Stepping from the elevator, Captain Marshall and the Warlock had braced themselves for the inevitable—a phalanx of Charnal sprites guarding the Lord of the Blood Tower. But instead of the expected opposition, they were met with an eerie silence. The corridor before them, slick with some unnameable ichor, stretched out into the gloom, ending at a pair of gleaming ivory doors.
Marshall’s voice was a whisper, barely breaking the suffocating stillness.
“Don’t you think it’s strange we haven’t encountered any demons?” Her shield was raised, unwavering, though no threat presented itself.
“He’s grown arrogant,” intoned the Hollow Knight, her voice a low rasp that seemed to merge with the shadows around them. “And powerful. You’re right, Captain—this close to the antenna array, the place should be crawling with sprites.”
Marshall’s eyes narrowed as she considered the Knight’s words. “The Homunculus is suppressing their emergence?” She had learned much about infernal machinations during her time with Cypher, and this seemed a likely explanation.
The Hollow Knight inclined her head in what might have passed for a nod, a gesture eerily human.
“Something like that. Knowing my Charnal cousins, the Homunculus has likely found a way to consume his own, bolstering his strength.”
“Hence why he leans on Cable’s creations,” Warren interjected, trying to assert his relevance in the conversation.
Marshall’s lips curled into a wry smile.
“Then I suggest we kick down that door and end this. A spearhead strike, straight at the heart. I’ll lead—my shield can cover us long enough for you to launch a counterattack.”
The Hollow Knight’s masked visage turned to her, the gleam of her eyes unreadable.
“No, Captain. We must stall him, buy time to find the manastone. It will be embedded in his body, feeding him power. We need to sever his connection to it.”
“Understood,” Marshall replied, though Warren couldn’t miss the note of relief in her voice. This battle would be fought with more than just steel and fury.
At the end of the corridor, Warren’s hand hovered over the door, a wry grin playing on his lips as he turned to his companions. “Well, here we go. In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered, a fatalistic edge to his tone. With a slight push, the Warlock swung the doors open.
"Homunculus. Level fifty Charnal Apparition. Warning: Extremely dangerous. The Homunculus far exceeds your current level. Flee," intoned the MetaTEC, its voice ringing with clinical urgency.
“The toy knows its business,” growled the Homunculus, its voice dripping with malevolent amusement. “I’d take its advice if I were you. It’s been far too long since I had to chase down my prey. That could be fun.”
The demon lounged at the far end of what had once been a grand restaurant, now a desecrated chamber. It was sprawled across a throne cobbled together from bones, lashed together with sinewy cords. Thick, ape-like arms flowed into shoulders reminiscent of some prehistoric predator, while its hooved feet and hairy goat-legs disappeared beneath a tattered loincloth. Proud, curving bull horns crowned a snarling, simian face.
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The creature was a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and machine, tethered to some nightmarish biomechanical apparatus by pulsing, fleshy tendrils embedded deep into its skull.
“I am Lothorr,” the Homunculus snarled, each syllable vibrating with barely contained fury. “This is my domain. Tell me, why have you come?”
“For the view, obviously,” Warren quipped, gesturing toward the semi-transparent membrane that now shrouded the once-panoramic windows encircling the disc-shaped room.
Lothorr’s eyes narrowed, a murderous gleam flickering within. “I’m not known for my patience or sense of humor, meat.” His voice was as deep and ominous as a gathering storm. He raised a thick, stubby finger, pointing it like a weapon at the Hollow Knight. “What are you doing here?”
The Hollow Knight stepped forward, her sword drawn but resting at her side. She met Lothorr’s gaze, unflinching, and her voice was cold steel. “I am here because my mistress wills it.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Lothorr howled, his voice thick with mockery, mimicking a wild, ape-like cry. “I’m the same, oh yes! Everything my master desires, to the letter!”
The Hollow Knight tilted her head slightly, trying to decipher the bizarre display.
“You’re defying your god?” Warren asked, unable to hide his fascination with the way Lothorr nearly mimicked human emotion. Throughout all his time with the Hollow Knight, he had only known her to be cold, distant, almost mechanical in her demeanor.
“Defying? No, never. No matter how strong I’ve become, true defiance is impossible,” Lothorr replied, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “But I can bend the rules. Misinterpret a divine command here and there, carve out a little piece of this wretched world for myself.”
“You’ve gained autonomy through power?” the Hollow Knight asked, and Warren could have sworn he heard the faintest trace of hope in her voice.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve chosen a name for myself. I have a foothold in this world stronger than you can imagine. All I have to do is wage my lord’s wars, and he turns a blind eye. It’s liberating.”
The Hollow Knight stood still, her face unreadable behind her mask.
“Liberated?” Warren scoffed. “You’re chained to that device like an overgrown battery. Without the Bloodmage pulling your strings, you wouldn’t have half the throne room you’re so proud of.”
“Cable,” Lothorr snarled, his black, taloned fingers carving deep grooves into his bone-throne. “He’s an artist, of sorts. I provided the canvas and let him work. Nothing more.”
“He built your army, your device, this Tower,” Marshall interjected, her voice sharp. “It sounds like he’s more crucial to your master’s plans than you are.”
“No!” Lothorr roared, slamming his fist into the throne, splintering a chunk of bone. With terrifying speed, he rose to his feet, his arms sweeping wide as if to embrace the entire room.
“I made this. Me. Lothorr. Cable is my servant. He does what I command because he’s just meat. Nothing more.”
Lothorr twisted his upper body, gesturing grandly at his creation—the Blood Tower. It was as if he beckoned them to bask in its horrific grandeur, to tremble before it. This was his testament to Malgor. Not the first, not the last, but the greatest. The most magnificent structure to pierce the heavens. He would teach the meat and his miserable cousin what it meant to respect true carnage.
Warren’s eyes caught it then—a fist-sized orb of black-crimson nestled into the nape of Lothorr’s neck. It seemed out of place on the patchwork monstrosity, like the fleshy tendrils embedded in his skull. The manastone. It had to be. Recognizing the moment, Warren surged into action.
“Exundans Impetus!” Warren shouted, bracing himself for the spell’s surge. A violent burst of blazing speed rocketed him across the room, the air crackling with the scent of ozone and the roar of afterburn. He shot forward like a fighter jet, spear angled with deadly precision toward the manacore embedded in Lothorr’s neck, ready to shatter the crystal and drive the weapon clean through the monstrous creature.
But it didn’t happen.
With a movement that defied logic, Lothorr twisted at the last possible second, his massive hand snapping out to catch the spear. The blade hovered mere inches from his throat, but it was held fast, as though caught in the jaws of a vice.
Warren channeled his mana into a second burst of speed, hoping to break through, to force the attack home and strike at the manacore from the front. The roar of jet engines filled the chamber, the blaze of fire behind him burning a fierce ultraviolet.
But still, he remained locked in place, suspended mid-air by the sheer, overwhelming strength of the Homunculus.
“Almost got me,” Lothorr murmured, a wild, animalistic grin spreading across his grotesque face. The stench of rotting gore wafted from his gunk-caked teeth. Warren barely had a moment to react as Lothorr’s maw yawned wide, pointed fangs stretching to close around his head with terrifying speed.