Pain was the first thing to return.
Kael woke up screaming. His left leg was twisted at a wrong angle, and his obsidian arm was pinned under a slab of concrete.
He gasped, choking on air that tasted like sulfur and dead things.
"Elric?"
His voice didn't echo. The space around him ate the sound.
He was in a cavern. No, not a cavern. A basement. He was lying in the ruins of a massive stone structure that had fallen into the sinkhole with him. The walls were covered in faded murals depicting knights fighting dragons, but the paint was peeling, revealing gears and wires underneath.
"Voss! Elric!"
Nothing.
He grit his teeth and pulled. His obsidian arm scraped against the concrete, sparking. With a roar of effort, he heaved the slab aside.
He dragged himself to a wall, his broken leg trailing uselessly. He needed a splint. He found a piece of rusted pipe and a strip of cloth from his own torn cloak. He set the bone with a scream that nearly made him black out again, then tied it tight.
"Okay," he panted, sweat stinging his eyes. "Okay. Survive. Find the others."
He limped into the dark.
The Deep Basin was different from the Rust Plains. There was no gold light here. The only illumination came from the bioluminescent fungi growing on the corpses of machines.
And there were whispers.
failure... failure... failure...
The walls seemed to be vibrating with the word.
Kael stumbled into a large circular chamber. In the center, a blue light flickered.
Someone was sitting there.
A man in armor. Not the rusted scrap of the Scavengers, but pristine, white armor. He was sitting on a stone block, sharpening a sword that didn't exist.
"You're late," the knight said, not looking up.
Kael stopped, hand on his hilt. "Who are you?"
The knight looked up. His face was a blur of static. He was a hologram, a recording playing on a loop.
"I am the Third," the ghost said. "I am the one who tried to close the door."
"The Third?" Kael frowned. "The Third Sword?"
"The Third Failure," the knight corrected. He gestured to the dark around them. "We all end up here, boy. The Spire sends us down to fight the hungry thing, and we fight, and we die, and the Spire feeds on our death. It eats the energy of our Oaths to keep the barrier up for another era."
Kael felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "The Spire... it sacrifices us?"
"It recycles us," the Third said. "We are the fuel. The First Sword knows this. That is why he came down here not to fight, but to break the cycle."
"He's alive," Kael said. "I'm looking for him."
The hologram laughed—a glitchy, skipping sound. "He is alive. But he is not free. He is sitting on the Throne of Rust, holding the door shut with his own soul. And he is waiting for you."
"Me?"
"The Replacement," the Third said. He pointed his invisible sword at Kael. "The Spire sent you to take his place. To be the new battery."
Kael stepped back. "I'm not a battery. I'm a knight."
"Same thing," the ghost whispered. The blue light began to fade. "Run, boy. Or take the seat. There is no third option."
The hologram flickered and died, leaving Kael alone in the dark.
But he wasn't alone.
From the shadows of the hallway he just left, a familiar clicking sound emerged.
Whir. Snap.
"Kael," Voss's voice called out, distorted by distance. "I detect your biological signature. You are... leaking."
"Voss!" Kael limped toward the sound. "Where's Elric?"
"The scholar is with me. He is unconscious. His mind could not handle the drop." Voss stepped into the fungi-light, carrying Elric over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"We need to move," Kael said, wiping blood from his mouth. "I know where the First Sword is."
"The Throne?" Voss asked.
"Yes. And I know what the Spire wants me to do." Kael gripped his iron sword until his knuckles turned white. "It wants me to replace him."
"And will you?"
Kael looked at his broken leg, his cursed arm, and the darkness pressing in on all sides.
"I'm going to break the damn chair," Kael said.