Sylas hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Darkness swallowed everything around him, thick and suffocating. He rolled over onto his side, coughing, trying to regain his senses. Somewhere nearby, he heard Alira groan.
"Alira?" he rasped, pushing himself up on one knee.
"I'm here," came her voice, steady but strained. "Just… bruised."
He fumbled for the small lantern at his belt, and after a few strikes of the flint, a dim light flickered to life, pushing back just enough of the darkness to see. They were at the bottom of a massive underground cavern, the stone walls slick and uneven, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older, something foul.
The floor beneath them was a mess of broken stone and twisted roots, as if the very ground had been ripped apart from within. In the center of the cavern, where the light of the lantern barely reached, Sylas could make out a massive structure—an ancient obelisk, cracked but still standing. Strange glyphs, similar to those on the ruined altar, crawled up its surface.
Alira got to her feet, wincing. "Where are we?"
Sylas shook his head slowly. "Still under the fortress, maybe deeper. Much deeper." His voice dropped. "And we're not alone."
A low, wet scraping sound echoed from beyond the light. Alira immediately drew her twin daggers, her body sliding into a defensive stance without a word. Sylas unsheathed his sword, every muscle in his body tensing.
From the darkness, shapes began to emerge. Twisted things, not entirely human, shuffling and crawling toward them. Their skin was a pallid grey, stretched tight over bones that didn't seem to fit together properly. Empty sockets stared blindly, yet somehow Sylas could feel their gaze.
"They're not alive," Alira whispered. "They're... remnants."
Sylas stepped forward, holding the lantern high. "Stay close," he said. "If they touch you—"
He didn't finish the sentence. The first of the remnants lunged, a jerky, spasmodic movement that defied any natural rhythm. Sylas moved on instinct, his blade flashing through the air, severing the creature's head with a single clean stroke.
The body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, but more were coming—dozens of them, drawn by the light, by their presence.
"We need to move!" Alira shouted.
Sylas nodded, scanning the cavern quickly. Beyond the obelisk, a narrow passageway yawned open in the rock. It was their only way out.
They fought their way through the horde, blades flashing in the lantern's sputtering glow. Every strike Sylas delivered felt heavy, as if the very air resisted his movements. The remnants were slow but relentless, attacking without fear or hesitation.
By the time they reached the passageway, both Sylas and Alira were breathing hard, their clothes torn and blood—some of it their own, most of it not—slicking their weapons.
The tunnel sloped downward, forcing them deeper into the earth. The light of the lantern grew weaker with every step, as if the darkness itself was feeding on it.
"This isn't right," Alira muttered. "The deeper we go, the stronger the pull."
Sylas felt it too—a constant pressure in his chest, a weight on his soul. It was like walking into a nightmare made real.
After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled into a new chamber, smaller than the first but no less oppressive. In its center stood a stone pedestal, and on it, a blackened shard the size of a dagger, pulsing faintly with a sickly purple light.
Sylas approached cautiously, the shard calling to him in a voice only he could hear. It whispered promises of power, of knowledge, of freedom. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to reach out and touch it.
"This must be part of the Hollow," Alira said, her voice tight with tension. "A piece of whatever was sealed here."
Before Sylas could respond, a figure stepped from the shadows.
It was a man—at least, it had once been. His skin was cracked like dry earth, his eyes sunken and glowing faintly. He wore the tattered remnants of what might have once been ceremonial robes, the symbol of the obelisk stitched into the fabric.
"You should not have come," the figure said, his voice a rasping whisper. "The Hollow feeds now. It cannot be stopped."
Sylas raised his sword. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, a hideous expression that split his face in unnatural ways. "I am the first and the last. The guardian of the broken seal. And you—" his voice deepened, twisting into a chorus of voices "—are the final offering."
Without warning, the guardian attacked, moving with a speed that defied logic. Sylas barely had time to raise his sword to block the first strike, the force of it sending him staggering back.
Alira darted forward, her daggers flashing, but the guardian moved with a fluidity that made him almost untouchable. He seemed to exist half in shadow, half in reality, striking from angles that shouldn't have been possible.
Sylas recovered quickly, joining the fight. Together, he and Alira worked in perfect tandem, years of partnership evident in every step and strike. But even with their combined skill, the guardian was overwhelming.
Each blow he landed sapped their strength, each moment in his presence gnawed at their minds.
"We can't beat him like this," Alira gasped, blood trickling from a cut above her eye.
Sylas glanced at the shard on the pedestal. It pulsed brighter now, as if reacting to the battle. A desperate thought formed in his mind.
"We have to use it," he said. "The shard. It's the only way."
Alira hesitated, understanding the risk immediately. But there was no time for debate.
Sylas broke from the fight, sprinting toward the pedestal. The guardian roared, an inhuman sound that shook the cavern, and lunged after him.
At the last moment, Sylas grabbed the shard.
Pain seared through him, like molten iron pouring into his veins. The world exploded in a flash of violet light—and then everything went silent.
When the light faded, Sylas stood alone in the cavern. The guardian was gone, as were the remnants. Only Alira remained, kneeling on the floor, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes.
Sylas looked down at his hands. They were no longer entirely his. Threads of dark energy coiled around his arms, sinking into his flesh.
The shard had fused with him.
"By the gods," Alira whispered. "What have you done?"
Sylas met her gaze, his voice hollow but steady.
"I made a choice."