But what was worse than the physical collapse was the psychic wave that continued to reverberate through the cavern. It was not merely a sound, but a presence, a ripple of awareness that carried across dimensions unseen. Something ancient and predatory can do this. And it seems to waking up.
Aelric stumbles through the ruins, half dragging, half leading Veyra behind him. His muscles were screaming in protest, but he still kept going.
The stolen power of Devourer's Bloom barely holding his battered body together. Every breath he took was laced with traces of the Grove's madness, whispering to give in, to surrender to let himself rot into the soil like all the others before him.
[Stability at 63%] The voice intoned coldly within his mind.[Aberrant influences detected within soul structure. Immediate purification is recommended.]
Not now. Let's talk about it later, and that if there was a later.
They pushed deeper into the cavern, away from the dying Grove's core. The ground here was firmer, the fleshy undergrowth giving way to jagged stone and old, cracked pillars swallowed by miss and decay.
It was darker here too, not the simple absence of light, but a smothering blackness that clung to their skin and weighed down their thoughts.
Veyra stumbled, coughing and Aelric caught her with a grunt. Her chains, that ones be bad bound around her to ensure her loyalty shimmered faintly. Their edges frayed like a threadbare tapestry. He narrowed his eyes.
"You are slipping," growled. She gives him a crooked smile, blood staining her teeth.
"It is your fault," she rasped. "You bound me…to a corpse. And now that corpse is rotting."
The implication hit harder than any blow. The Grove's death was unraveling the structures of this place, including the bindings he had crafted using its ambient power. The chains around Veyra were weakening soon, she would be free.
The Voice spoke, colder than before.
[Warning: contract stability at 27%. Subject Veyra may regain autonomy within the next 3 temporal cycles.]
The Voice spoke, colder than before:
Three cycles. Three days, maybe less depending on how quickly the corruption spread and then she would be her own creature once again, trickster, deceiver, traitor.
He clenched his fists, feeling the urge to use new skills Devourer's Bloom, is also itching to be used, to drain and feast and replenish. The temptation was too much. With a single touch, he could end the threat Veyra. Draining her dry, feeding the bloom and strengthening himself.
The thought lingered far longer than it should have. Veyra's violet eyes narrowed as if sensing the weight of his hesitation.
She said nothing, merely pulling herself free of his grasp and walking forward with a deliberate mocking grace. Aelric followed behind her silently.
As they moved, the cavern changed subtly around them. The oppressive blackness lifted slightly revealing a vast open space ahead. It was somewhat cathedral of sorts. It was ancient and ruined, its wall carved with runes so worn that even the Voice could not decipher them immediately.
At the center of the cathedral stood a throne. Or what had once been a throne. Now it was just twisted and made of bone and stone, crowned with a shattered circle of thorns. It was The Hollow Crown.
Aelric approached it cautiously. The throne radiated power, not the vibrant, roiling energy of the Heart, but somewhat colder and emptier. It was the same as the power of dominion. But long been abandoned.
As he stepped closer, the air grew heavier still. Whispers slithered through the shadows, too soft to discern, but persistent enough to set his teeth on edge.
He reached out, fingers brushing against the cold, cracked stone. And the world shifted.
For a brief, harrowing instant, Aelric stood not in a ruined cathedral, but in a grand hall of obsidian and flames.
Thousands of beings knelt before him, there were many kinds of beings. Some were demons, some twisted mortals. Others are creatures without names or shapes. They all swearing fealty in voices like grinding stones.
He saw himself upon the throne, crowned not with gold but with writhing tendrils of hunger and despair. He was nothing but a sovereign of ruin. And a king of nothing.
Then the vision shattered, and he was back in the cathedral, gasping for breath. The Voice was silent for a long moment before speaking, its tone weighted with a rare uneasiness.
[Observation: The Hollow Crown imprints the will of its bearer. Subject Aelric exhibited high compatibility. Projection: Ascension possible at significant cost to humanity.]
Aelric staggered back from the throne, bike rising in his throat. "No, no" he muttered. "I won't become like that. It can't be."
He turned away from the throne, but the image of himself, that monstrous sovereign. Still lingering in his mind. Burned into his soul.
Veyra watched him from the shadows, her smile faint and seems to know something. "You saw it right, don't you?" She said. "Your true self."
"I saw a lie," he denied. She chuckled darkly. "Maybe or maybe not. The Abyss doesn't lie, Aelric. It just shows you what you are about or will become in the future. Denying it is useless."
Before he could answer a sudden spike of pain lanced through his chest. He staggered, clutching at his heart. The psychic pulse from the Grove's death had not faded. It has marked him and branded him in a language older than words, a beacon to all who hungered for power.
And already, he could feel them stirring in the distance. Eyes turning towards him. Maed salivating. Predators coming to devour the new predator before he could rise. The Voice confirmed his fears.
[Alert: Host designated as Preg Class target by Greater Entitie. Estimated convergence in 5 temporal cycles.]
Five days or maybe even less. Aelric straightened slowly, every motion a battle against the tremors wracking his body. There was no going back now. He had pierced too deep into the Abyss, and it had pierced him in return.