The air in the cavern was stagnant, a vacuum where sound seemed to die before it could travel. Ahead, the path widened into a natural amphitheater of jagged limestone and dripping obsidian. At the far end stood the entrance to the Black Garden—massive doors carved from petrified wood and bound in iron that wept ichor in black oily streaks.
Standing in a defensive phalanx before the gate were five figures. They did not shuffle like the mindless hordes surrounding them, nor did they twitch with the erratic madness of the death blossoms. They stood with the stillness of statues, their armor dusty but intact, their weapons drawn and held with the muscle memory of elite killers.
Zeek stopped, his breath hitching as his throat went dry. He recognized the silhouette of the pauldrons, the specific curve of the great sword, the way the mage held her staff.
"No…" Zeek breathed, the word scraping his throat.
"These were your friends then?" Amon asked, his voice low, the heat from his skin radiating in the cold dampness. He gripped the handle of Regalia tightly; the massive mace felt foreign in his hand, yet strangely eager, its ruby eye pulsing a dull, hungry rhythm against his leg.
"The Vindicators," Zeek whispered. "They were the best. Kaelen, Nyx, Borin, Selene, Jarek… and Grigor. They were the ones who got Lilliana and I this far the first time."
As if hearing their names, the five figures raised their heads in unison. Their eyes were not the chaotic red of the fresh undead, but a uniform, piercing violet.
"They are…waiting for us?" Kerris breathed.
She stood slightly ahead of the group. The fear that had plagued her since her escape was subdued, replaced by a burning sense of vengeance. The black stitch between her shoulder blades was throbbing—not with pain, but with a dark, rhythmic encouragement. It whispered to her blood, telling her to move faster, to strike harder. It told her that mercy was a weakness she could no longer afford.
"He's close," the huntress snarled.
"We guard the Queen," a voice rasped. It came from the center figure, Kaelen. His face was a gray ruin, skin rotting over bone; the voice was no longer his, distorted by the labyrinth's echo. "There is no turning back," his cold gaze fixed on Zeek, "Join us."
"I'm here to save your Queen, and mine. But if I must bury you first, I will. I'm sorry Kaelen," Zeek spat, drawing his dagger.
"Then die," Kaelen croaked, "And join her."
The cavern exploded into motion.
Borin, the undead berserker, moved with terrifying speed, his twin axes blurring as he launched himself not at Zeek, but at the largest threat: Amon.
Amon roared, the golden lines on his skin igniting with white-hot intensity. He didn't try to match the revenant's speed with Regalia; instead, he condensed smoke and ash into an obsidian scythe and swung it in a wide arc. The scythe collided with Borin's axes in a shower of sparks. The impact shook the floor. Amon gritted his teeth, feeling the sheer weight of the undead warrior's strength, but he held his ground.
"Heka!" Amon shouted.
"I am with you!"
Heka melted from his clothes then she exploded into a torrent of black and gold smoke. Half of her became a dark, murky wraith, shrieking across the battlefield, knives and claws slashing toward the mage, Nyx. The other half became a thick, golden smoke—protective and restorative—that swirled around Amon and Zeek.
Nyx raised her staff, firing a bolt of necrotic purple lightning through the amphitheater. The dark half of Heka swirled around it, absorbing the impact with a hiss, while the golden smoke rushed forward, wrapping around the undead mage's face. Nyx shrieked as the holy vapor burned her rotten flesh like acid.
But the real danger was unseen.
Jarek, the undead rogue, had vanished the moment the fight began. He melted into the shadows, the rotten scent of death heralding his hushed movements.
Zeek spun, his eyes scanning the shadows, but he was too slow. A ghoulish blade flashed from the darkness, aiming for his kidney.
Clang.
Kerris was there. She hadn't seen Jarek; she had felt him. The stitch on her back had flared cold on her left side; it frayed her vision and drowned her in blind bloodlust. She reacted without thinking. She parried the blow with her hunting knife, her movement so fast it blurred.
Jarek, his rotting face hidden behind a tattered cowl, tilted his head at an unnatural angle. He lunged again, a flurry of strikes designed to overwhelm.
Kerris didn't retreat. A dark grin tugged at the corner of her mouth—an expression that didn't belong to the terrified girl who had fled this place months ago. Her eyes were red and wild, black stitched tendrils wriggling in the center of her gaze. She stepped into the guard. She took a slice across her forearm without flinching, trapping Jarek's blade between her arm and her ribs.
"Got you," she whispered.
She drove her knife into Jarek's shoulder, twisting it. Black ichor sprayed across her unblinking face. She pulled the knife free and stabbed again, and again, driving the undead rogue back. The stitch pumped adrenaline and aggression into her veins, making every strike feel euphoric. She kicked Jarek's knee, shattering the joint, and as he fell, she spun, burying her blade in the base of his skull.
She ripped the blade free, breathing heavily, her eyes wide and hazy. She looked at the body with a grim, foreign satisfaction.
"One down," she muttered, notching an arrow onto her now blackened bow.
Meanwhile, the battle in the center raged.
Selene, the decomposed healer, stood at the back, chanting between decaying jaws. Green light flowed from her hands, knitting Borin's cracked armor back together and sealing the burns Nyx had sustained.
"The healer!" Zeek shouted, dodging a massive swing from Kaelen's great sword. "We can't kill them if she still standing!"
Heka heard him. The golden smoke swirled, condensing back into her physical form directly behind Selene.
"Life is for the living," Heka spat.
Her eyes glowed with the brilliance of the sun. She placed both hands around Selene's neck. She didn't use her blackened claws; she used radiance. A shining cloud of golden energy erupted from her palms, flooding the undead healer through her nose, mouth, and eyes. Selene choked, then tried to scream; a sound like a candle's light smothered by wet fingers. Heka overloaded the healing enchantress before pulling the smoke back through her throat, small, blackened knives cutting her vocal cords upon exiting. Kemet's future Queen forced a final puff into Selene, burning her from the inside out, turning to ash in Heka's grasp.
With the healer gone, the tide turned.
Amon, seeing Borin falter without his support, channeled his magma through his arms and into the hilt of Regalia. The ruby eye of the mace began to glow like a dying star.
"For Verris!" Amon bellowed.
He swung Regalia in a massive uppercut. The mace caught Borin under the chin. There was a sickening crunch, and the berserker was lifted off his feet, launching backward to crash against the cavern wall. He slid down, motionless, his head caved in.
Only Kaelen and Nyx remained.
Nyx tried to cast a final spell, a wave of decay, but Zeek was ready. He threw a single crystal. It wasn't an explosion; it was a silence spell. The crystal shattered, and a bubble of absolute quiet engulfed the mage. Her lips moved but conjured no power.
Heka, now a wraith of shadow once more, swept through the silence, her shadowy claws severing the mage's head from her shoulders. Black ichor spewed across the room, her staff clattering to the floor as its glow faded.
Now, only Kaelen stood.
The undead knight backed away, his great sword held high. He looked at his fallen comrades, then at Zeek. The violet light in his eyes flickered.
"Good," Kaelen rasped. "You learned… to fight."
"I learned what I had to," Zeek said, his voice heavy with grief.
Kaelen's head twitched, memories finally fading, giving way to the monster beneath. Amon summoned his flaming scythe as he flanked the knight, charging. He parried, roaring as his sword cut through the scythe, creating a small gash at the noble's side.
"Amon!" Heka blurred into a cloud of madness as dark and silent as midnight.
Kaelen let out a bestial snarl as the darkness engulfed him. Kerris leapt from the shadows as an arrow sunk into the knight's exposed calf. She sunk Jarek's twisted knife into his companion, leaving it in his back as she stabbed her hunting knife into his side recklessly. The massive undead grabbed at her wrist and sent her crashing into a stone pillar. Her neck twitched as she stood back up, rabid. She glanced over at Amon, nursing the gash at his side. She took one, slow step, then another, and picked up her bloodied hunting knife before continuing toward Kemet's brightest royal.
"What are you doing? Kerris," Amon said, a sense of dread creeping into his voice.
Without a word, Kerris struck Amon, then swept her knife toward his neck. A scalding arm raised to block the weapon, searing the metal a flaming red. She dropped the heated knife, old blood bubbling black on the blade. A guttural screech erupted from her lips as she leapt at Amon.
"Heka!"
An ebony blade sailed toward Amon, slicing Kerris's shoulder, exposing the pulsing black stitch. Amon caught the blade, extending it into a molten staff. Kerris shrieked as the stitch writhed, shivering and twitching. With a roar she flew toward him again, this time, he knew it was coming; she attacked like a rabid dog, fierce, but avoidable. He walloped her with the staff right on the thumping stitch; it writhed under the heat. She attacked again and again, and he punished her each time.
"Zeek!" Amon shouted.
"I've got my hands full," Zeek replied, narrowly dodging Kaelen's great sword.
"Must I do everything myself?"
Amon twisted the molten staff into a shotel, the curve in the blade sharp and wicked. Kerris lunged again, this time, the noble sliced the molten blade across her shoulder and back, cutting and searing the black stitch, before cutting off the layer entirely. The smell of burnt meat and bubbling blood filled the amphitheater. Kerris let out an ear-splitting cry as she wriggled on the floor.
Heka poured her entire shroud into Kaelen's armor, clawing, ripping, and tearing at his joints and limbs. Black, clumpy blood crawled through the holes in his decaying armor as he gurgled, spitting clouds of blackened ash.
Zeek stepped inside the knight's range. He placed a wary hand on Kaelen's breastplate.
"Rest now, old friend."
He drove the white-aura dagger through the gap in the armor, straight into the heart.
Kaelen stiffened. The violet light in his eyes flared once, blindingly bright, and then faded to nothing. The heavy armor collapsed to the stone floor with a hollow clang that echoed through the silent cavern.
The party stood amidst the carnage, chests heaving.
Amon approached Kerris cautiously, shotel still firmly in his grasp. Her eyes were red, tears streaking down her face, the rabid bravado extinguished.
"Kerris," Amon said, nearly a whisper.
"I'm…What have I—," the huntress steadied herself, "What have I done?"
Kerris wiped the black blood from her face, her hands shaking as the adrenaline of the stitch began to fade, leaving her cold and nauseous. Heka drifted back to Amon, her form unstable, flickering between solid and smoke as she leaned against him for support. Amon lowered his summoned blade, the weapon dulling into a wisp of ash in his palm.
Zeek stared down at Kaelen's body for a long moment. Then, he turned to the massive gates.
"Wait for me Lilliana," Zeek prayed, "Please…"