Before her lay the Dark Lord, a mass of shadows and terror. Every breath, every glance, every movement seemed to whisper: "Here, there is no place for the weak." This is where true peril begins… and only the strength of the heart decides who survives and who vanishes forever.
Chapter 11 – The firmly established isthmus
Iscara stood over the decayed corpse of the Greed Lord, her body aching from the weight of immortality that had seeped into every bone and muscle, each breath growing heavier in her chest. The Eye of Truth dangled from her exhausted hand, but she leaned on it, gripping her sword with a stiff hand, refusing to let the pain stop her. Before her lay a long staircase descending to the deepest point of the abyss, where her heart knew the Dark Lord awaited.
She placed her first foot on the stairs, slipping slightly from the mingling of pain and fear, but her determination was stronger than any slip. At this point, there was no turning back. Each step seemed to consume a part of her soul, each movement made the air feel heavier, as if the walls themselves were stalking her, watching every motion. Insects hurriedly fled her presence, as if they knew she was not an ordinary human, but a spirit colliding with the shadow of death.
She reached the bottom, where darkness was dense and thick. Before her, the Dark Lord loomed, impossibly massive, his body a solid mass of pure darkness. The air around him was poisonous and heavy, as if every breath she drew would explode within her lungs. Iscara's eyes began to crack from exhaustion, and her vision sharpened, capturing his terrifying details.
The Dark Lord's voice filled the space, deep and horrifying:
"So, you have come to meet your death, fallen angel."
She froze for a moment, a shiver running through her entire body, then raised her voice firmly:
"The one who will die… is you."
She drew her sword, the demonic aura igniting around her, black flames curling around her hand. She leapt, a swift strike… his head fell. Her heart raced beyond fear, she took another step, then another, walking tense but determined… until a faint laugh sounded from behind her.
She turned, and her mind could not comprehend what she saw: the Dark Lord's head returned to its place as if nothing had happened.
He spoke in a mocking tone:
"Did you think you had defeated me so easily? If ignorance had weight, the earth would have collapsed under it."
Iscara's eyes widened in shock, a cold wave running down her spine, yet she tried to maintain control.
With a gesture of his hand, she was split in half. The upper part of her body separated from the lower, an indescribable sensation surged through her, a terrible pain pierced with a muffled scream. She could not comprehend what had happened; it was as if reality itself had fractured.
The barrier between her and the realm of the Abyss was shattered. She began to see the dead wandering around her, their screams echoing in her mind, and her last gasp of despair came out with difficulty:
"Immortality… or death."
The demonic aura flared, her body began fusing, melting in the fire of hell as iron melts in flame. Her screams were hysterical, reverberating to the highest point of the abyss. Every part of her body throbbed with pain, yet she resisted, every part of her soul insisted on surviving.
The Dark Lord smiled, a wicked grin, savoring the sight, as if her pain itself was nourishment.
Suddenly, her father's voice appeared in her mind, calm yet loaded with warning:
"I forgot to tell you… the Dark Lord is immortal. His body does not die, but it is composed of several hidden cores. Use the Eye of Truth to locate them."
A wave of despair swept over Iscara. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them:
"Oh Eye of Truth… reveal what is hidden to me."
Three cores appeared. Swiftly, she destroyed them all, a faint glimmer of hope shining in her heart, yet she did not realize it had no effect on him whatsoever.
She looked at her father and spoke in a trembling voice:
"He does not die… how many cores does his body contain?"
He replied:
"I do not know… but there is only one way to enter the next stage of the Eye of Truth, called the Absolute Truth. But you must offer a sacrifice… and the price will be steep."
Iscara felt the weight of the words on her soul, yet she spoke, with unyielding determination:
"No escape."
The weight of the words pressed on Iscara's soul—a price unbearable, yet inevitable. She looked deep within herself, at the power she had gathered, and made her choice. Her sacrifice was not just a decision—it was a declaration of war against the impossible, a proclamation that she was ready to challenge fate itself.