The entrance to Lysandra's tower was an enormous, oppressive void, the very air thick with malevolent energy. Stone doors, once carved with intricate symbols of light and life, lay broken and crumbling as if the weight of the Shadow King's presence had worn them down over time. Bitter chill filled the air, and the faint sound of whispers-unheard by the human ear, but felt deep in the soul-blew from the darkness ahead.
She took the tome by both hands, and its weight that she was used to once again became a burden as she stepped over the dark threshold. Power inside it pulsed, responding to the atmosphere, getting stronger with every step they make.
"Stay close," Seraphine said, her voice even but laced with unease.
Garin nodded grimly, his eyes sweeping the darkness, bow at the ready. Elara's face was deathly pale from the exertions earlier, and she clutched her staff tightly, the rings of her fingers quivering a little as she reached deep within herself for that little magic she had remaining.
"This place," Elara murmured, her voice strained, "it's like. like it's alive. The tower is more than just stone and mortar—it's a manifestation of the Shadow King's power."
Seraphine didn't say a word to herself; her mind reeled. She was right. With every step she took the sense of ominous foreboding grew. Dark magic pressed in around them, relentless. The walls closed in around them. Shifting like living stone, imbued with a dark power that was the will of the Shadow King.
They stepped deeper into the tower, echoing off the emptiness, until they came to a great hall at the very centre of the building. There was an obsidian altar in the centre of the space, the runes on it moving with dark power. The light it cast was faint, sickly, and grotesque shadows off the walls.
Seraphine walked forward, her heart pounding against her chest. "This is it," she whispered. "The source of his power."
A cold harsh voice filled the chamber, reverberating in their minds like a crashing wave. You should not have come here, Seraphine. Your journey ends now.
The voice of the Shadow King.
Seraphine's grip on the tome tightened. She could feel its power, dark energy seeping into her very soul. The Shadow King was closer than ever; his presence overwhelming, his voice a weight pressing down on her chest. But she could stop. Not now.
"You're wrong," she said, her voice unwavering. "We're here to end this. You won't have the world."
The room pulsed with the beat, as if alive, and living things climbed along its walls, twisting and contorting in shadows. Life burst forth from the altar before them, a deep resonant hum filling the air, and a dark portal opened in its center.
In the roiling darkness, a figure emerged. He was hooded, his face obscured, but still the still small voice of sanity in Seraphine's mind spoke out and said that he was tall, impossibly tall, and that coals shone like embers beneath the pulled-up hood. This was the embodiment of darkness: an expression of the power of the Shadow King.
Seraphine's heart stopped. This is it: the final sentinel.
Her raised arms and the darkness advanced upon her like an army. Malice stilled the air, and Seraphine, drunk with despair and agony, retreated back into an abyss, a reeling brain from sheer intensity of energy in the room.
But then the book in her hands took on a life of its own, reacting to this darkness like a magnet to iron. It had lit up with its pulsing light, and the runes were flashing brighter now, and Seraphine felt all of this surged power coursing through her.
"Elara!" she shouted, "The book! We need it!
Elara nodded, her jaw clenched tightly against the exhaustion that seemed to still linger in her eyes. She was already chanting, her staff shining with magic as she guided energy to the tome.
The dark figure felt this shift, and it hissed with fury. "You think you can fight me? You are naught but playthings of light, to be doomed to fall into the void."
Seraphine stepped forward; the blade in her hand thundered with radiant energy. "We are not your puppets, Shadow King. This ends now."
There had been something of a fire burning behind those scorching eyes as the figure threw its hands into the air, calling a storm up from within the darkness. Shadows lashed through the air like whips, each swipe carrying the power of a thousand storms. Seraphine's sword deflected the early smashes, but the force was too overwhelming, her muscles burning from the exertion as she stumbled backward beneath the assault.
"Hold fast!" Garin bellowed, drawing and shooting arrows full of light. Every one of them struck the shadows only to repair themselves almost at once, twisted together once more by dark sorcery.
Elara's voice grew to a great shout as she wove a spell, her hands tracing intricate designs in the air. She called a spell that was the opposite side of the coin for the Shadow King's magic: each word she spoke creating yet another thread of light in the darkness.
Seraphine's heart beat rapidly in her chest as she concentrated on the book, drawing into her more of its power. She could feel the darkness trying to consume her, but she fought against it, tapping in the power of that which rested within her will, what the ones who fought and died for this had done.
And then, with a last shriek, she hurled the book forward, releasing a blast of light so fierce that it filled the room like a flare of pure sun, blinding and gorgeous. The shadows shrieked, recoiling at the power of the light, their shapes dissolving into nothing. The dark shape stumbled, its form flickering and weakening.
"No…," it hissed, now full of fear. "No one can refuse me…"
But it arrived too late. Power from the book, by Elara's spell, and Seraphine's indomitable will raged into the heart of darkness. It let out a scream as the light consumed it. Its body started to break down into ash in a cloud.
Everything was silent for an eternity.
Then the light faded, and the oppressive weight of the tower seemed to lift, as if the very air had cleared. The darkness of the altar dimmed, and the runes faded into nothingness. The portal in the center of the room closed, shutting away the last vestiges of the influence of the Shadow King.
Seraphine fell to her knees, exhaustion pouring over her. She had let go of her sword and had lost her hold on the tome. She could hardly breathe as the weight of the fight was taking her breath, both physical and mental.
Garin was there in a flash, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You did it," he said, his voice filled with awe. "It's over.
But Seraphine shook her head weakly, her eyes filled with the remnants of the dark energy that still lingered in the air. "It's not over," she whispered. "The Shadow King… he's still out there. We've only taken the first step."
Still catching her breath from the exertion of the magic she used, Elara nodded gravely. "She is correct; the fight is far from over. Forces of the Shadow King are still too strong in number and, indeed, his power does not fade easily either.".
Seraphine closed her eyes and plotted their next leg. The war was nowhere near its end, but for the first time in ages, hope had flitted into her mind. They broke through the heart of darkness; now they finish what they started.