The Maw didn't end. Not really. Every time Asvard thought the path would stop, it changed. New tunnels opened. Old ones sealed behind him. Like the place had a mind, and it was watching.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking. Time was broken here. His body no longer screamed from exhaustion.It whispered. Itched. It felt like something inside him was stretching, shifting.
His fingers curled, and his nails like scraped stone. They weren't just nails anymore. They were sharper. Thicker. He hadn't noticed when it started, but now it was clear. He was changing.
At first, he hated it.
Now, he wasn't sure.
The deeper he walked, the more he began to understand the whispers. Not all of them.Just a few. They weren't speaking to him. They were speaking through him. Echoes of old things. Ancient things.
"The Throne... lost. The Ash... unclaimed..."
He didn't know what any of it meant. But he didn't need to know. Nor he intended to. But something else, probably intends to, not yet.
He came to a wide opening. It wasn't a chamber. It was something else. Like a wound cut deep into the earth. Like a cliff but not exactly. Red mist poured out from the cracks, and far below, something pulsed. Like a beating heart.
A stone bridge across the gap. Cracked and thin, like it hadn't been touched in centuries.
Asvard stepped onto it.
Each step echoed. The bridge groaned. And halfway across, he stopped.
Something was watching him.
Not from the shadows.
From below.
He looked down into the pit and saw nothing. But he felt it. A presence. Big. Hungry. Ancient.
His knees wanted to buckle. His body said run. But his ego. The part of him that refused to bow. Held steady.
"I'm not prey," he muttered. He stood there looking into the void. There was no sign of fear or hesitation on his face. He knew, he'll survive. No matter what.
NO.MATTER.WHAT.
The presence faded.
The bridge stopped groaning.
And he moved on.
Past the bridge, he found something strange.
Ruins.
Massive, black-stone walls covered in symbols. Pillars broken and scattered. And in the center, a sunken plaza with a statue half-buried in ash.
He stepped closer. The statue was of a demon. One with a crown. Its face was worn out. Gently over time, but its posture was mighty. Proud.
Asvard stood there, staring at it.
Something moved behind him.
He turned fast, fists ready.
But no one was there.
Just the wind. Just the ash.
And then he heard it.
A voice. Not in his ears. In his head.
"A piece still walks. The fragments scatter, but the fire remembers."
He clenched his jaw. "Who are you?"
No answer.
But the ground rumbled.
And from the shadows, something crawled forward.
It wasn't a demon. It wasn't anything he could name. A creature stitched from bones and smoke, dragging itself by clawed hands. No eyes. Just a hollow skull and a burning core in its chest.
Asvard didn't wait.
He attacked.
The fight was messy. Brutal. He didn't think. He moved. Fists met bones. Piercing through the thick bones. It backed off. Hissing as if water met fire.
It became faster. It appeared behind him and delivered a strong punch. Asvard flew into ashes. Laying on it, his skin cracked not because of the punch. But the raw power in him.
A hard object pulsing like the Maw in his hand. He held it tight.
The raw power in him went berserk.
His skin cracking. Body aching. Eyes crying of blood. Screeching of a demon. Pain which he never felt.
It came closer. With his final bit of consciousness he saw it. He fainted.
It tore through his chest. Holding his beating heart. Asvard turned pale.
The thing walked away. With his heart.
It looked back.
(To be continued...)