Before we could respond to Amos’s summons, he dissolved in a swirl of black smoke from the doorway. We dallied a bit first to see if anything else would be greeting us, but after our discussions kept repeating, I couldn't help but move forward.

  “Figures there’s no straight path to the entrance,” I muttered, storming along the winding serpentine path that curled around the tower to meet its mouth. Nora and Relias quickly followed, each tugging at one side of my cloak.

  “We must stay together,” Relias reiterated for the thousandth time or so. “And advance according to the 4S plan.”

  “I know, I know,” I replied, slowing my pace somewhat.

  The 4S plan.

  Stick together. Secure the scythe. Stab the king. Seal his soul.

  Of course, making a crass mnemonic for the title of it was my idea, but I don’t really think Relias saw the sarcasm in it. He had actually applauded my snarky distillation as if it were divinely inspired.

  Thinking about it, though, Euphridia might have felt the same way.

  Now that he had worked out the details of the final S, it felt less like a joke and more like an intentionally evil executive order.

  Well… the final S is contingent upon its precursor, so as long as we don’t get that far along…

  Nora’s tug turned into a reassuring pat.

  At least she’s willing to go along with my ideas instead.

  But I can’t hesitate if things go south, either.

  We stepped through the serpent’s mouth, and I half-expected the jaws to slam shut behind us, maybe even attempting to take one of us out with it. Nora was ready for it just in case it moved, but the portal chose not to engage.

  Instead, the entryway stretched out ahead of us into a long corridor—far longer than it should have been if it had obeyed the rules of space and form. It was lined with colonnades, and the gaps between them were bathed in a dusky, purple light spilling from purple torches. The shadows cast from the pillars defied logic, opting for angles that would have been impossible based on the room’s light sources.

  Amos hovered in the strange juxtaposition of light and darkness in the middle of the corridor, his back toward us.

  “So,” I began, my voice sounding much louder than I intended. “You ever get tired of walking this hall? Or floating, or whatever?”

  All he did was fold his arms in response.

  “Which one of you decided on the decorations? I have to say, they’re in pretty good taste, all things considered.”

  I mean, the tops of the colonnades were delicately carved, and there wasn’t even a single human skull or pile of bones in sight. No blood running from the walls, no rusty tools of torture, nothing!

  Left hanging again without a reply, we continued forward, though we never seemed to close the distance between us and him.

  “Is he treating you any better lately?” I tried again.

  Did you give him my message? What was his response?

  Relias flashed me a look of consternation. “The only thing that servant of darkness will ever offer freely is falsehood, Chosen One,” he declared. “It is better to seek nothing from him at all.”

  And this is where I fundamentally disagree.

  If someone is only ever dishonest, then they become relatively easy to defeat. Even if Olethros had been a bit put out by his underling’s recent efforts, he wouldn’t have trusted him to guide us if Amos had been that simple-minded.

  The problem lies in discerning where the truth is hidden among the lies.

  Except he isn’t talking at all.

  Because he can’t? Not out loud, anyway.

  But his body language was something I could read.

  His shoulders were hunched too tightly. His hair hung limp past his shoulders. His robes appeared… frayed at the edges?

  No, not frayed. Translucent.

  Demons need animus to maintain their form. But in the heart of his lord’s sanctum, the poor thing looked like he was starving. Olethros was neglecting him, at the very least.

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  Or maybe he was neglecting himself?

  Those thoughts weren’t mutually exclusive.

  I reached out with my mind hesitantly, trying to see if I could connect with his emotions like I had Morcelos. At first, I couldn’t find anything, but increasing my efforts revealed that his core had long since condensed in size since our last encounter, and I had been missing my target entirely. With more pinpoint accuracy, I found it.

  Weariness.

  Despair.

  And underneath it all, the tiniest, palest golden flame, clinging to some wild, desperate... hope?

  Amos shuddered as soon as I recognized it, his features twisting with sudden dread. “This is as far as I go,” he rasped, his eyes avoiding mine. “You can find your way from here.” And with that, he dissolved into a streak of dark mist, vanishing down the corridor like he was running from more than just us.

  I’d be scared, too, since Olethros is most certainly spying on us.

  Nora furrowed her brow. “What did you do to him, exactly?”

  “Who, me?”

  Relias mirrored her look, then took it further, turning it into a deep scowl. “Are you now convinced of the absolute darkness that festers within the cores of demons?”

  I just shrugged. No matter how wrong he was, this wasn’t the time or place to argue. He opened his mouth as if preparing to launch into a sermon, then thought better of it, bowing his head to murmur fervent prayers for our collective safety.

  After giving Nora a pointed glance to remind her what to do if Relias tried interfering with the real plan, I continued forward.

  A shadowy doorway appeared ahead, and crossing the hall brought us to its threshold. The chamber beyond might have once been a receiving salon. Large paintings of exotic landscapes still lined the walls, but the rest of the room was a scene of destruction. A shattered wood-and-glass cabinet lay on its side, doors torn from their hinges. Porcelain teacups had been smashed into tiny fragments and scattered across the floor, as if hurled with violent force. In one corner, a mangled astrolabe slumped, one of its bent arms reaching outward in a desperate final plea. Deep, erratic claw marks scarred a large round table, now pushed askew, with all but one of its chairs reduced to splinters.

  Nora took it all in with several slow blinks. “Reminds me of one of those rage rooms. You know, the ones where you pay to smash stuff and call it therapy?”

  “Yes. Better to smash someone else’s stuff and not your own…” I agreed knowingly.

  The next room felt colder, the air thick with lingering animus. It wasn’t another salon of smashed decor, but the remnants of a large stone chamber. The walls were gouged deep with blade marks, slashes at impossible angles. One section of the obsidian stone had been partially melted away, reforming itself as large, charred bubbles along the cracks in the rocks that formed the floor. A massive chandelier still dangled precariously, as if a stiff breeze would send it to its final destination.

  The Will of Euphridia twitched restlessly at my side. As soon as I put my hand on the hilt, it seemed to relax, falling motionless. Somehow, I sensed this was the room it had been kept in.

  On display? Locked away?

  Further in, vast swaths of dark, demonic blood, congealed and glossy, decorated the floor.

  I don’t think all of that belonged to Olethros.

  Relias stepped beside me, reaching out to trail his fingers along a deep scar in the wall.

  “The King and the two remaining Lords did battle here. Long ago.”

  “But why here, of all places?” The question slipped out before I could keep it internal.

  Did Olethros set a trap? It’s his sanctum—he’d have the advantage. But why go after both at once?

  Or... did they team up and ambush him instead? But how’d they get this far in without detection, then?

  I caught Relias staring at me, his eyes sharp with disbelief. “The answer matters not,” he said curtly. Then, with a sniff, “Though I suppose it’s worth mourning that they all survived the ordeal.”

  A rupture in the farthest wall gave way to an open area with high vaulted ceilings. Crimson twilight poured in from glass slits near the room’s apex, bleeding down the dark walls in deep mourning.

  It was the throne room, but it contained no banners, no guards, no heraldry.

  Just him.

  Demon King Olethros sat atop a massive throne carved from obsidian and gold-veined stone, his form wrapped in vaporous tendrils of animus that curled and slithered around him in an unholy aura. The seat itself was positioned high above the floor, deliberately elevated to allow him the superior sense of judgment against all that entered.

  I also found it quite infuriating that he wasn’t bothering to look at us.

  His body was slumped almost sideways, one arm cradling his head while the other pressed a pale hand against his brow. Lilac hair, thin and wispy at the ends, spilled unevenly over his shoulders in static tangles. His eyes remained shut, but his head rocked slowly, as if trying to silence thoughts too loud to ignore. The once-sharp sheen of his horns had dulled to a lifeless gray. While his overall posture feigned ease, the rigid angles along the joints of his body hinted at a coiled tension beneath.

  “Do you think you could join us here on the ground?” I called upwards even as Relias intensified the holy barrier around us. “I don’t want to have to shout.”

  “What is a hero?” he asked himself, his head tilted skyward. After a moment, he flicked his hand, summoning his scythe. “A pathetic sack of insecurities... wrapped up in contemptible lies!”

  Oh good. He definitely remembers who I am.

  “Captain Lightbringer, draw your sword!” Relias screamed.

  At the sound of the Holy Sage’s directive, Olethros’s eyes flicked open, their electric green glow sharp and unmistakably unnatural.

  “I have received you properly, as you instructed,” he snapped, sitting up to full height. “Consider it a final kindness for the guilty and condemned!”

  “You’re not going to give me a chance to explain?” I asked, tossing my rucksack into a shadowy corner.

  "Your sword!" Relias barked again as the sword twitched in its sheath.

  Not yet, Will. Faith—heater shield like before.

  Olethros vanished, extinguishing every light he controlled.

  I tensed, counting the moments until a shriek of metal tore through the darkness. His massive scythe slashed from the shadows, aimed straight for Nora.

  With full aura blazing, I intercepted, catching the blade with a bone-jarring crash. Sparks burst across Faith’s surface as the scythe ground against it.

  I knew he’d go for the wild card!

  Nora took the opportunity to siphon animus directly from the weapon’s trail, causing it to flounder off course before it disappeared.

  Nice!

  “What?!” Olethros shrieked, yanking his disoriented scythe back into the darkness.

  I squared my stance and shouted, “I’m going to ask you again, Olethros. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to try diplomacy first?!”

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