The shadows of the ancient fortress swallowed them as they entered, the air thick with the acrid scent of decay and timeworn hatred. Lucian hesitated at the threshold, watching as Morganna moved confidently through the cracked stone gates, her head held high, golden eyes glinting with dangerous determination. To her, this was not a ruin—it was a throne waiting to be claimed.
Torches hung on the crumbling walls, their flames unnaturally alight after what seemed like ages of abandonment. Morganna barely gestured, and the torches flared in response, the fire crimson and alive, casting flickering reflections on the polished remains of the stone floors. The place was vast, an echo of the power that once dwelled here, and now, it was all hers to conquer.
Lucian swallowed as he trailed behind her, the hairs on his neck standing on end. There were eyes in the darkness, though they weren't human—they watched, assessing, wondering whether the intruders were prey or predator. As he gazed up at the broken ceiling, he could feel the weight of something immense pressing down on them, ancient and almost sentient. The fortress itself seemed to judge whether Morganna was worthy of walking its halls.
"Ah, I can almost hear them," Morganna said, her voice a hushed, reverent whisper. She reached out, letting her fingertips graze the cold stones. "The spirits that once thrived here, warriors, conquerors... all lost to the passage of time." Her lips curled up in a smile, her teeth flashing dangerously. "But they linger, even now, trapped between moments."
Lucian's eyes widened, his instincts screaming at him to leave. "Morganna, this place… it feels wrong," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if fearing something might hear.
She turned to him, her expression one of pure delight. "Oh, Lucian, it is wrong. Everything here is beyond what your precious nobles would ever dare touch. Power like this…" She let her fingers crackle with the tiniest trace of Chaos Magic, and the air around them seemed to vibrate with tension. "It does not belong in neat, orderly worlds. It belongs to those who dare reach for it."
Morganna moved deeper into the fortress, her steps echoing with purpose. The shadows clung to her, and Lucian could only follow, knowing that this was no place to be left alone. They came to a central chamber, a vast hall with a dais at its center, surrounded by skeletal remains that spoke of a long-forgotten massacre. Swords were rusted in bony grips, shields shattered, their stories lost to time.
At the heart of the dais stood a twisted throne of dark metal, almost organic in its shape, as if grown rather than forged. Its jagged edges shimmered, reflecting the crimson torchlight. Morganna approached it slowly, savoring the moment, her footsteps carrying the weight of destiny.
Lucian paused, his eyes drawn to the remains scattered across the room. He could almost feel the echo of the past, the battle cries and the agony. He closed his eyes, muttering a silent prayer for the souls who had perished there. But Morganna had no such sympathy. She turned and grinned at him, her expression predatory.
"This is it, Lucian. This is where we claim what belongs to us," she said, her voice a low purr. She rested her hand on the cold armrest of the throne, and suddenly, the air changed. The temperature dropped, and a deep, resonating hum vibrated through the stones.
The skeletal remains on the floor shifted, the bones rattling and lifting into the air. Lucian staggered back, his eyes widening in horror as the dead began to assemble themselves, the empty sockets of skulls glinting with a malevolent blue light. He watched in disbelief as the long-dead warriors slowly reformed, their hollow gazes now turned to Morganna, awaiting her command.
Morganna's laughter filled the hall, a triumphant sound that carried through the dark corridors of the fortress. She spread her arms wide, her crimson robes flowing like liquid fire. "Rise, my warriors," she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. "You served a forgotten master once, but now, you will serve me—the Crimson Witch. I shall lead you from these shadows, and you shall taste the world above once more."
The skeletal warriors dropped to one knee, their weapons clattering against the stone in eerie synchrony, and they bowed their heads in allegiance. Lucian felt his stomach twist at the sight—the dead had no will, no desire of their own, and yet, they had bent so willingly to Morganna.
"You can't be serious," he murmured, taking a step back, his voice tinged with desperation. "These spirits… they're not meant to be disturbed. This isn't power, it's… it's desecration."
Morganna turned to him, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "Oh, Lucian, always the moralist." She walked towards him, each step deliberate, her presence radiating raw power. "Desecration? No. This is reclamation. I am giving them purpose again—an existence beyond their rotting graves."
She gestured to the throne, her eyes locked onto Lucian's, daring him to challenge her. "These warriors were once part of something great, and now, they shall be again. Under my rule, they shall taste the world of the living—and they shall revel in the chaos I bring."
Lucian clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. He knew better than to draw it—Morganna would only laugh at the pathetic attempt to defy her. But it didn't stop the deep pang of guilt and fear from twisting inside him.
"You're playing with something dark, Morganna. One day, this might consume even you," he said, his voice a low warning.
Morganna merely smirked, turning her back on him and climbing the steps to the throne. She sat, her form languid and regal, her eyes blazing with the thrill of her conquest. The skeletal warriors remained kneeling, as if recognizing her as their rightful ruler.
"If darkness seeks to consume me, then I shall make it my own," she replied, her voice echoing with absolute conviction. "The world—this rotten, broken world—fears power, but I do not. I shall wield it, Lucian. I shall become what this world fears most."
She raised her hand, the crimson magic swirling around her fingers, and the torches around them blazed higher. The fortress responded to her command, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire structure pulsed in resonance with her own heart—alive, dark, and dangerous.
Lucian closed his eyes, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. He was bound to Morganna, whether by fate or some twisted sense of loyalty he could no longer understand. There was no escaping the path she had chosen. He could only follow—a reluctant witness to the symphony of chaos she orchestrated.
"Now," Morganna purred, her eyes gleaming as she surveyed her newly risen army. "Let us awaken this fortress, and let the world tremble at what we have become."
The fortress walls seemed to shiver in response, the shadows growing deeper, the torches casting sinister shapes across the stone. The Wastes of Callum had always been a place of despair, but now it had a mistress who embraced that despair and twisted it into something far more terrifying.
With the dead at her command and a throne beneath her, Morganna Devereux was ready to unleash yet another chapter of chaos upon the world—and none would be left untouched by the storm she brought.