The heir of House Pendragon looked upon the surface of the ritual's pool, visible annoyance etched across his face. Beside him, Knight Abel lowered his head, his expression filled with guilt as he addressed his master.
"I am sorry, Master. Perhaps I should not have struck him with such force."
The Heir turned toward him.
A resounding slap echoed throughout the ritual chamber.
"Indeed, you should not have!"
Abel remained motionless, his cheek reddening from the blow.
"The sacrificial soul died before he could even meet the Stone Saint. Do you have any idea of the cost we have suffered to reach this point? Tonight was supposed to be the success!"
The knight lowered his head even further.
"Forgive me, Master."
"Forgive you?"
The Heir of House Pendragon scoffed, his voice dripping with disgust.
"Your apologies are worth less than the lives of those sacrificial souls. At least their deaths serve a purpose."
He turned back toward the pool, watching the black liquid settle into an unnatural stillness.
"Quickly, bring me another prisoner. We will attempt again before sunrise. And pray that this one survives long enough to complete the ritual. Otherwise..." His cold gaze returned to Abel. "You will be the next one sent into that pool."
The knight's face paled.
"Certainly, Master! We have already recaptured some of the prisoners who escaped earlier. I shall bring them here immediately."
"Good."
Abel bowed deeply before turning toward the chamber's entrance.
However, before he could take more than a few steps, a strange sound reached his ears.
Drip.
The knight stopped.
Drip. Drip.
At first, he thought the sound came from the blood dripping down the ancient walls.
But then, the surface of the ritual's pool trembled. A small ripple spread across the black liquid. Then another. And another.
The Master narrowed his eyes.
"Wait."
Abel turned toward his master.
"Is something wrong?"
The Heir did not answer.
His gaze remained fixed upon the pool, where the previously motionless liquid had begun to stir.
Something was moving beneath its surface. Something was rising.
A faint uneasiness crept into the Heir's heart as the black liquid began to move.
Slowly at first, but quickly, it violently splashed upon the edges of the pool.
The Master took a step backward.
"Abel."
"Yes, Master."
The sound of steel leaving its sheath echoed through the chamber.
And then, the surface of the pool broke.
A pale hand emerged from the black liquid, its fingers trembling as they gripped the stone edge. Another followed as a figure pulled itself from the depth of the abyss
It was the young man.
The same youth whose chest Abel had shattered with a single blow.
The sacrificial soul who should have disappeared forever beneath the corrupted blood.
Lysander.
Strangely, he was no longer alone, a girl was clinging to his back.
Her skin was pale, resembling marble untouched by the passage of time. Long strands of scuplted hair fell over her shoulders, stained by the black liquid from which they had emerged.
Her slender arms were wrapped around Lysander's neck, while the rest of her body rested against his back, as though she were too weak to stand on her own.
Beneath her beautiful stone skin, countless dark veins twisted and spread, resembling cracks upon a porcelain doll.
Parts of her body had already lost their delicate shape, transformed into something grotesque and unnatural.
The black blood had not spared her, but even corrupted, her eyes remained beautiful.
Two radiant pink eyes, shining softly within the darkness.
The Heir stared at the girl in disbelief.
"The... Stone Saint?"
His voice trembled.
For an instant, he seemed unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.
"Impossible..."
The young man should have died.
Even if he had somehow survived Abel's blow, there was no possibility that his soul could have endured the corruption within the pool.
No dormant human soul could endure the corruption. He was meant to fuel and accelerate the corruption of the Stone Saint.
And yet, there he stood.
His right side remained horribly mutilated, while strange black veins spread beneath his skin. His flesh was damaged beyond recognition, and his breathing was faint.
He looked like a corpse that had forgotten it was supposed to be dead.
The Heir could see that even plagued by corruption, Lysander's eyes were clear.
There was no madness within them.
No emptiness. No sign of a mind devoured by corruption. Only a cold, unwavering determination.
The darkness had taken much from him.
His flesh, his strength and almost everything that made him human.
But it had failed to take one thing.
His soul.
Deep within the abyss, where even memories had been buried beneath the endless darkness, he had found something worth keeping his humanity.
A pair of pink eyes.
And through them, he had remembered.
He remembered the slums.
He remembered Jet.
And above all that, he remembered Rose.
Her smile. Her laughter. Her warmth.
He remembered it all.
His attribute, [True Soul], allowed him to remain true to its nature, to who he was in the depth of his soul, despite the corruption.
Lysander slowly raised his head, staring into the eyes of the Heir.
"I... will... survive..."
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, yet it reached the ears of the Master like a dreadful truth.
"Abel. Kill him."
The knight hesitated at the order of his Master, his gaze alternating between the young man and the girl upon his back.
"But, Master, the Stone Saint?"
"Do not harm her, you fool! Kill the boy and bring her to me!"
Abel tightened his grip upon his sword.
"Understood."
The knight stepped forward as his heavy footsteps reverberated across the stone floor.
Lysander merely stood at the edge of the pool, swaying slightly beneath the weight of his ruined body.
Abel's expression hardened.
"You wretch!" He raised his sword. "This time, I shall make sure you die."
The blade descended, carrying the full strength of an Awakened warrior.
For someone in Lysander's condition, avoiding it should have been impossible, and yet, before the sword could reach him, the stone girl upon his back moved.
She extended one of her hands.
Within her grasp appeared a long sword, its stone blade bearing the marks of countless battles.
She placed its hilt into Lysander's hand and tightened her grip around his arm.
Clang!
The two swords collided.
A violent shockwave swept across the chamber.
Abel's eyes widened.
"What?!"
His blade had been stopped by a dying young man who should not have possessed the strength to stand.
Lysander's arm trembled beneath the impact.
Yet his sword did not budge.
Behind him, the Stone Saint tightened her embrace.
A strange strength flowed through his ruined body.
It was not his own.
He could feel that clearly.
The strength belonged to the girl and she was lending it to him.
Abel gritted his teeth.
"Wretch!"
He drew his sword back and struck again.
The Stone Saint guided him as Lysander ducked abruptly.
The knight's blade passed through empty air.
Before Abel could recover, Lysander stepped forward.
The stone sword rose, and a thin red line appeared across the knight's throat.
Abel froze.
A moment later, his massive body collapsed upon the cold stone, his head detached from the rest.
[You have slain an Awakened human, Abel the Knight.]
Silence descended upon the chamber.
The Heir stared at the corpse of his servant.
Slowly, his expression twisted with rage.
"You filthy sacrificial offering..."
Lysander turned toward him.
In front of him, the Master of the Castle drew his sword.
The air around him changed.
An oppressive force descended upon the room.
Lysander felt his knees buckle.
Even with the Stone Saint lending him her strength, the difference between them was overwhelming.
His opponent was an Ascended.
And Lysander was still in his First Nightmare.
The Heir of House Pendragon took a step forward.
"You should have remained at the bottom of that pool."
Then he disappeared from his vision.
Lysander barely managed to raise his sword before being hit by a force akin to a truck.
The impact sent him flying across the chamber.
His back struck a stone pillar, shattering its surface as the Stone Saint let out a cry of pain crushed between him and the pillar.
For the first time since entering the pool, he felt it again.
Agony.
Lysander coughed violently, black blood spilling from his lips.
The girl upon his back trembled.
The young man felt her small fingers digging into his shoulder, desperately holding on.
The Heir approached slowly, laughing coldly.
"Look at her. She is already half-corrupted. A soon-to-be Fallen monster, clinging to the last remnants of its existence. You can do nothing, you will die, the ritual will succeed and the name Pendragon will rise to be the powerhouse of Bright City."
The girl's pink eyes dimmed.
Lysander remained silent.
The girl rested her forehead against the back of his neck.
The young man closed his eyes for an instant.
He remembered another girl.
Another pair of gentle eyes.
Another person who had once held him close when the world was nothing but pain and agony.
A faint smile appeared upon his bloodied lips.
"No."
The Heir frowned.
"What did you say?"
Lysander raised his sword.
"I said no."
The Heir's face contorted into a wide grin of craziness.
"Then die, you foolish wretch!"