Finn's pulse roared in his ears. His breath came in ragged gasps, and every instinct screamed at him to run, to do anything, anything to escape the suffocating weight of the King's presence. He turned on his heel, desperation clawing at him.
But the moment he moved, the ground beneath him seemed to shift, the walls bending as though the very castle was alive, breathing with him.
No, no, no!
His feet stumbled. The hallway—what had been a clean, straight path—twisted. It writhed, growing longer, narrowing, until the very air around him seemed to close in. The walls pulsed with a sickly, living rhythm, and the light—no, the shadows—twisted with unnatural life. There were no windows. No exits. No way out.
Finn's chest tightened. The walls weren't just made of stone. They were… something more. Something alive.
He whirled around, eyes frantic. The vast chamber where he had first encountered the King was gone, replaced with the endless maze of halls that seemed to stretch into nothingness. No matter which direction he ran, no matter how many times he turned the corners, the place shifted. The same symbols from the throne room appeared on every surface, glowing faintly, curling like snakes.
His stomach lurched as he realized the truth.
The King was everywhere.
The walls themselves—the entire castle—it was the King. It was his body. The very stone, the air, the suffocating darkness—it was all him, all connected, pulsing with his malice and hunger. Finn had never seen anything like it before, but it was becoming clear now: the King was not just a man. He was a being that consumed worlds, that devoured everything, and had turned this place—this horror—into a living prison.
The King didn't move, but his presence was everywhere. The reality around Finn buckled, distorted, as if the very fabric of the world was folding itself back into the King's form.
Finn's feet faltered. His breath caught in his throat.
"No… No!" he shouted, spinning around wildly, but the hallway just stretched further. The walls pressed closer. His heartbeat thudded like a drumbeat, and in the pit of his stomach, he could feel the King's hunger. The way the King was always watching, always waiting, even when his gaze didn't need to fall upon him. The King was a hunger that swallowed the very air. And it was pulling him back.
Finn ran faster. He needed to escape. He needed to find some way out. But each step felt heavier, as though the ground beneath him was dragging him down. Every breath became more laborious, and the darkness around him thickened. He turned again, his body trembling with fear, the tight grip of the King's aura squeezing tighter, wrapping around him like chains.
But no matter how fast he ran, the halls never ended. The air never cleared. Every direction led him back to the same place—the same oppressive weight.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Finn collapsed to his knees, his hands gripping the floor in desperation. His throat burned, dry from his panicked breaths. His legs were weak, trembling from the effort. But the walls—the walls were alive—and they weren't going to let him go.
He lifted his head, and the realization hit him like a thunderclap.
There was no escape. There was no running from this place.
The King's prison was all-consuming. The castle was the King, and the King was the castle.
He was trapped inside the very heart of the monster.
A low, rumbling sound—like a growl—reverberated through the ground beneath him. Finn could feel it in his bones. He knew it was the King. The King had not moved a single inch, but everything around him was alive. The walls pulsed with that endless hunger, a rhythmic thumping, like the steady beating of the King's heart.
Finn tried to stand, but his legs gave way. His head swam, his mind fighting against the suffocating weight of the King's presence. He felt the walls pressing in on him, closing around him. There was no escape. There was no door. No window. No way out.
The King is everywhere.
It was like a mental prison. The very fabric of reality bent under the King's power, folding in on itself, and no matter how much Finn fought—no matter how hard he ran—he was still in the King's domain. The world wasn't a castle at all. It was the King. The King was this place, this endless maze of darkness.
And worse… the King knew. Finn hadn't spoken a word aloud, but the King knew everything. The King had always known.
Finn's hands pressed against his ears, as if trying to shut out the oppressive force that was the King's aura. But it didn't help. The King's presence was inside him now, swirling in his mind like a poison, leaving nothing but crushing, suffocating despair in its wake.
The King didn't need to speak. He didn't need to move. His mere presence was enough to crush anyone foolish enough to enter this place. And Finn… Finn was now a part of the King's endless hunger.
The walls closed in further, the darkness pressing around him. Finn's vision blurred. His mind was slipping. He could hear the voices of the hollowed ones, whispering from the shadows, their cries of despair mixing with the constant, maddening pulse of the King's power.
Then, just as Finn thought he might lose himself completely, a flicker of thought pierced through the darkness.
You are nothing.
The King's voice, though never spoken aloud, filled Finn's mind, a cold and empty echo. It was the voice of everything that had been consumed. It was the voice of death itself.
The walls began to fold in even tighter, the very air pulling him toward the center. It was as if the King was drawing him in, like a moth to a flame. The crushing weight grew, heavier and heavier.
But Finn wasn't done yet.
He couldn't be.
Not yet.
With the last ounce of strength, Finn pushed himself to his feet, struggling against the weight of the King's influence. He wasn't going to be a part of the King's feast. He wasn't going to let it end like this.
His legs shook, his body trembling, but he forced himself to stand tall. The King could take everything—his body, his mind—but not his will. He refused to let the King have that.
He wouldn't break.
Not yet.