive. Mark’s eyes lit up as he stepped closer.

“This has to be it,” he said, reaching out. “Let’s grab this fucking thing and get the fuck out of here.”

As his fingers closed around the gemstone, the room suddenly trembled violently. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and a deep rumble filled the air.

“Uh… I think that ain’t good,” Mark said. “Run!”

The ground beneath them bucked as Mark and Triska turned and bolted back the way they had come. The walls seemed to close in around them, shaking so hard it was difficult to stay upright.

When they re-entered the chamber where they’d slain the monsters earlier, a fresh wave of them poured out from the shadows, their gray skin gleaming in the flickering light.

“Shit!” Mark growled.

But there was no time to fight. The floor quaked beneath their feet, and massive chunks of the ceiling began crashing down, crushing several monsters in a spray of blood and rubble.

“Keep running!” Triska shouted, her voice barely audible over the chaos.

They sprinted into the narrow corridor, their breath ragged and their legs burning with exertion. Mark’s lungs felt like they were on fire, and his steps grew heavier with every stride. Behind them, the sound of claws scraping against stone grew louder—the monsters weren’t giving up.

A massive rock fragment broke free from the ceiling and plummeted straight toward them.

“Mark, watch out!” Triska cried.

With a quick gesture, she conjured an invisible energy shield. The falling rock smashed into it, shattering into harmless debris, but the strain made her stumble. Mark grabbed her arm, pulling her forward.

“We can’t stop!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

Another tremor shook the corridor, and this time, a colossal slab of stone crashed down behind them, blocking the path—and cutting off the pursuing monsters.

“Thank fuck,” Mark muttered.

They barreled into the first chamber, the air thick with dust and the sound of destruction roaring in their ears. The entire underground structure was collapsing around them, and the narrow pathways were disappearing in a storm of falling debris.

“Almost there!” Triska urged, her voice strained.

They reached the sloping ramp they’d descended earlier, the exit just ahead. With one final burst of energy, they scrambled upward, bursting into the freezing daylight just as the ground behind them caved in. A thunderous crash echoed from below, and a massive plume of dust rose into the sky.

Mark dropped to his knees, bracing himself with his hands on his thighs, gulping in cold, fresh air. Triska collapsed onto the snow, letting it cool her flushed face as she lay sprawled out, gasping.

“That…” she wheezed, “…that-that-that was insane.”

Mark let out a strained chuckle, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. “No wonder that Death Lord bastard didn’t wanna do the job himself.”

They climbed onto Mark’s horse and galloped toward the village, the snow crunching under the horse’s hooves. As they approached the mayor’s house, they dismounted, their breath visible in the chilly evening air. Mark knocked firmly on the wooden door, and moments later, Mayor Cedomir opened it. The old man’s weathered face lit up with shock.

“You’re alive!” Cedomir exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Mark grinned. “We’re hard to kill. Mind if we crash here for the night?”

“Of course! Come in, come in,” Cedomir said, stepping aside to let them in.

The warmth of the house was a welcome relief. They ate the same hearty soup Cedomir had made during their last visit, savoring its rich flavor. That night, Mark and Triska shared the small, cozy bed the mayor offered, wrapping themselves in each other’s warmth beneath the thick blankets.

At dawn, they bid Cedomir farewell and set off once more, the snow falling steadily as they rode into the endless white expanse of the grasslands. The wind howled like a wild beast, and the biting cold cut through their cloaks, but their destination was clear—a lone figure waited for them on the horizon, draped in a dark cloak.

As they drew closer, Mark recognized the ominous silhouette. It was the Death Lord.

Mark and Triska dismounted, their boots crunching on the frozen ground. Mark approached the figure and tossed him the glowing gemstone. The Death Lord caught it effortlessly, his gloved fingers closing around it.

“You’ve done well,” the Death Lord said, his deep, unnatural voice reverberating like a growl. “You did not disappoint me, as I expected.” He reached into his cloak and tossed Mark a heavy pouch of coins, which jingled. “The gold I promised. I always keep my word.” Then, with a flick of his wrist, he produced a small flask and handed it to Mark. “Drink this.”

Mark eyed the flask suspiciously. “What is it?”

“The antidote.”

Mark hesitated, still mistrusting the man. But with a glance at Triska and a deep breath, he uncorked the flask and downed its contents. The liquid was sharp and bitter, burning as it slid down his throat.

“So,” Mark asked, “I’m clean now?”

The Death Lord gave a slight nod. He turned to leave, his dark cloak billowing behind him, but Mark wasn’t done.

“What do you want with the gemstone?” Mark called after him. “And what were those ruins? That wasn’t a temple of the Holy Church.”

The Death Lord paused but didn’t turn around. “It’s an older place, built long before the Church. But that’s not your concern. You’ve done your job, been paid, and our business is finished. Should I need your services again, I’ll find you.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

A low, chilling chuckle came from the Death Lord as he continued walking. “Perhaps.”

Without another word, he vanished into the snowy horizon, leaving Mark and Triska standing in silence.

Mark turned back to Triska and gestured to the horse. “Hop on,” he said as he himself mounted it.

She climbed up and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his neck. Mark smiled.

“Let’s hit the road,” he said, urging the horse forward.

And so, they rode on, the snow stretching endlessly before them. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman—to always be on the move.